Chapter 1 – Chap 1

I retired at the ripe old age of 55.

At the beginning, it was nice. Not having to go to work in the morning, catching up on long lost sleep, but after the first few months, it got rather boring. My wife spent a lot of her time with her friends. My friends were still working, and all three of my children had moved out. Most of my hours were spent watching old television shows and eating junk food. I soon began to realize that I needed to do something more with my life.

That’s when an old passion of mine resurfaced: Piano.

I had fallen in love with it ever since my first lesson when I was six. It had been a little while since I last played, but I found that as soon as my fingers touched the keys of the grand piano in my living room, all of those years of practice came flooding back to me.

That’s why I started having private piano lessons, hosted at my house. I began receiving reservations from parents that knew me, wanting their kids to learn the instrument. After a few months, it branched out beyond that. Soon enough, I had children from all throughout town, most of which I didn’t even know, coming to me to learn how to play the piano.

It’s wonderful, seeing them as they mature in the art. They start off playing a few basic notes and are soon composing and playing complex songs of their own. I love doing this so much that I have been holding piano lessons for the past 18 years. I’m 73 and still going strong, spreading the art of music to children.

Then I met Jeffery.

Jeffery was undoubtedly the strangest student I had ever tutored. Whenever he came to class on Monday afternoon, he forgot his books, he apparently didn’t do his homework assignments, and he didn’t seem to be paying any attention to what I was saying.

But, boy could he play.

After the first six weeks I normally ask my students to play me a short song. He made it seem natural. It was almost hypnotic watching his fingers flow across the keyboard. If you had just listened to him play that song, you would think that it was performed by a grown musician with years of experience, not a child of eleven whose only practice was an hour long lesson every Monday.

After hearing him play that song undisturbed for the first time, I determined to work further on Jeffery, to make him a master at the art, even if he never played again in his life.

I always let his lessons run a little late and began enforcing the necessity of the assignments. For a while, he seemed to be improving.

Until that fateful Monday when he was dropped off for his hour-long tutoring session at 4:00 pm. I knew from the few text messages I’d shared and from Jeffery himself that his dad was the one who dropped him off. I hadn’t really seen his father, as his car windows were heavily tinted.

I let Jeffery in and led him to my living room. He sat down on the bench, and sat down on a chair next to him. We began as normal with a little review, and I started teaching him some new concepts.

Then, he asked me out of the blue, “Mr. West, do you believe in ghosts?”

I was completely taken aback. “Sorry?”

“Do you believe in ghosts?” he asked again.

“Well, um..” I replied. “Not in the typical Hollywood-style ghosts that haunt people just for fun, per se-“

I was interrupted by my wife, Margaret, opening the door and walking into the room. She immediately noticed Jeffery and whispered, “Sorry, you’re in the middle of something,” before walking out.

“Let’s just get back to the lesson, alright?” I said.

Jeffery didn’t respond, just complied and I continued to teach him some new concepts. His father’s car rolled into my driveway at 5:00 sharp, right on queue, and I let him leave. Normally I let his lesson go over 5:00, but today I was tired and just wanted some sleep before my busy day tomorrow. I watched as the boy exited my house and walked over to the car. He opened the backdoor and sat down the backseat before closing it again. The car sped off out of sight.

I stood up slowly and stretched. An hour of sitting in a chair slouched over a piano can really hurt a seventy-year-old man like me. Snap. Crackle. Pop. I headed into the kitchen, where Margaret was cooking supper.

“You know, Jeffery acting kind of strange today,” I said to her. “Asked me if I believe in ghosts.”

“Hmm,” was her response.

“He’s an odd kid, that’s for sure,” I continued. “Odd, but talented.”

“I agree,” Margaret said as she strained the noodles in the sink. “Where does he live?”

“Erm..I think he lives a few neighborhoods away.”

“Mmmm,” was again all that she said.

It soon began to rain, hard. Water fell from the sky in sheets, crashing down upon our house. Lightning lit up the evening sky and thunder shook the ground. After a pleasant dinner of chicken marsala, I settled down in my chair and pulled out a book. I read for maybe half and hour before I fell asleep.

With age, I’ve found that my memory has been fading gradually, but I still remember the dream I had perfectly. I was standing in what looked like a courtroom, and I was guilty. Of what I did not know, but the judge spoke and banged his gavel several times. His voice was incomprehensible, but I took it to mean, “Order in the court!”

The judge then pointed his gavel at me and spoke again. Again. Gibberish. I responded with more babbling. What looked to be my lawyer stood and began making a speech. After a little while, he sat down and the jury left the room. All was silent.

All of the sudden, there was a loud rumble, and the ceiling began to collapse. Everybody in the court scattered in a frenzy as something enormous stepped into the wreckage. My view was blocked by the swarm of panicked people.

I was shoved along by the crowd and nearly trampled. I remember feeling trapped and suffocated as my vision began to go black I let out a scream as I was forcefully ripped back into the realm of consciousness.

I was breathing heavily. What was that all about. I realized I’d fallen asleep in my chair, and checked my watch in the light of the lamp that I’d left on. 1:15 am. I made a weak attempt at standing up, but failed. I eventually just turned off my light and sunk back in my chair.

I had almost drifted back into sleep, when-

Knock. Knock. Knock.

What on earth was that?

I stood up and stumbled over to my front door. “Whose there?”

I heard a feeble response from the other side of the door, but it was drowned out by the wind and rain. I looked through the peephole and saw…Jeffery. I was confused. What was he doing here?

I took a chance and swung open the door. There, looking absolutely miserable, was Jeffery. He was drenched from head to toe. He shivered and nearly collapsed.

“Why are you here? What’s wrong? Where are your parents?” I asked.

All he was able to respond was, “Weak..feel weak.”

I led him inside and wrapped him in a blanket. He immediately passed out on the couch. I checked his pulse. He’s still alive. I’m planning on getting some answers when he wakes up.

I’m not sure what’s going on, between his strange question and his arriving at my house, but I want answers. This might be the only way I can get them.