Can Ghosts play Piano?

Reads: 59  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 0

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic


A young girl wakes up in the middle of the night and sees someone playing a piano. Is it a ghost? Is it her mind playing tricks on her? Why isn't she scared?

Submitted: July 16, 2018

A A A | A A A

Submitted: July 16, 2018

A A A

A A A


Can Ghosts play Piano?

It was a cold night. The moonlight fell brightly upon the beautiful flower vase which Angeline was staring at, lying in her bed, beside her mother who was fast asleep. She was covered in warm bed sheets with Mr. Tubby clutched tightly in her hands, all cozy; a good way to sleep for an 11 year old. Yet, Angeline could not sleep. She just lay there, eyes wide open. After five minutes, which seemed like hours, she decided she had had enough. She got up, careful not to wake her mother up, tip-toed across the room, slowly opened the bedroom door and stepped out.

Angeline climbed down the stairs, switched on the light of the hall and walked towards her favorite room in the house; the playroom. Now for an 11 year old, Angeline was quite talented. Apart from being brilliant at studies, she was a beautiful piano player. And there, in her favorite room, rested a magnificent piano which belonged to her grandfather. Indeed, she had inherited his talent. She pulled up the stool and sat gracefully on it. She had decided. If she wasn’t able to sleep, she would rather wake up the birds, like her grandfather did every morning. But this was night.

As soon as she played the first note, there was a knock on the door of the play room. There stood a man, pale and thin. He was almost bald, and whatever hair he had was grey. His face was wrinkled, yet he stood straight and looked straight in Angeline’s eyes. He had his hands in the pockets of his black blazer, which he wore on a white shirt. He took a couple of steps forward and said,

‘Do you know me, my dear?’
Puzzled, Angeline replied in her innocent voice, ‘Yes. You are Uncle Cotard.’
A sad expression took  over the man’s face. After a moment he said in a hoarse voice, ‘Alas, dear Angeline. I was your Uncle Cotard. I am dead now. Jules Cotard exists no more.’

‘But I can see you, Uncle Cotard. And mother says one cannot see ghosts.’ said Angeline. 
‘Danette never had enough sense. Always believing in whatever she read from that paper; if she had only listened to our mother. She always said that once you die, the person who you love the most can always see you.’ Cotard replied.
‘So, you are dead. And I can see you because you love me?’ asked Angeline.
‘Yes. Yes, indeed. You were and will be my favorite niece. I always loved spending time with you. Only if I knew to play the piano as well as you’, sighed Cotard, ‘we could have been the best of buddies.’
‘Do you want to learn?’ 
‘Will you teach me?’
‘Can ghosts play?’
‘Why, yes we can. Will you teach me?’
Angeline stood up and said, ‘Sit here, Uncle’.
 

Cotard turned around and closed the door, saying ‘Wouldn’t want to be heard by Danette, would we?’
He walked towards the piano and sat on the stool. Angeline and Cotard looked at each other and smiled. Angeline took Cotard’s right hand and placed it carefully on the keys of the piano. And then they played. A beautiful melody filled the room- Angeline guiding her uncle and her uncle, with a huge smile on his face, played the piano merrily. They kept on playing when all of a sudden; there was a knock on the door. A female voice shouted, ‘Come out, you! Come out now! Heaven knows what you are doing in there, disturbing my sleep and banging that infernal instrument! Come out NOW!’

A fire erupted in Angeline; a deep dwelling anger burst out. She was waking up the birds, like her grandfather, with her uncle, who loved her so much. What was wrong in that? She screamed. She screamed and screamed. Her shrieks echoed in the room. It was as though her every limb was on fire and a torturous pain was slowly clogging her brain. She wanted to play the piano. She wanted to wake the birds up. Ghost Uncle Cotard loved her…

***

The sun was out, nice and bright; an excellent Sunday, nice and sunny, and perfect for a cup of tea with some cookies and the newspaper. A man in his mid thirties made his way from the living room to the kitchen, a hot cup of tea in one hand and a newspaper in another. Just when he was about to sit down, the doorbell rang. Irritated, he put down the cup, slammed the newspaper on the table, went back to the living room and opened the door.

‘Urgent mail for Dr. Jules Cotard’ said the fat postman lazily.
‘Who is it?’ asked Dr. Cotard.
‘Not my concern. Sign here’ said the postman and walked away.

Dr. Cotard closed the door and went back to the kitchen. He opened the envelope and took out the letter and began to read; all thoughts about the refreshing hot tea and newspaper out of his mind.

To,
Dr. Jules Cotard
60 Avenue Maine
75014 Paris
France

Monsieur,
His conditions are getting worse. You need to come here immediately. Last night, during his home therapy, I caught him playing the piano in the play room again. He had locked the door from inside and began shouting like mad when I asked him to come out. I had to bring the guards to knock the door down and get him out. He has been quite violent since then and I am scared of going even near him. This is the third time he has crept out of his bed at night and gone to the room where he murdered the girl.

What is more, he isn’t able to recognise even me now. The only person he recognises by name is you, Monsieur. I have him sedated and tied to the bed. Please come as soon as possible.

Yours,
Nurse Danette

 


© Copyright 2018 milano14. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:

More Thrillers Short Stories