The violin

The Violin

Tristan brought the violin up to his shoulder, resting his chin on the familiar rest

and closed his eyes. Very slowly he drew his bow across the strings and a slow and haunting

melody came forth from the instrument. It continued through the night, the same sad song, a

tragic melody which could make one's chest tighten and tears form in their eyes.

Suddenly the music came to a stop. The sun was rising. Moving over to the window,

Tristan tucked his violin under his arm and pressed one hand to the glass as he watched the sun

begin to rise over the horizon. With a silent sigh, Tristan let his hand drop back to his side. When

the sun came through the window he was gone, as though he had never been there.

Almost three years ago, there was a fire just outside of town. Someone had set fire to a

house out there. The owner had been trapped inside. He had been a music teacher. He was in

his late twenties and was very shy. The police had their suspicions about why the fire had been

set. They believed it may have had something to do with one of his students. But that was as far

as they ever went with the investigation.

After the investigation went cold, they packed up what was left of his possessions and

donated the items to various places around town, such as a second-hand store. One of these

items was a beautiful cherry wood violin, his prized possession. It had been slightly damaged on

one side. Scorched by the fire, but it still made an incredibly beautiful sound. Many times it had

been sold, and many times it had been brought back or given away, only days after it had been

bought. Some people were beginning to say it was cursed, but no matter how much any of them

wanted to, they just couldn't bring themselves to destroy it, fearful of angering the spirit they

suspected haunted the instrument.

Nothing dangerous had happened, but late in the night, whomever bought the violin

would hear the most beautiful music. Yet no matter how hard they looked, they could never find

the source of it. Upon sunrise each morning the music would stop, and the violin would be

resting in a completely different place from where it had been before the music began.

Lately, someone had been looking at the violin, a young man who just moved into town

a few months ago. He would come every day just to look at the violin. Sometimes he would pick

it up and pluck the strings. It was strange, no matter how long it sat in the display case it never

went out of tune.

This morning was the same as all the rest. The violin was once again out of the display

and resting on the ledge near the window, the bow laid carefully across the strings as though

someone was taking very good care of it, despite the odd places in which it was always left. But

once again the woman who owned the shop would put it back on the display and make sure

every door and window were locked just in case there had been a break-in. But who would break

in just to move a violin and not steal anything? But that's why no one ever bought it because it

was strange.

Moments after the sign on the door was flipped to open, the bell on the door chimed Gentle hands removed the violin from its stand, cradling it as a mother would her newborn. The

young man looked at the violin with longing, just as he had every day since moving here. His

name was Erik, he was an artist of sorts. Erik had moved into town after inheriting his great

uncle's house, near the outskirts of town. With his uncle gone Erik was now on his own. Perhaps

that was why he seemed so drawn to the violin because when he held it, he no longer felt alone.

“You come in every day to look at that thing.” Wendy the owner of the second-hand

shop said. “You ever gonna buy it?” “As A matter of fact.” Erik said smiling wistfully, “my uncle's

accounts finally came through. How much are you asking for it?”

Erik could not explain it, after all, he was a small time artist, he played the piano. (Not

very well mind you.) Still, he had to have it.

He reasoned to himself. 'I could use it as a prop, paint it a few times. After all, it is not as

if I cannot afford it now.'

Eric could tell by the look Wendy was giving him, that she expected him to be “donating”

it back to her soon. However, Erik had no intention of bringing it back, after all, it made him feel

happy when he held it, and of course, it was beautiful.

“A ghost who plays beautiful music in the dead of night.” Erik mused aloud as he walked

home with his new treasure. “Nothing wrong with that might be nice to have someone else

around the house.”

He gave a little ironic laugh under his breath. He glanced up and noticed people were

staring at him again. Erik had heard what the townspeople were whispering about him. “Big city

kid that one ” “That girly boy” “His whole family died” “Pale as a corpse he is” “Evil child”

“Cursed boy” “Witch?” He didn't really care what they thought of him anyway.

“And here I am carrying home the town's most haunted object in broad daylight, and

talking to myself.” He whispered bitterly under his breath. By dinnertime tonight the whole town

would be saying he was insane and communed with spirits! “Let them, they wouldn't be that far

off... Would they?” He murmured to himself. “Why should I care?” He drifted off into his own

dark thoughts about himself and his past as he neared the house.

Erik kept thinking about that night in grade school, He and his best friend Alex had

wondered into the old abandoned mill on a dare. The other boys said it was haunted. They were

on a school field trip to the old wood mill a few miles from town. Alex was just starting to get

scared When Erik saw something. Eyes, movement, red... Erik turned to tell his friend it was time

to go back, just in time to see Alex gasp.His eyes were huge as if he had just been terrified by

something. Alex lunged forward as if the empty air had shoved him, stumbled, and fell into a pile

of thin broken boards that were left lying on the floor when the mill was closed down. Eric ran

over to see if Alex was OK, But he wouldn't get up. There was blood coming out from under the

woodpile, Alex was face down on the boards. Erik rolled him over and saw a diagonally cut board

sticking out of his stomach. Then, somehow, Alex was standing in front of him, staring at him,

then his gaze moved down. Alex staring down at Alex, that was something Erik would never

forget. Alex looked so confused, then he was simply gone. Vanished into thin air and Erik was lefAfter that, it was all a blur. Running bloodied back to the group, leading the teachers to

where Alex was, the teacher screaming, being hurried out with the other students, girls from

school crying. The endless questions, from the teachers, the police, Alex's parents, the other

students. Everyone looking at Eric as though he had killed his best friend, no one believed him.

Councilors and shrinks came later.

Erik vividly remembered the principle on the phone leaving message after message for

his parents. “...Come get him as soon as you get this it's urgent...” Then he had Erik leave a

message. “Mama, Daddy, something bad happened, come get me. I want to come home!”

Alex's parents crying in the next room, the police talking to them. Hours later Nurse

Philips drove Erik home. The door was open.

Erik remembered thinking, “That wasn't right. They never left the door open, the kitten

would get out.”

Nurse Philips took him to the door, then told him to get back in the car. The door was

broken.

“Why would a door break?”Erik couldn't understand what was happening. He was

worried about his kitten Then he saw that there was blood running out of the kitchen, the TV

was missing. He asked, “What's going on?” Nurse Philips Yelling “Erik get back in my car now!”

Nurse Phillips was crying on the phone outside the car. Then the police came. Erik

remembered going to stay with his grandparents. For the rest of his school years, no one would

speak to him.

No one came to his high school graduation, then the principal pulled him aside, “May I

have A word with you?” Principle Skinner standing by the doors with three cops. Eric

stammering “If this is about the paint, I can explain!” Principle Skinner's booming voice “What

paint?” Erik panicked, barely able to talk he stuttered “Y, Y, Your car?” He finally managed to get

out. The principle got so red, and the cops just looked at each other. Then the principle said

through his teeth, “No. we're going to let that slide, for now.” 'what could be worse than painting

the principle's entire car pink, even the windshield?' he wondered. “I'm afraid your grandparents

were in a car crash on their way here. They didn't make it.”

Erik dropped his diploma.

“Your great uncle Is flying in tomorrow.”

Cold, empty house, storming outside.

Great uncle Richard paid for college, honors, top of the class, Uncle Richard saying “good

job kid” at graduation.

Erik was working as a fill artist at a graphic design company, with his firsThe phone rang “Who is it? kinda busy right now.” “Mr. Guffson?” “Yes?” “I'm afraid I

have some bad news.” “He was old... in his sleep... peacefull...”

He was only eight when it all started, then last year he moved here, to his great uncles

house. He just didn't want to be alone anymore.

Erik reached the door, he was dizzy, on the verge of passing out. He fumbled with the

keys until he finally got the front door open, he was shaking, trembling. He laid the violin on the

coffee table and got a glass of bourbon.

“Maybe I am cursed.” He mumbled to himself.

Erik finished his bourbon, it was not yet time for lunch but already he was drinking. Two

more drinks down, He felt so tired.

“Not the bourbon, I’ve had a lot more than this before...” He trailed off.

Eric leaned back on the couch, to rest his eyes.

When Erik awoke he heard music floating through the room from far off.

"Someone's playing music somewhere in the house." he thought sleepily.

A moment later he realized that no one should be in the house. Erik sat up and glanced

at the old grandfather clock against the wall.

"Five in the morning!?" he whispered.

Erik got up and found that the violin was missing and recalled the legend. He followed

the sound of the music down the hall and through the study to the back screen porch. He

stopped at the doorway and just stared silently, listening. In the middle of the little screened in

the room stood a tall thin blonde man playing the violin. As he played his whole body swayed

with the music, back and forth becoming transparent and then solid again as he did. Erik didn't

know how long he stood listening, only that it seemed like an eternity. Finally, the violinist

stopped, he looked out past the screens at the murky light of dawn and took a step toward it,

then he seemed to sigh, lying the violin down in a nearby chair he faded until he was no longer

there.