I saw it when I came back home on a Saturday. It filled up our living room.
I nearly screamed, “That is a baby grand piano! I only wanted a keyboard.”
“I got a good deal on it”, dad said.
“I’ve been wanting a piano forever.”
“Dad replied, “Well, Mrs. Johnson promised to teach you, just don’t waste my money and you better keep your grades up.”
If it was a trick to get me to have good grades, it worked. I loved music ever since I was young. I once had a great music teacher who explained a little bit about music theory and I was hooked. I was able to get complicated music and understand it at a fundamental level. I learned how harmonies work. I understood why most pop music follows the same chord progressions. The rhythms and melodic combinations are endless.
The happy times with the piano did not last long. The first sign of trouble happened when I wasn’t there. I came back home one day and my dad was investigating the piano.
“What’s up dad? It’s not broken right?”, I said.
“No, its just that it was playing. Did you have some sort of recording on to practice?”
I investigated the piano. I thought it was just fine except maybe it needed a little tuning, I was advancing really well on my scales. I thought the C scale was boring but I loved the minor chords like G and A minor. On that piano, the melodies would echo across the walls amplifying the sound. Mrs. Johnson was impressed with my progress and said that she loved teaching me. I made her earn her money unlike many of her other students. During this time, I really didn’t do anything else but play piano. It was an obsession but it was my thing. I exceled at it, and as far as I knew I was the best piano kid on the planet. I already had a composition to practice: Rachmaninoff’s “Prelude in C Sharp Minor.” While I no longer listen to it, if you haven’t heard it yet, you absolutely must. The initial part is relatively straightforward, but as it progresses, the intensity builds, and the forceful keystrokes evoke a catharsis seldom found in music.
But that’s where the trouble really started. I would play for hours and lose track of time, After I practiced I would see things differently, blurry would be a good way to describe it. I was so focused at the time on the music, starting right after school, and play until it was already dark. I was covered in sweat and would wake up from playing the piano as if I was angry. I would see candles lit around me. I thought it was my mom setting the mood, for the classical piece but she denied it.
“No, I wanted to you to focus so I let you be on your own.”, she said.
That wasn’t the only occurrence. Sometimes I would wake up and around the piano different paraphernalia would be placed around it. At times it was candles, always five of them placed in a perfect circle around the piano. Other times it there was a complicated knot. I showed my dad and he told me it’s a sailor’s knot called a monkey fist. It was so intricate there’s no way a novice could have made it. My mother was concerned.
“Maybe it’s better if you find out more about the piano. I just don’t feel right about it. With all the weird stuff maybe…”
Dad said, “I got it at the estate sale. It was a good deal and the kid loves it. Look, I’ll find out what I can.”
When I came back from school dad was accompanied by another person. He was some sort of expert but not like a professor. The guy was wearing all black, I thought he must really like group The Cure.
“This was the prize of the sale, how did I miss this beauty?”, the expert said.
My dad replied, “Well you can’t have everything, what did you get?”
“I acquired, the rope and candles and the note.”
My dad and I looked at each other, “What note?”
The expert answered, “The note to the media. You do know that this was at the scene of the crime?”
My mom nearly fainted. I could feel my heart stop. I closed my eyes and could imagine the scene in detail. I saw a person bound and had a mask over their head. I saw the candles lit and then I could see a man pounding furiously at the piano. It was like a bizarre religious service where each motion was a manifestation to some unknown deity or worse, the Devil. I opened my eyes as if the daylight would wash out the ugly scene out of my eyes.
The expert spoke again, “The spirit of the murderer is here. He escaped this life by suicide. He wants to manifest himself here. I will get the proof”
We told him what had happened before. My dad swore he didn’t know anything about this. Bragging about the good deal he got did not sound so impressive at this point.
The expert continued, “To capture the spirit, I want to setup mirrors to amplify its energy. Thence I can be able to expel him from here forever. But only after I have recorded it on camera.”
My dad said, “This ghost doesn’t seem so shy, you’ll get your proof.”
Once the mirrors were placed on the walls, the sun set and the experiment was under way. The expert told me that it was time to start playing. I had a feeling Mrs. Johnson was not going to be so please at my piano was used to summon an evil spirit. Soon after the initial part of the composition, we witnessed something horrific. I can’t describe the feelings of what was happening. But if you get the feeling in your stomach when you are in trouble combined with the feel of goosebumps on your neck: That is what it felt like. No scientist would ever be able to properly measure that. But it was only the beginning.
I heard the steps coming down the staircase, one after the other, louder and louder. Then an evil laugh that echoed through the room. I stop playing. I looked in the mirror and could see the image of the man. I realized at this point I envisioned him earlier in the act of his earlier murder. I stood there frozen and watched as the expert started interact with the being. He was filming it as it approached.
“Being known as Alex Malcorr, surrender to our pleas.”
I looked at the expert. This was a murderous spirit you are talking nicely to it. I thought, “C’mon man don’t you have some better weapon than this?” The being stared directly at the expert and gave a smile that signified his evil attention. It approached the expert and picked him up by the neck and was slowly choking the life out of him. My dad tried to interfere and help him. I told my mom to get out of there. The expert was barely able to whisper out these words, the mirrors break the mirrors. While my dad and the expert dealt with the spirit I broke all the mirrors. If this was the way to stop it fine, but I didn’t see how that was going to stop it. But it was working. The spirit was weaker and weaker. I blew out the candles and broke every last mirror. The spirit’s energy faded until it was no more.
The police were very helpful when they arrived. They had someone from the precinct update the responding officers about the case of Alex Malcorr. The ambulance pulled the body of the expert and took him to coroner’s office. The tape told the police what they needed to see. The death certificate said heart attack. I called Mrs. Johnson and explained politely that I won’t be taking any more lessons. Dad and I took the piano in the back yard and had a good supply of firewood that winter. We haven’t spoken about the piano since.