Curtain Fall

Thick, velvet curtains towered above Valorie. Her soft black shoes clapped quietly against the floor as she crossed the stage, heading to her place. In the center of the stage, a grand, gleaming black piano waited for her. Above the piano hung a spotlight, which glowed like a single eye over the Valorie’s bench.

Following her lead, a handful of other musicians filed onstage and surrounded her. Their attire was quite handsome— all of the same smooth, dark cloth. All came to stand proudly beside their own shining instruments. Some of the members of the orchestra stood nobly behind their sleek, massive cellos, while others set their nimble little violins against their chests. A few cradled their glittering trumpets and flutes, while others sat with all the elegance of royalty before their harps. Upon reaching their places, the lights relaxed and grew dim.  

The conductor walked out on stage, and stood before his musicians, a wand in his palm and a music stand and before him. His pepper gray beard was neatly trimmed, and his crisp tie rested against his chest. 

He waited a moment, waited for the effect of silence to take hold of the audience— and then, with a sudden, almost forceful burst of energy, he tossed his arms out and began sweeping his wand before him, harmonizing with the orchestra. The players of the instruments were all focused on him, and they commanded their instruments according to his rhythmic gestures.

As was her custom, Valorie played her piano. But while she played, she noticed that something was horribly wrong. For the first time in her life, Valorie felt no joy in playing. No, none at all. In fact, Valorie felt utter terror. 

Her thin, long fingers grew stiff and weak. Sweat snuck through her hairline, and leaked down her back in little rivulets. Her eyes stung, but she didn't dare blink for fear that the closing of eyelids would summon tears, and tears would blur the view of the music she so desperately needed before her. So biting her lip, Valerie played on, because playing on was all she knew  how to do.

 It really is quite sad, what happened to little Valorie that night. The legend says the monsters got her. The poor thing, she had a good reason to be frightened up there at her piano. But the saddest part of the story is the fact that it could have been avoided, and that Valorie herself knew how to avoid it. Yet, for reasons you will soon understand, dearest reader, Valorie willingly chose to sit like a coward at her piano. 

Before you can begin to understand why Valorie remained on that stage, you must understand how important a piano is for a player. Imagine the relationship between a shepherd and his favorite lamb. It is something like that, at least, in terms of affection.

It all started on her fifth birthday, when Valarie’s parents placed her in front of a piano. They set her soft, round little hands atop the ivory keys, placed papers written in another language before her wide, hazel eyes, and finally, they hired a piano master to sit on the bench beside her. 

Unknown to Valerie’s dear parents, they could have— perhaps should have— placed any musical instrument in the care of their daughter, and she would have fallen in love with it wholeheartedly. Valerie could have been given the flute or the trumpet, the harp or the violin or the cello— and she would have grown to be a master of that music. However, by circumstances that were out of her control— yes, an act of destiny, if you will— Valerie was given a piano.

Valorie adored her piano. Her pale hands had grown long and elegant from their wonderful work, and they would dance across the surface of the keys, both dance to the music with precision harmony, and simultaneously command it, spinning notes into a single song. It was almost spiritual to watch her play. When Valorie was at her piano, truly connected with her music, any listener could tell. 

For Valorie, music wasn’t something she had to learn. It was something already rooted deep inside her. The piano was Valorie’s safe haven, a place she could always return after the passing of a storm. Time spent on the instrument was hardly practice— in fact, for Valorie, it was the essence of life itself.

But even for people who hold magic in their palms, there is no escape from the problems of the world. And Valorie had a few horrible, horrible problems. She called them her monsters— and rightly so, for they were very monstrous indeed.

They were big creatures with huge round heads. They wore wide, greedy smiles that suggested they were wonderfully pleased with something— something you’d find out about later. They had two tiny, wicked eyes. Their massive heads were crowned with thick, ox-like horns, and their bodies were lithe and dragon-like. When they attacked, they smiled with those wide, happy mouths, and grew ten times their height. Then they would part their jaws, and reveal rows of long, thin teeth and wet, eager tongues. Sometimes, there was nothing Valorie could do to escape her monsters. Sometimes, her monsters got her.

 They came often in her dreams, snarling and chasing, hungry and desperate for the fresh, warm blood of a little child. They hid in her closet, and under her bed when she was small. 

Then as she got older, the monsters moved into her mind. Valorie started to notice them there shortly after the crash— the crash that took her parents away, but left Valerie and her monsters alive. 

The monsters were everywhere then— in the shine of headlights at night, in the touch of soft fabric, and in the smell of rubber medical tubes. They spread out, hiding in the shadows of her house, and whispering dark things anytime Valerie was alone. 

For a long time after the crash, Valerie did not know her monsters were there. She felt something different of course, she felt as if something new and heavy had been added to her mind, but she simultaneously felt as if a large part of what once was her— had died. She was both frustratingly empty, yet too heavily weighed down. The monsters were clever like that— they changed and twisted her slowly, conditioning her so as to conceal their presence.

They worked carefully over many years, patiently robbing Valerie of her friends, her food, and her sleep. 

But for some reason, the monsters could not go wherever there was a piano. So it was only by playing her music could Valerie escape her monsters. Even still, one cannot hide from monsters forever. Sooner or later, they must be faced.

Now as I was saying before, anyone who watched the girl pianist, or heard the songs of her fingers, was moved greatly and deeply. So when Valorie’s master sat at her bench one day, instructing her pale pupil (though she had very little to pass on), she noticed something was different. She noticed not in the flaws of Valorie's music, for there weren't any— but rather, she noticed that the same awesome magnificence that drew crowds to Valorie’s concerts was missing. Valerie’s song sounded like any other piece of music. 

So after a while, as Valorie sat there, focused entirely on the sequences of the piece, numbly playing one chord after another, her master intervened.

“Valerie, dear—”

The dear, quite frightened, ignored her master, and continued to play. Patiently, Valorie’s master laid a hand across Valorie's forearm. At her touch, the music bled out, and there was silence.

“Is everything alright, dear? she asked tenderly. “You seem off. More than usual.” Valorie avoided her master’s gaze.

“Everything is fine,” she said, because that was what the monsters had told her to say. 

Telling them will fix nothing. Came the voices, an ooze that leaked into her ears and plugged up her head. They will just think you're after their attention. Don't you get enough attention, you stupid child, while you're up at the piano?

“I’m just tired,” Valorie continued. That was true. But it was a different kind of tired. It was a tired that kept her awake all night long, but made it impossible to focus on anything throughout the day. It was tiredness that made it too difficult for Valorie to brush her hair, or lift a spoon of food to her lips. But this was also a ridiculous tiredness, a tiredness she should not feel, so Valorie did not elaborate. 

The master pianist, bearing a past with monsters of her own, knew that what the child said was coated in much more than she could be expected to explain. So with a soft sigh, the master pianist rose from the bench with a creek, and from one of the excellent, caramel colored wooden shelves that decorated Valorie's personal guest room, (where she played for important guests who came to visit) her master summoned a little book.

Turning to a page near the end of the book, her master began to read out loud:

How do you quiet the monsters, 

That live inside your mind?

The ones that screech and scratch and scream, 

So angry, raw and blind?

Or how do you kill those voices—

The ones that rot inside your head?

Who tighten, tangle and twist your thoughts,

But never go to bed?

How do you heal those beasts,

That creep and crush and curse?

I’ll tell you how to soothe them—

Just let them do their worst!

Yes! kneel before those monsters,

Let them rip and rage and riot!

It takes a different kind of courage;

To teach Mind Monsters to be quiet.

“Do you understand what that means, dear? Her master asked, looking up from the page.

I understand, Valorie thought. But the author is wrong. Valorie however, said nothing, preferring to remain in silence. 

“It means that when things inside your head start to affect your life, you need to take care of it. It’s a different kind of illness, but it requires treatment nonetheless,” her master explained gently.

I can’t be treated. Valorie thought. The monsters have killed the healthy part of me. This is all that’s left.

“I don't think you can treat something like that,” Valorie responded with a sigh. “The monsters in those poems are not some new illness— they are actually a part of who the host is.” 

“Perhaps,” responded her master as she snapped the book closed and reshelved it. “But the poem is right. If you want to heal those monsters, the only way to do it is to face them. You must let them tear you apart, until there is nothing left of you but a broken ball of misery. Then you must pick yourself up, and let them shred you up all over again. 

The master shook her head and frowned. .

“It’s not a pleasant process, Valorie. It is one of the hardest things you will have to do. But I’ll tell you a little secret. For all the horrible power Mind Monsters  have, they have one great weakness— Mind monsters get bored. If you face the monsters, and keep picking yourself up after they have destroyed you— they will learn that Valerie is no fun to torment, and I perhaps, they will go away.”

But as the piano master said this, the monsters snuck in. 

Yes, let us have you, stupid girl. Let us show you how weak, and thin and stupid and ugly you really are. What a coward, you can’t possibly face us, there is no way to kill us, we are a part of you now. And you can't ask anyone for help, they will think you are lying, manipulative, dramatic…. And on and on like that, the monsters continued to rage. So Valorie did nothing to face her monsters.

…

It is to be expected, of course, that a girl of Valerie's talent and skill would often be expected to perform regularly. Such was the case that late April afternoon, where we left our little Valorie, frightened up there at her piano. It had been a particularly dark day, which was one of the reasons Valorie was so distressed at her piano. The monsters had been a little harsher than normal, so the event that would later take place on the stage of Rosen Hall was not really a surprise. It might have even been overlooked, and ignored, and everything might have returned to normal. But alas, it was not to be. While in the middle of her piece– a piece that by now, Valorie had memorized, one she indeed loved more than nearly any other piece, Valorie slipped. 

It was just one little slip. One note out of place, the timing just a hair off. 

This was nothing unusual, even the best pianists slip from time to time. They slip in practice, and they slip mid performance. Pianists even slip in such a place as Rosen Hall, the finest theater in the country— no big deal.  Even Valorie was not exempt from this particular—though rare— occurrence. 

But this time— something was different. The voices of the monsters had found a way in.

You're pathetic. Look at all the time your parents put into you, and you can't even hit the keys correctly. Middle school pianists could do this, why can’t you? I’ll tell you why, it’s because I’m here. And I will never, ever leave. No, not ever, my little Valerie. 

At long last, the monsters had found a way into Valorie’s music. The one good place in the whole world— was gone. And every missed note became another wicked cackle in her head, another reminder of what a failure she was.

The harder she tried to not fail again, the more strain and pressure she felt, and  the stiffer her hands got. Slow, and sloppy, she hesitated, her timing sloped, and she missed another note. Three, then four, on and on she fought that piece, but to no avail. Valorie was losing.

And that's when she actually saw the monster. She felt it suddenly appear right behind her, but as if it had always been there. It didn't move, it just grinned evilly at her, and watched as she tripped and tumbled through the rest of the once-perfect piece. 

There’s no way to end this. Valorie thought, suddenly tired. There’s no way to escape them. Every minute of every day, all I feel is their claws. And I can't hide from them anymore. I can't run anymore. Am I to live this way for the rest of my life, terrified of what no one else can see? Of what everyone will tell me is not really there? 

“If it’s all in your head, just ignore it,” they will say.

But how can you ignore these? She wondered as she looked up at the great, smiling, hungry beast that loomed over her. 

The song was reaching its end, and Valerie tripped all the more. The monster suddenly seemed to grow, as tall as the stage. But even with its massive form, the creature didn't block out the harsh stage lights above her. The shadows didn't vanish, nor did the focused, politely disappointed audience. The shadows stayed as black and sharp beneath her as ever. Valorie continued to play, even as she felt the great, smiling beast part its glittering jaws. 

Teeth, long and thin, slid and clicked  as they passed over each other. Valorie felt the beast position its head right above her, her own head at the center of the monster's bite. She felt the monster's hot, greasy tongue slide over her neck, relishing the taste of her terror. Valorie slammed the last notes together, and finished her piece, just as she felt a wave of the monster’s rotting breath roll over her, and felt the nip of thin teeth brush her skin.

And as she sat at her piano, her final song fading out, she had a single, horrible thought.

If there is no way to live without the monsters, then perhaps— perhaps I would rather not live at all.

To a polite but contained applause, Valorie stood, along with the other musicians. Valorie felt nothing, she no longer feared her monsters. She knew what to do. 

Later that night, Valorie found a way to beat the voices. But in reality, it was the monsters who found a way to beat her. Long after the red roses had been swept from the stage floor, and the crowd had vanished, Valerie returned to the stage. With the jerk of a rope and the swish of heavy, velvet fabric, the curtains fell on Valerie's monsters.