Pianos had been such a big part of my childhood. From smacking the keys at age 4, to playing Flight of the Bumblebee at 17, I knew more than the average bear about the player. If anything, you could call me a child prodigy. So being like this, my parents had a driving force on what I could do with my time. Restricting me from hanging out with friends, and making me spend time with the piano, to whom I eventually considered my best friend. You could say they had a totalitarian grip on my social life- making me the target for most attacks at school. I didn’t mind though. The insults thrown my way didn’t really matter to me. The piano and my hands mattered. So when my piano was out of tune, my dad called a tuner. A tuner who in fact, taught my dad something I didn’t know.
I think all of us have seen a piano with the hood open, exposing the wood and bits of string and metal inside. And I bet you played Hot Cross Buns or Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, watching the pegs hit the tiny strings moving about in different directions, and hearing sweet notes. For my piano, all you heard was a sour melody.
“Nice to meet you. I’m John.” my dad said, firmly grasping the tuners hand. My dad smiled, and walked over to the piano and softly rested his hand on it. I gazed from the distance, my eyes fixed on his hand.
“Hope you do a fine job, sir. My son over there-” He pointed his finger to me and raised his eyebrows. “He’s a master at this right here.” He tapped the glossy black cover with his fingernails. He gave a weak grin and pointed in my direction. The tuner gripped his bag and fixed the baseball hat resting on his hairless head. The man looked about in his mid-60’s. Balding, he had a scratchy scruff dabbled on his face. His pale completion was too light for his pitch black eyes, which seemed to poke out of his head. His height was overwhelming. I almost had to look up at him while he spoke to me.
“And what might your name be, son?” His words seemed to create a song on its own. His voice. That voice. It was almost calming, soothing in a way. His voice wasn’t too high or low. It seemed to be just right. It almost sounded fake. Stunned, I muttered out,
“U-uhm, Eric.” I sounded like I had just spoken for the first time. His voice threw me off guard. For a man his height, I didn’t expect him to have that kind of voice. The man gazed into my eyes. His eyes were as black as that shiny cover on the piano. In fact, I think they were even darker. Feeling nervous, I stuck out my hand to try and be friendly like. My dad was staring me down anyways, waiting for me to be the polite gentleman he taught me to be. The tuner clasped my hand into his. His skin, It was so soft- the softest thing I’d ever touched. It was like a dog with long hair, whose fur was silky soft. It was strange. He gave it a good shake and set his hand down.
“I’m Andrew- Andrew Walker. You call me Mr. Walker, boy.” He softly spoke. In his other hand, a fabric tool bin was being grasped firmly. Mr. Walker nodded his head and turned his body to face my father.
“Well, I’ll take a look. Could your boy possibly play a song so I can evaluate what works and doesn’t?” Mr. Walker blinked, and then turned his head to look at me. He smiled, and walked to the other side of the room. My dad’s eyes narrowed as he looked directly at me. I knew he wanted me to play. My father spoke,
“Of course he can. Eric.” My dad rolled out my name as I nodded his head. I sat down on the soft seat and raised my hands to the keys. A feeling washed over me; nervousness. This was something I had never felt before when it came to the piano. Everything just came to me- I didn’t know what to do. My palms were sweaty as I slid my fingers across the chords and keys. Sour notes filled the air. I could catch Mr. Walker flinching and squinting his eyes out of the corners of mine while I played. He was almost wincing- which was odd. Once I finished, Mr. Walker gave a small clap.
“Wonderful- just lovely, Eric.” He turned his eyes to mine. “I can hear the problem, I’m going to take a look.” Mr. Walker set his bag down and opened it up. His tools were all standard tuning tools, nothing out of the blue. He clasped a large metal rod and cracked the hood of the piano open. He gripped the side of the music stand as he turned his head around to see me and my father just staring at him whilst he stood over my piano. My dad jolted up and stuttered,
“Oh- u-uhm. Would you like some privacy while you work, sir?” My father asked.
“That would be great. Thank you John.” Mr. Walker moved his hand to rest softly on top of the piano and grazed his fingers over the back. He itched a spot. His face lit up as a wide smile crossed his features,
“It seems you have my good ol’ gal. She was mine back in the day. I didn’t think I’d see her again.” Mr. Walker pushed the wheeled piano out the corner and waved his hand to call me over.
“Take a look, Eric. There’s my signature.” Mr. Walker looked up at me as his knee rested on the ground. “I guess fate wanted us to meet again. You see?” he pointed to the spot in which I glanced at. In a scratchy carving, was the cursive signature of the name “Property Of Andrew Walker”. Mr. Walker tapped the leg of the piano and grinned.
“I’ll give her my special treatment. Just for her.” with the metal tool grasped in his hand, he stood up and almost skipped to his tool bag. I cocked my head and just stared at him. Not to be creepy or anything but, I could stare into that man’s eyes for hours on end. Something about them just gave comfort- a thing not a lot of people possess. Mr. Walker looked up at me and blinked.
“Your father said privacy, right? Not to kick you out of your own house but, I have lots of work to do.”
“Right. Eric, come on. Go to your room.” my father spoke. He turned around and started to trip towards me and rested his hand on my shoulder. I swallowed and looked up at him. Before my dad could follow me, Mr. Walker cut in.
“Oh, John. You can stay. I have some things I could show you.” Mr. Walker’s gaze turned to my dad. My father nodded as he bent down next to him. I slowly backed away and my dad snapped his head around and gave me the “If You Don’t Go Right Now, Shit Will Get Real Later” look. I turned around as I got one last look at Mr. Walker. What I saw was a little strange. He was chipping his tools inside the piano as my dad stool idle and watched. My dad spent a small fortune on that thing and he was destroying it. My eyebrows furrowed as I gripped the side of the counter. But it slowly faded into my thoughts of explanation. He’s probably just doing his job- I don’t know how these things work anyways. I convinced myself he was doing more good then bad and I walked down the hallway to my room.
“She”, “Look”, “Fine Job”. These were just some of the few words I heard from my room over the few hours. I sat on my bed as I looked down at my sweat filled palms. Why was I nervous? I never got-
“Eric.” My name jolted me out of my thoughts. I looked up to see my dad, smiling and grinning. “You can come out now, kid.” his hand was on the frame of my door, tapping his pointer finger as he hummed. I squinted my eyes at my dad. Kid? He was never like this. My father- wow. Stern, Slow, Demanding. He never turned down a thing. He was a daredevil. Aggressive, Competitive. Never cheery. I was confused and concerned. I jumped out of my spot and pushed past my father, speed walking down the hallway. I rounded the corner and saw my piano. Rested in the same spot it was before, just as slick and shiny as it was. My face went from scared, to content. Mr. Walker stood next to the piano, gripping his tool bag in both hands.
“She’s all fixed. Maybe sounding better than she ever did before.” Mr. Walker smiled and tightened the cap on his head. He turned his eyes to mine, fixing his gaze into mine.
“I do say Eric.” He walked over to me and put his hand on my shoulder. My nerves tightened as my head lifted up to reveal his dark, pitch eyes staring right into me.
“She’s a biter. Be careful.” he smiled with his teeth and chuckled, walking away to my dad. What the hell was going on? A million thoughts raced through my mind. My dad was acting like a weirdo- She bites? Pianos do-
“How much do I owe you sir?” My dad took me out of my trance, standing behind me. I looked back at him, my forehead drenched with sweat. Clearly nervous, I shuffled to the side of the room and just stood there. Mr. Walker looked at my dad and smiled.
“Oh no no. I’ll do this one free of charge.” He looked at me and spoke. “If she causes any trouble, just give me a ring. I’m only a dial away.” He hooked his thumb in his pocket and started towards my door. His boots clicking on the ground.
“Have a good day” His black eyes narrowed on me as he opened the door and walked out of my house. I was so alarmed, almost shocked. What just happened? Am I thinking too much into this? My dad’s gaze fixed on me and he frowned.
“Get cleaned up for dinner, we’re going out.” My dad walked into the kitchen and walked up the stairs. I sighed in relief. I thought there was something wrong with him. Thank god. I walked slowly back down the hallway.
A couple of weeks had passed after Mr. Walker came into our home. Everything seemed normal and I continued to play on the piano as normal. And boy did Mr. Walker do something to that piano. It sounded so fresh- quaint and almost angelic. It sounded so much better than before and I was quite happy after that. I really did think that the problem might’ve been eliminated all together and after that, I didn’t think that I would have to get another tune job again. My hands whisked with the melody, and the melody stuck to me. Playing some chime in my brain as I swept my hands across the pilant keys. With this enchantment of the piano, I never seemed to notice the small, acute, firm fingernails sticking in the cracks of the keys until I stabbed my pointer on one. By one, I mean there were many nails sticking out. I held up my hand and gripped in my other, looking down at the keys, gazing at the foggy, yet clear divot. My eyes almost jumped out of their sockets as it seemed the piano was almost teasing me to play another song. I slowly let go of my other hand, letting it slip down onto the key in the center, exposing the gap in between, showing the cruel length of the nail. It was jagged and sharp. Chipped and broken. My mouth opened slightly as I felt a wince in my finger.
“Shit.” I muttered under my breath and stood up, walking over to the kitchen to turn on the sink. It stung like a bitch. I didn’t think a fingernail could sting that bad- to top that, a piano can’t grow a fucking fingernail. My head snapped back to the piano as I rushed back over, looking at the cracks. Less than few had the long, edged thing sticking out of it. My eyes shook as I called out to my dad.
“Hey, dad?” My voice was broken, as I was quite disturbed with what I was looking at.
“Yes?” My father stomped into the living room, holding a hammer and nails in his hands. He looked at me as I nervously began to speak.
“Well- Uhm. I was playing something and uhm-” Sweat began to drip down my forehead as I stopped.
“Spit it out. I’m busy.” My father’s words were harsh, like a snake’s tongue. He moved the nail in his left hand up to his mouth and bit on it, freeing his hand.
“I think there’s fingernails growing out of the cracks in the piano.” I finished my sentence as my dad gave me a blank stare. His under eyes squinted and he spoke.
“You know she can hear you right?” His eyes fixed over to the piano, who’s elegant keys had seemed to have been dampened by a glossy cover. He bent over and put his finger on it, tracing the water like substance off of it. He felt it over the tips of his hand.
“It sweats.” He rubbed his hand on his pants as he spoke,
“It doesn’t talk to you Eric, does it?” He walked past me. My heart raced as he walked out the door, leaving a loud thump behind him. I swallowed deep as I backed away from the piano. What the fuck? Talking to me? Sweat? It’s not a person- it- uh. It can’t sweat- can it? A million thoughts raced in my head as I looked over to the thing before me. It wasn’t an item of music. It sweat, grew fingernails. My heart raced as I realized the thing that hadn’t been opened since Mr. Walker came to fix the piano. My body slowly crumpled over to the side of the piano, my hands gripping the hood of the piano. As my fingers clutched to the hood, I slowly cracked it open. What I saw is engraved in my mind for the rest of my time on this god forsaken earth. Hair. Fucking hair growing from the wooden pegs- It was all different colors. They were strung about in a messy manor, just waiting to be combed or brushed. But it was silky and slick; some kind of substance was coated in it, dripping down from the pegs and more. It looked like pus, in it was just clumps and chunks of what I assumed to be fingertips- fingers? I couldn’t tell. My eyes darted around, Golden locks, brown, red, if it was a hair color, it was in that piano. My battered breath quickened as I slammed the lid shut, tumbling back. My eyelids flickered as I raised my trembling hands to my face, smacking it multiple times. Struggling to keep my balance, I fell on my knees, a loud thump echoing off the hardwood floor. I looked up to see the piano, the side angle shiny and glossed. Just the way Mr. Walker left it. Mr. Walker, he said I could-
I swallowed, my dry throat bobbing up and down. I was still bent down on the hardwood floor, my knees shaking in place. I began to stand up slowly as I felt nerves sweep over my body.
“Shit.” I muttered, grasping the side of a wall. I stumbled over to the kitchen counter, pulling a drawer wide open. An array of papers stood on top of the stack as I dove my hands in, digging around for that one slip. That one slip of hope I still grasped onto. Finally, after what seemed like eternity, I found what I was looking for.
“Piano Tunist for hire. 10/15$ an hour. Depends on Piano, Call today”
I examined the sheet and found the small phone number at the bottom. Sighing with relief, I made a mad dash for the kitchen cell phone, clutching it in my hand. I smacked the numbers into the landline and heard the sound of buzzing, and buzzing and-
“Andrew Walker, who’s speaking?” A soft man’s voice flooded the phone as my ears relaxed at the voice on the other end.
“Mr. Walker it’s uh- It’s Eric- You uhm- you tuned my piano a couple of weeks ago.” My voice filled with a mix of relief and dread. It must’ve sounded like I was about to die on the other end.
“Ah! Yes. My Ol’ Girl. How is she treating you, son?” Mr. Walker’s voice filled with desire and glee as he spoke to me. My eyes twitched and my blood boiled.
“Treating me? Treating me? Mr. Walker, your piano is not a piano. It might as well be human. There’s fingernails- hair- sweat.” I was practically shouting on the other end to him as I continued on.
“And my dad is acting fucking weird. He says “She can hear me?” I don’t know what you’ve brought into our home but what-ever you have it’s-” I was cut off as the ever calming voice flooded the phone-line.
“What I brought into your home is a mix of my past. My creation. My joy. It seems you find her appealing. Well Eric, she tells me you’re just the perfect one she’s been looking for. Your dad has just been hinting at your future my good boy. I was going to tell her to say it herself but,” Mr. Walker gave out a chuckle as he continued on.
“I guess she’s already told you you’re ready to join her and the others.”
As I heard the phone click and the ever growing line beep, my forehead dripped with sweat. I didn’t know what he meant by the others. I think I never will. But, what I hear when I’m sleeping at night down the hall is something I can’t strip from my mind. The ever growing, faint noise of a melody, a hum. A tune so sweet, it could capture me in my thoughts with the fick of its fingers. Playing the piano doesn’t seem so bad, doesn’t it? I guess If you all gave it a try, found just the right tuner, and had one hell of trip like mine,
You would find that special someone.