The Ghost of Music Past

I told him not to go into that music store, and maybe that’s why he went. He didn’t like to be told things. You could ask him not to do it, but if you told him that he wouldn’t… Well, he just would…

Logan didn’t notice anything weird when he went into the music store. One of a dying breed, music stores still sold CDs and some even had old vinyl on their shelves. The vinyl sold more these days as collectors bought them up. He wasn’t really here to shop; his girlfriend had pissed him off, and a nice walkabout seemed a good solution. He just happened to end up here. He stopped at one of the listening stations and slipped the old headphones onto his ears. You know the kind; big, bulky, worn with the black edging peeling away from the padding, but still capable of producing the most faithful sound. Much better than earbuds ever could.

He stood there for a solid half hour before he settled his mind, and decided he could go and hash things out with his girl. He slipped them off, dusting the black specs off his ears, and put them back on the hook. He sighed, and considered picking up a CD, for old times sake. But he didn’t, and headed towards the door. 

Sure you don’t want that album sir? It’s a good one..

The person behind the counter looked like he was about 18, just old enough to work in retail. Another sullen teenager, hair parted in heavy emo flip-bang style. Logan remembers those guys from high school. Typical. And yet...something was off. His eyes looked a bit hollow, like something was missing. Made him want to leave even more.

No thank you, I’m good today.

Suit yourself. He looked slightly mournful when he said that.

Logan walked just a little more quickly, and as he passed through the RFID detectors, cold water seemed to slide over him. He  watched as his physical form moved forward, out of the store, and then disintegrated without being noticed by anyone. The fine ashes swirled about, into the vents both above and below the herd of sheeple.

He stepped back, mouth agape, stricken silent in his horror. He looked to the cashier.

Should’ve bought that album man, tried to warn you. You could’ve walked right out of here. But you didn’t, and now you’re part of our inventory.

The young man walked over and grabbed Logan by the elbow, and pressed his hand to a digital screen that hadn’t been there before. Logan’s full name, date of birth, and all the major life events appeared on the track list. After a few moments, a case with a deep purple disk visible through the back slid out from beneath the screen. The young man smiled.

Well, aren’t you a beauty. 

Logan stood in horror and the young man slid him between Saboton and the TSO.

You won’t last long. I’m sure one of our clients will pick you up shortly. Those extremes of emotion don’t often exist on such a short album, and I’m sure your soul won’t mind singing for someone.

Still confused, Logan spun around, taking note of the others like him. They seemed bright and ethereal, while real people seemed dark and dusky, of undefined figure and unrefined detail. No more new souls were extracted today. Eventually, closing time came and he thought he would have the evening to ponder a method of escape. He was a smart man, he would get out of this.

It was then that the true horror began. The store closed and the young man left, and when the overhead lights went out, a red glow began to emanate from the headphones, and demons, slick with blood and steaming from the heat pulled themselves from within them. Chains rose up from the floor and pinned the souls where they stood. Panic danced in their chests, as the demons picked their way through them. A small demon stopped in front of Logan, and tilted its head to look at him.

Why didn’t you just buy the album? I have heard it … a few times. I would take it home with me if I could.

I don’t listen to CDs anymore. They’re bulky and sort of a pain in the ass to haul around.

Isn’t your past the same way?

That thought stopped him cold. He did drag  around a bit of emotional baggage these days. Thankfully, he didn’t have to do it alone, but it was still there. And heavy.

It wasn’t relevant though, and he pushed that away in favor of another thought.

What is going on? Why is this happening? Do you have a name?

The demon looked at him, puzzled, as if he was the first to think to ask such a thing.

I have many names. FYE. Camelot Music. Sam Goody. Tower Music. I am them and they are me.

Logan felt confused. The ghost of music stores past? Almost laughable.

You see, no one buys music anymore, not like they used to. So, we’ve resorted to other means to stay afloat. A deal with the devil, you might say, for our continued existence. We were once part of you, imbued with your joy and happiness, but recently all you come to us with is sadness and anger. 

You and your friends pull the music from the airwaves, or worse yet, steal it. You stole a sample here, from these very headphones. We were fading, until the demons found us. They offered us continued life, and we offered them a way to steal your souls. 

Incomplete transactions. By entering here and consuming music at these headphones, your soul drew up a contract. We would be the repository of your emotions, if you purchased one of our many wares. Fail to complete the contract, and we gain the right to the collateral, namely, your soul.

But I did not know! I did not agree! This is illegal!  You can’t do this. 

Ignorance is not the same as innocence.

The demon picked up his purple disk and trotted over to the cashier, and the moment he handed it the receipt, the chained around his hands vanished, only to re-emerge as a collar around his throat, led by a silver strand which ended in the hand of the demon.

It leaned in to him, their face nearly touching, and Logan looked up, tears running down his face.

No time for that now, the demon said as it wiped away the tears, I don’t want your sadness. I want something a little sweeter.

Eyes rolling back into his head, Logan’s soul fell to the floor as he was forced back into his own worst memories, set to the dulcet tones of one of many of his YouTube playlists. The void consumed him, and he observed as if he were merely watching a movie. He felt nothing.

Back at his home, his girlfriend worried. Worried that she had harmed him somehow. As the night wore on, she cursed herself and wondered what had happened. He’d never not come home. He’d always answer her calls. She called the police; they said he had to be missing for 48 hours before she filed a report.

A thought crossed her mind.

Oh God.

She ran up the escalator to the third floor of the mall, knocking a few people over but not really giving a shit about it. She stopped right in front of the music store, and there he was, headphones on, look of anger on his face. 

No…

She walked in, and jacked that little dweeb behind the counter up against the wall.

Where is it? Tell me where it is or I will rip your head off you little shit!

I don’t know what you’re talking about ma’am.

Yes you do. Where’s his disk? 

Already rented. It will be back tonight.

Call it in early!

I can’t. That’s against…

A blade slid from the end of her left index finger, and threatened to tickle the cashiers brain. His jaw dropped, as he realized what he was looking at.

Yes ma’am. Right away. He picked up the phone; the creature on the other end seemed pissed. Logan took off the headphones, and the demon slid out of them, almost immediately taking a female form.

What’s is the meaning of this? I paid for…

The demon turned to face the woman, and stepped back.

I want a refund.

The woman handed the demon twice what it had paid, and the demon slid back into the headphones. The woman grabbed the headphones before Logan could put them back on his head, and looked into his eyes but spoke to the cashier.

How much to purchase?

The young man's eyes went wide; it had been a long time since anyone actually purchased an album. He named a figure. The woman handed him a wad of cash. His eyes went wider.

Who are you?

You already know.

She took the purple disc in her hands, and bent it until it broke. The air got thin and unbearably tight; tends to happen when a soul returns from Hell.

Logan shook his head; last thing he remembered was an argument, and then coming here. Huh, maybe some music would settle his nerves...but a hand stopped him from picking up the headphones, and he was shocked to see those hands attached to his girlfriend.

Let’s go dear. I got you that album already, that’s why I didn’t want you to come.

Why didn’t you just say that?

I’ve never been too good at the talking thing, we both know that.

They walked out of the store, but stopped just outside.

Dammit, I left my card on the counter. Gimme a sec I’ll be right back.

The woman walked back in and right up to the cashier.

Close this place down, or I’ll burn it down. And she walked away. Overpriced, dingy, and with poor customer service, nobody would miss it anyway. 

A week later, Logan wanted to surprise his girlfriend with the Troy soundtrack she’d never been able to get her hands on, only to find the store closed. It had burned out two days before, supposedly the result of an electrical fire.

Damn. Guess I will just have to get it on eBay or something…