13 - Piano Lessons Can Be Murder (2 page)

And jumped up.

The piano bench was warm! As if someone had just been sitting on it!

“Whoa!” I cried aloud, staring at the shiny, black bench.

I reached down and felt it. It was definitely warm.

But I reminded myself the whole attic was really warm, much warmer than the
rest of the house. The heat seemed to float up here and stay.

I sat back down and waited for my racing heart to return to normal.

What’s going on here?
I asked myself, turning to stare at the piano. The
black wood was polished so well, I could see the reflection of my face staring
back at me.

My reflection looked pretty scared.

I lowered my eyes to the keyboard and then hit a few soft notes.

Someone had been playing this piano a few moments ago, I knew.

But how could they have vanished into thin air without me seeing them?

I plunked another note, then another. The sound echoed through the long, empty room.

Then I heard a loud creak. From the bottom of the stairs.

I froze, my hand still on the piano keys.

Another creak. A footstep.

I stood up, surprised to find my legs all trembly.

I listened. I listened so hard, I could hear the air move.

Another footstep. Louder. Closer.

Someone was on the stairs. Someone was climbing to the attic.

Someone was coming for me.

Creak. Creak.

The stairs gave way beneath heavy footsteps.

My breath caught in my throat. I felt as if I would suffocate.

Frozen in front of the piano, I searched for a place to hide. But of course
there wasn’t any.

Creak. Creak.

And then, as I stared in terror, a head poked up above the stairwell.

“Dad!” I cried.

“Jerry, what on earth are you doing up here?” He stepped into the pale yellow
light. His thinning brown hair was standing up all over his head. His pajama
pants were twisted. One leg had rolled up to the knee. He squinted at me. He
didn’t have his glasses on.

“Dad—I—I thought—” I sputtered. I knew I sounded like a complete jerk.
But give me a break—I was
scared
!

“Do you know what time it is?” Dad demanded angrily. He glanced down at his
wrist, but he wasn’t wearing his watch. “It’s the middle of the night, Jerry!”

“I—I know, Dad,” I said, starting to feel a little better. I walked over to
him. “I heard piano music, see. And so I thought—”

“You
what
?” His dark eyes grew wide: His mouth dropped open. “You
heard
what
?”

“Piano music,” I repeated. “Up here. So I came upstairs to check it out, and—”

“Jerry!” Dad exploded. His face got really red. “It’s too late for your dumb
jokes!”

“But, Dad—” I started to protest.

“Your mother and I killed ourselves unpacking and moving furniture all day,”
Dad said, sighing wearily. “We’re both exhausted, Jerry. I shouldn’t have to
tell you that I’m in no mood for jokes. I have to go to work tomorrow morning. I
need some sleep.”

“Sorry, Dad,” I said quietly. I could see there was no way I was going to get
him to believe me about the piano music.

“I know you’re excited about being in a new house,” Dad said, putting a hand
on the shoulder of my pajama shirt. “But, come on. Back to your room. You need
your sleep, too.”

I glanced back at the piano. It glimmered darkly in the pale yellow light. As if it were breathing. As if it were alive.

I pictured it rumbling toward me, chasing me to the stairs.

Crazy, weird thoughts. I guess I was more tired than I thought!

“Would you like to learn to play it?” Dad asked suddenly.

“Huh?” His question caught me by surprise.

“Would you like to take piano lessons? We could have the piano brought
downstairs. There’s room for it in the family room.”

“Well… maybe,” I replied. “Yeah. That might be neat.”

He took his hand from my shoulder. Then he straightened his pajama bottoms
and started down the stairs. “I’ll discuss it with your mother,” he said. “I’m
sure she’ll be pleased. She always wanted someone to be musical in the family.
Pull the light chain, okay?”

Obediently, I reached up and clicked off the light. The sudden darkness was
so black, it startled me. I stayed close behind my dad as we made our way down
the creaking stairs.

Back in my bed, I pulled the covers up to my chin. It was kind of cold in my
room. Outside, the winter wind gusted hard. The bedroom window rattled and
shook, as if it were shivering.

Piano lessons might be fun, I thought. If they let me learn to play rock
piano, not that drippy, boring classical stuff.

After a few lessons, maybe I could get a synthesizer. Get two or three
different keyboards. Hook them up to a computer.

Then I could do some composing. Maybe get a group together.

Yeah. It could be really excellent.

I closed my eyes.

The window rattled again. The old house seemed to groan.

I’ll get used to these noises, I told myself. I’ll get used to this old
house. After a few nights, I won’t even hear the noises.

I had just about drifted off to sleep when I heard the soft, sad piano music
begin again.

Monday morning, I woke up very early. My cat clock with the moving tail and
eyes wasn’t unpacked yet. But I could tell it was early by the pale gray light
coming through my bedroom window.

I got dressed quickly, pulling on a clean pair of faded jeans and a dark
green pullover shirt that wasn’t too wrinkled. It was my first day at my new
school, so I was pretty excited.

I spent more time on my hair than I usually do. My hair is brown and thick
and wiry, and it takes me a long time to slick it down and make it lie flat the
way I like it.

When I finally got it right, I made my way down the hall to the front stairs.
The house was still silent and dark.

I stopped outside the attic door. It was wide open.

Hadn’t I closed it when I’d come downstairs with my dad?

Yes. I remembered shutting it tight. And now, here it was, wide open.

I felt a cold chill on the back on my neck. I closed the door, listening for
the click.

Jerry, take it easy, I warned myself. Maybe the latch is loose. Maybe the
attic door always swings open. It’s an old house, remember?

I’d been thinking about the piano music. Maybe it was the wind blowing
through the piano strings, I told myself.

Maybe there was a hole or something in the attic window. And the wind blew in
and made it sound as if the piano were playing.

I wanted to believe it had been the wind that made that slow, sad music. I
wanted to believe it, so I did.

I checked the attic door one more time, making sure it was latched, then
headed down to the kitchen.

Mom and Dad were still in their room. I could hear them getting dressed.

The kitchen was dark and a little cold. I wanted to turn up the furnace, but
I didn’t know where the thermostat was.

Not all of our kitchen stuff had been unpacked. Cartons were still stacked
against the wall, filled with glasses and plates and stuff.

I heard someone coming down the hall.

A big, empty carton beside the refrigerator gave me an idea. Snickering to
myself, I jumped inside it and pulled the lid over me.

I held my breath and waited.

Footsteps in the kitchen. I couldn’t tell if it was Mom or Dad.

My heart was pounding. I continued to hold my breath. If I didn’t, I knew I
would burst out laughing.

The footsteps went right past my carton to the sink. I heard water running.
Whoever it was filled the kettle.

Footsteps to the stove.

I couldn’t wait anymore.

“SURPRISE!”
I screamed and jumped to my feet in the carton.

Dad let out a startled shriek and dropped the kettle. It landed on his foot
with a
thud,
then tilted onto its side on the floor.

Water puddled around Dad’s feet. The kettle rolled toward the stove. Dad was
howling and holding his injured foot and hopping up and down.

I was laughing like a maniac! You should’ve seen the look on Dad’s face when
I jumped up from the carton. I really thought he was going to drop his teeth!

Mom came bursting into the room, still buttoning her sleeve cuffs. “What’s going on in here?” she cried.

“Just Jerry and his stupid jokes,” Dad grumbled.

“Jerome!” Mom shouted, seeing all the spilled water on the linoleum. “Give us
a break.”

“Just trying to help wake you up,” I said, grinning. They complain a lot, but
they’re used to my twisted sense of humor.

I heard the piano music again that night.

It was definitely not the wind. I recognized the same sad melody.

I listened for a few moments. It came from right above my room.

Who’s up there? Who can be playing? I asked myself.

I started to climb out of bed and investigate. But it was cold in my room,
and I was really tired from my first day at the new school.

So I pulled the covers over my head to drown out the piano music, and quickly
fell asleep.

“Did you hear the piano music last night?” I asked my mom.

“Eat your cornflakes,” she replied. She tightened the belt of her bathrobe
and leaned toward me over the kitchen table.

“How come I have to have cornflakes?” I grumbled, mushing the spoon around in the bowl.

“You know the rules,” she said, frowning. “Junk cereal only on weekends.”

“Stupid rule,” I muttered. “I think cornflakes is a junk cereal.”

“Don’t give me a hard time,” Mom complained, rubbing her temples. “I have a
headache this morning.”

“From the piano playing last night?” I asked.

“What piano playing?” she demanded irritably. “Why do you keep talking about
piano playing?”

“Didn’t you hear it? The piano in the attic? Someone was playing it last
night.”

She jumped to her feet. “Oh, Jerry, please. No jokes this morning, okay? I
told you I have a headache.”

“Did I hear you talking about the piano?” Dad came into the kitchen, carrying
the morning newspaper. “The guys are coming this afternoon to carry it down to
the family room.” He smiled at me. “Limber up those fingers, Jerry.”

Mom had walked over to the counter to pour herself a cup of coffee. “Are you
really interested in this piano?” she demanded, eyeing me skeptically. “Are you
really going to practice and work at it?”

“Of course,” I replied. “Maybe.”

* * *

The two piano movers were there when I got home from school. They weren’t
very big, but they were strong.

I went up to the attic and watched them while Mom pulled cartons out of the
family room to make a place for it.

The two men used ropes and a special kind of dolly. They tilted the piano
onto its side, then hoisted it onto the dolly.

Lowering it down the narrow staircase was really hard. It bumped against the
wall several times, even though they moved slowly and carefully.

Both movers were really red-faced and sweaty by the time they got the piano
downstairs. I followed them as they rolled it across the living room, then
through the dining room.

Mom came out of the kitchen, her hands jammed into her jeans pockets, and
watched from the doorway as they rolled the dolly with the piano into the family
room.

The men strained to tilt it right side up. The black, polished wood really
glowed in the bright afternoon sunlight through the family room windows.

Then, as they started to lower the piano to the floor, Mom opened her mouth
and started to scream.

“The cat! The cat!” Mom shrieked, her face all twisted in alarm.

Sure enough, Bonkers was standing right in the spot where they were lowering
the piano.

The piano thudded heavily to the floor. Bonkers ran out from under it just in
time.

Too bad!
I thought, shaking my head. That dumb cat almost got what it
deserved.

The men were apologizing as they tried to catch their breath, mopping their
foreheads with their red-and-white bandannas.

Mom ran to Bonkers and picked her up. “My poor little kitty.”

Of course Bonkers swiped at Mom’s arm, her claws tearing out several threads
in the sweater sleeve. Mom dropped her to the floor, and the creature slithered
quickly out of the room.

“She’s a little freaked out being in a new house,” Mom told the two workers.

“She
always
acts like that,” I told them.

A few minutes later, the movers were gone. Mom was in her room, trying to fix
her sweater. And I was alone in the family room with my piano.

I sat on the bench and slid back and forth on it. The bench was polished and
smooth. It was real slippery.

I planned a really funny comedy act where I sit down to play the piano for
Mom and Dad, only the bench is so slippery, I keep sliding right onto the floor.

I practiced sliding and falling for a while. I was having fun.

Falling is one of my hobbies. It isn’t as easy as it looks.

After a while, I got tired of falling. I just sat on the bench and stared at
the keys. I tried picking out a song, hitting notes until I found the right
ones.

I started to get excited about learning to play the piano.

I imagined it was going to be fun.

I was wrong. Very wrong.

Saturday afternoon, I stood staring out the living room window. It was a
blustery, gray day. It looked like it was about to snow.

I saw the piano teacher walking up the driveway. He was right on time. Two
o’clock.

Pressing my face against the window, I could see that he was big, kind of
fat. He wore a long, puffy red coat and he had bushy white hair. From this
distance, he sort of looked like Santa Claus.