13 - Piano Lessons Can Be Murder (8 page)

Should I go down there? I asked myself.

Will the ghost disappear the minute I poke my head into the family room?

Do I really want to see her?

I didn’t want to see that hideous, grinning skull again.

But I realized I couldn’t just stand there in the doorway. I couldn’t go back
to bed. I couldn’t ignore it.

I
had
to go investigate.

I was pulled downstairs, as if tugged by an invisible rope.

Maybe this time Mom and Dad will hear her, too, I thought as I made my way
along the hallway. Maybe they will see her, too. Maybe they will finally believe
me.

Kim flashed into my mind as I started down the creaking stairs. She thought
I was making up a ghost story. She thought I was trying to be funny.

But there really was a ghost in my house, a ghost playing my piano. And I was
the only one who knew it.

Into the living room. Across the worn carpet to the dining room.

The music floated so gently, so quietly.

Such ghostly music, I thought….

I hesitated just short of the family room doorway. Would she vanish the
instant I peeked in?

Was she
waiting
for me?

Taking a deep breath, I took a step into the family room.

She had her head down, her long hair falling over her face.

I couldn’t see her eyes.

The piano music seemed to swirl around me, pulling me closer despite my fear.

My legs were trembling, but I took a step closer. Then another.

She was all gray. Shades of gray against the blackness of the night sky
through the windows.

Her head bobbed and swayed in rhythm with the music. The sleeves of her
blouse billowed as her arms moved over the keys.

I couldn’t see her eyes. I couldn’t see her face. Her long hair covered her,
as if hiding her behind a curtain.

The music soared, so sad, so incredibly sad.

I took a step closer. I suddenly realized I had forgotten to breathe. I let
my breath out in a loud
whoosh.

She stopped playing. Maybe the sound of my breathing alerted her that I was
there.

As she raised her head, I could see her pale eyes peering out at me through
her hair.

I didn’t move.

I didn’t breathe.

I didn’t make a sound.

“The stories are true,” she whispered. A dry whisper that seemed to come from
far away.

I wasn’t sure I had heard her correctly. I tried to say something, but my
voice caught in my throat.

No sound came out at all.

“The stories are true,” she repeated. Her voice was only air, a hiss of air.

I goggled at her.

“Wh-what stories?” I finally managed to choke out.

“The stories about the school,” she answered, her hair falling over her face.
Then she started to raise her arms off the piano keys.
“They’re true,”
she moaned.
“The stories are true.”

She held her arms up to me.

Gaping at them in horror, I cried out—then started to gag.

Her arms ended in stumps. She had no hands.

The next thing I knew, my mom was wrapping her arms around me. “Jerry, calm
down. Jerry, it’s okay. It’s okay,” she kept repeating.

“Huh? Mom?”

I was gasping for breath. My chest was heaving up and down. My legs were all
wobbly.

“Mom? Where—? How—?”

I looked up to see my dad standing a few feet away, squinting at me through
his glasses, his arms crossed in front of his bathrobe. “Jerry, you were
screaming loud enough to wake the entire town!”

I stared at him in disbelief. I hadn’t even realized I was screaming.

“It’s okay now,” Mom said soothingly. “It’s okay, Jerry. You’re okay now.”

I’m okay?

Again, I pictured the ghost woman, all in gray, her hair falling down,
forming a curtain over her face. Again, I saw her raise her arms to show me. Again, I saw the horrible
stumps where her hands should have been.

And again, I heard her dry whisper,
“The stories are true.”

Why didn’t she have any hands? Why?

How did she play the piano without hands?

Why was she haunting my piano? Why did she want to terrify me?

The questions circled my brain so fast, I wanted to scream and scream and
scream. But I was all screamed out.

“Your mom and I were both sound asleep. You scared us to death,” Dad said. “I
never heard wails like that.”

I didn’t remember screaming. I didn’t remember the ghost disappearing, or Mom
and Dad rushing in.

It was too horrifying. I guess my mind just shut off.

“I’ll make you some hot chocolate,” Mom said, still holding me tight. “Try to
stop trembling.”

“I—I’m trying,” I stammered.

“Guess it was another nightmare,” I heard Dad tell Mom. “Must have been a
vivid one.”

“It wasn’t a nightmare!” I shrieked.

“Sorry,” Dad said quickly. He didn’t want to get me started again.

But it was too late. Before I even realized it was happening, I started to scream. “I don’t want to play the piano! Get it
out of here! Get it out!”

“Jerry, please—” Mom pleaded, her face tight with alarm.

But I couldn’t stop. “I don’t want to play! I don’t want lessons! I won’t go
to that piano school! I won’t, I
won’t
!”

“Okay, okay!” Dad cried, shouting to be heard over my desperate wails. “Okay,
Jerry. No one is going to force you.”

“Huh?” I gazed from one parent to the other, trying to see if they were
serious.

“If you don’t want piano lessons, you don’t have to take them,” Mom said,
keeping her voice in a low, soothing tone. “You’re only signed up for one more
anyway.”

“Yeah,” Dad quickly joined in. “When you go to the school on Friday, just
tell Dr. Shreek that it’s your last lesson.”

“But I don’t want—” I started.

Mom put a gentle hand over my mouth. “You have to tell Dr. Shreek, Jerry. You
can’t just quit.”

“Tell him on Friday,” Dad urged. “You don’t have to play the piano if you
don’t want to. Really.”

Mom’s eyes searched mine. “Does that make you feel better, Jerry?”

I glanced at the piano, now silent, shimmering dully in the dim light from overhead. “Yeah. I guess,” I muttered
uncertainly. “I guess it does.”

Friday afternoon after school, a gray, blustery day with dark snowclouds
hovering low overhead, Mom drove me to the piano school. She pulled into the
long driveway between the tall hedges and stopped in front of the entrance to
the dark, old building.

I hesitated. “Couldn’t I just run in and tell Dr. Shreek that I quit, then
run right back out?”

Mom glanced at the clock on the dashboard. “Take one more lesson, Jerry. It
won’t hurt. We’ve already paid for it.”

I sighed unhappily. “Will you come in with me? Or can you wait out here for
me?”

Mom frowned. “Jerry, I’ve got three stops to make. I’ll be back in an hour, I
promise.”

Reluctantly, I pushed open the car door. “Bye, Mom.”

“If Dr. Shreek asks why you’re quitting, just tell him it was interfering
with your schoolwork.”

“Okay. See you in an hour,” I said. I slammed the car door, then watched as
she drove away, the tires crunching over the gravel drive.

I turned and trudged into the school building.

My sneakers thudded loudly as I made my way through the dark halls to Dr.
Shreek’s room. I looked for Mr. Toggle, but didn’t see him. Maybe he was in his enormous workshop inventing more amazing things.

The usual roar of piano notes poured from the practice rooms as I passed by
them. Through the small, round windows I could see smiling instructors, their
hands waving, keeping the beat, their heads swaying to their students’ playing.

As I turned a corner and headed down another long, dark corridor, a strange
thought popped into my head. I suddenly realized that I had never seen another
student in the halls.

I had seen instructors through the windows of the rooms. And I had heard the
noise of their students’ playing. But I had never seen another student.

Not one.

I didn’t have long to think about it. A smiling Dr. Shreek greeted me outside
the door to our practice room. “How are you today, Jerry?”

“Okay,” I replied, following him into the room.

He wore baggy gray pants held up with bright red suspenders over a rumpled
white shirt. His white hair looked as if it hadn’t been brushed in a few days.
He motioned for me to take my place on the piano bench.

I sat down quickly, folding my hands tensely in my lap. I wanted to get my
speech over with quickly before we began the lesson. “Uh… Dr. Shreek?”

He walked stiffly across the small room until he was standing right in front
of me. “Yes, my boy?” he beamed down at me, his Santa Claus cheeks bright pink.

“Well… I… this will be my last lesson,” I choked out. “I’ve decided
I… uh… have to quit.”

His smile vanished. He grabbed my wrist. “Oh, no,” he said, lowering his
voice to a growl. “No. You’re not leaving, Jerry.”

“Huh?” I cried.

He tightened his grip on my wrist. He was really hurting me.

“Quitting?” he exclaimed. “Not with those hands.” His face twisted into an
ugly snarl. “You can’t quit, Jerry. I need those beautiful hands.”

“Let go!” I screamed.

He ignored me and tightened his grip, his eyes narrowing menacingly. “Such
excellent hands,” he muttered. “Excellent.”

“No!”

With a shrill cry, I jerked my wrist free. I leapt up from the piano bench
and began running to the door.

“Come back, Jerry!” Dr. Shreek called angrily. “You cannot get away!”

He started after me, moving stiffly but steadily, taking long strides.

I pushed open the door and darted out into the hall. The banging of piano
music greeted my ears. The long, dark hall was empty as always.

“Come back, Jerry!” Dr. Shreek called from right behind me.

“No!” I cried out again. I hesitated, trying to decide which way to go, which
way led to the front door. Then I lowered my head and started to run.

My sneakers thudded over the hard floor. I ran as fast as I could, faster
than I’d ever run in my life. The practice rooms whirred past in a dark blur.

But to my surprise, Dr. Shreek kept right behind me. “Come back, Jerry,” he
called, not even sounding out of breath. “Come back. You cannot get away from
me.”

Glancing back, I saw that he was gaining on me.

I could feel the panic rise to my throat, choking off my air. My legs ached.
My heart pounded so hard, it felt as if my chest were about to burst.

I turned a corner and ran down another long hall.

Where was I? Was I heading toward the front door?

I couldn’t tell. This dark hallway looked like all the others.

Maybe Dr. Shreek is right. Maybe I
can’t
get away, I thought, feeling
the blood throb at my temples as I turned another corner.

I searched for Mr. Toggle. Perhaps he could save me. But the halls were
empty. Piano music poured out of every room, but no one was out in the hall.

“Come back, Jerry! There’s no use running!”

“Mr. Toggle!” I screamed, my voice hoarse and breathless. “Mr. Toggle—help me! Help me, please!”

I turned another corner, my sneakers sliding on the smoothly polished floor.
I was gasping for breath now, my chest heaving.

I saw double doors up ahead. Did they lead to the front?

I couldn’t remember.

With a low moan, I stuck out both hands and pushed open the doors.

“No!” I heard Dr. Shreek shout behind me. “No, Jerry! Don’t go into the
recital hall!”

Too late.

I pushed through the doors and bolted inside. Still running, I found myself
in an enormous, brightly lit room.

I took a few more steps—then stopped in horror.

The piano music was deafening—like a never-ending roar of thunder.

At first, the room was a blur. Then it slowly began to come into focus.

I saw row after row of black pianos. Beside each piano stood a smiling
instructor. The instructors all looked alike. They all were bobbing their heads
in time to the music.

The music was being played by—

It was being played by—

I gasped, staring from row to row.

The music was being played by—
HANDS!

Human hands floating over the keyboards.

No people attached.

Just
HANDS!

My eyes darted down the rows of pianos. A pair of hands floated above each
piano.

The instructors were all bald-headed men in gray suits with smiles plastered
on their faces. Their heads bobbed and swayed, their gray eyes opened and closed
as the hands played over the keyboards.

Hands.

Just hands.

As I gaped, paralyzed, trying to make sense of what I saw, Dr. Shreek burst
into the room from behind me. He made a running dive at my legs, trying to
tackle me.

Somehow I dodged away from his outstretched hands.

He groaned and hit the floor on his stomach. I watched him slide across the
smooth floor, his face red with anger.

Then I spun around, away from the dozens of hands, away from the banging pianos, and started back toward the doors.

But Dr. Shreek was faster than I imagined. To my surprise, he was on his feet
in a second, moving quickly to block my escape.

I skidded to a stop.

I tried to turn around, to get away from him. But I lost my balance and fell.

The piano music swirled around me. I looked up to see the rows of hands
pounding away on their keyboards.

With a frightened gasp, I struggled to my feet.

Too late.

Dr. Shreek was closing in on me, a gleeful smile of triumph on his red, round
face.