A Melody Haunting (standard:horror, 2779 words)
Author: radiodenver	Added: Dec 09 2004	Views/Reads: 4440/2796	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
"...Mrs. Bullard leaned closer to Angelina and with a serious whisper began to explain. Angelina's eyes grew wide as she sat upright, staring at the old photograph..."

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"I'm very impressed with Angelina's progress."  She said. 

"That's good.  She always loved to bang on that piano, its good she's
learning to actually play now." 

"She hasn't had previous lessons?"  Mrs. Bullard asked. 

"She's never had a lesson.”  I replied. 

"She knows an old song called 'Chinatown, My Chinatown' and plays it
well too." 

“She's learned that in two weeks?"  I asked. 

"Oh-no!  She already knows it.  I didn't teach it to her." 

"Maybe she got it from one of our old records." 

"Could be.  She's beyond a beginner's level, that's for certain." 

Mrs. Bullard opened her purse and removed an envelope.  Inside the
envelope were a faded old picture and a leather jacketed diary. 

"Here's that memorabilia I told you about."  We studied the picture and
compared it to my piano.  "Look here.  The pianos look almost 
identical.  It's hard to say for certain though." 

The photograph was faded.  Seated on the bench was an older woman and
standing next to her were two younger ladies, late teens or early 
twenties it appeared.  Behind the ladies on top of the piano sat a 
fluffy white cat. 

"Who are the girls?"  Angelina asked. 

"This was my grandmother's aunt and her daughters, Martha and Margaret."
 She said, pointing at the two younger girls.  They were my 
grandmother's cousins.  We came into possession of the piano sometime 
after they died near the turn of the century." 

"What was it like back then?"  Angelina asked, entranced with the
photograph. 

"Let's sit on the sofa and I'll tell you my old, old, family story of
the haunted piano."  The old woman took Angelina's hand and led her 
across the room. 

Angelina and I sat together, staring at the aged photograph as we
listened intently to Mrs. Bullard's story. 

Mrs. Bullard leaned closer to Angelina and with a serious whisper began
to explain. 

Angelina's eyes grew wide as she sat upright, staring at the old
photograph. 

"This is the story of the haunted piano." 

* 

It was called "The Paris of the Pacific."  San Francisco in 1899 was the
most modern and enlightened city on the North American continent.  It 
had one of the busiest seaports in the country.  The cities socialites 
could often be observed strolling the streets in the latest Edwardian 
fashions, sipping champagne and eating oysters at places like 
Delmonico's.  The wealthiest amongst society attended European Operas 
and ate fine meals prepared by Cordon Bleu Chefs.  Business was 
thriving and it was a good life for many; but, not for all.  For the 
thirty thousand Chinese huddled into a few dozen square city blocks 
near the cities financial district, life was hard, lonely and without 
the amenities that most San Franciscans readily enjoyed. 

Melody lived on Stockton Street, not far from Chinatown, with her two
daughters, Martha and Margaret.  Melody by profession was a piano 
teacher and a social volunteer.  Her husband, my great-great-uncle 
Hubert, died in 1873 and she was left to raise the two girls.  As a 
lady of social standing and a charter member of the Teacher's Mutual 
Aid Society of San Francisco, she worked with the business leaders of 
Chinatown to eradicate gambling and other unmentionable things.  She 
knew many Chinese Sam Yup's, mostly merchants and shop owners and 
wasn't about to let a small thing like Bubonic Plague interfere with 
her business.  When the plague hit Chinatown, she helped organize the 
rat collections.  For the majority, the outbreak was limited to 
Chinatown, but not always.  Within a week of contracting the 
affliction, Melody died. 

The daughters were left very little after their mother's death in 1900;
a few thousand dollars of inheritance and their home.  After Melody's 
death, Martha and Margaret continued enjoying their social life until 
the money finally ran out.  By April of 1906, life on the Barbary Coast 
had made its transition to one of austerity and solitude. 

Both girls were considered to be "above average" in their beauty, but by
most eligible bachelors' estimates, Margaret was the prettier of the 
two and the one most sought after for affections.  Martha was the 
younger of the two sisters, by two years and had the more nervous 
disposition.  Their social life made a dramatic decrease in the months 
following their mother's death.  Well aware their money wasn't going to 
last forever; it became a priority for the sisters to court the most 
suitable eligible and preferably wealthy young men.  Within a year, 
both girls were back to attending the Cotillion Clubs. 

It was at one such dance when they were introduced to a certain Mr.
Charles Hecker.  In her haste to find a husband, she naively fell for 
the man.  Martha in her youthful innocence was unaware of Mr. Hecker's 
proclivity to gamble in private poker games.  When discretely informed 
of his fruit- picking practices, she followed him late one evening 
after he walked her home, sneaking out the back door only moments after 
she had left him holding his hat at the front.  Her clandestine attempt 
to learn more of the man resulted in her undoing. 

His destination that evening was Chinatown.  From her hiding place
across the street, Martha secretly observed him entering a well known 
Grant Avenue gambling house.  She waited outside until the wee hours of 
the morning, which was not an advisable thing to do, as the 
neighborhood was a dangerous place for a unaccompanied young white girl 
to be found at night.  When Hecker exited the establishment, she 
confronted him on the sidewalk and from the ensuing confrontation she 
learned of his ill-gotten tendencies.  His breath smelled of alcohol 
and his clothing reeked of sickening sweet opium. 

He chased after her when she ran, only to be shut out at the door of her
home.  Overcome with depression, Martha secluded herself in her bedroom 
for days, until one rainy morning; Margaret found lying on the piano 
keyboard, a note.  In this note, Martha had confessed the details of 
her encounter with Charles from a few evenings before.  Heartbroken, 
Martha had lost the will to live. 

Racing up the stairs to her younger sisters' bedroom, it was there on
the bed that Margaret found her sisters' body; a cup of poisoned tea 
tipped on the floor by her bedside. 

Charles Hecker is later found dead in a Chinatown alleyway.  He was
chopped to bits with a hatchet. 

The rumor was that an old Chinese business acquaintance of Melody, one
of the Sam Yup's, had him killed in revenge for the mistreatment of 
Melody's daughter.  The police never solved the murder. 

The family legend has it that Martha's ghost continued living in the
house after her death.  Margaret was aware of the ghostly activity but 
was never certain of the origin.  In her last diary entry, Margaret 
made the following comments. 

* 

Margaret Ludlow - April 17th, 1906 

Occasionally, in the early afternoons, the piano plays itself.  Today,
there was something different.  My attention was drawn from the book I 
was reading to the piano music emanating from the deserted living room. 


"A new student."  I thought.  I walked towards the doorway, observing
the aged piano sitting against the wall of the adjacent room.  The 
piano mother used to teach hundreds of students, and the same piano I 
too learned to play. 

Months ago, I thought it was my imagination.  My longing for mother
perhaps - or my mind creating imaginary songs.  After the first week of 
music, I became accustomed to hearing the students play on the 
miss-tuned piano.  After several attempts; however, I've given up my 
efforts to interact with the ghostly lessons. 

These visits from the dead are not confined to the waking hours.  From
time to time I see mother in my dreams.  She would be sitting at the 
piano with one of her students, turning the tattered pages of song 
books as they play.  Dream after dream, an endless stream of faceless 
children, each playing with different proficiency.  Mother, so patient 
and kind loved teaching young people.  Mother's apparition would often 
turn to me and beam a smile filled with warmth and joy. 

Sometimes I wake from these pleasant dreams crying.  I cherish my dreams
as though I were a child awaiting mothers return home from a long trip. 
I do not want to wake from these dreams, not ever. 

I normally have two cups of tea in the afternoon when I listen to the
music.  I often sit alone at my table, sipping hot tea during these 
ghostly concerts. 

Mother's students have long since grown old and I am certain that many
have died.  Perhaps they are returning to a place of happiness to 
linger, to find a comforting place that may have eluded them in life.  
It is not a fearful thought, the ghosts of mother's students hanging 
about my living room practicing their piano.  I am never able to 
interact.  I have tried numerous times to speak with these spirits.  A 
few times I have even sat at the piano and tried to play along.  They 
have never responded.  I can simultaneously play a song and they 
another, never did I seem to interfere with the lesson.  The ghosts 
would always be oblivious to my presence.  Eventually I realized that 
interaction was not possible. 

Today's student is good.  Each note played with delicate precision; I
hadn't heard the song before but it was clear that today's student was 
very accomplished. 

I know there is nothing to fear.  I believe mother has moved to a
different world and in that world she's alive and still teaching her 
students, with all her heart and joy, the art of playing piano. 

Samantha the cat as always was intrigued.  She will climb on top of the
piano and sit, waving her long furry tail and licking her paws while 
the music plays.  On occasion during these lessons, Samantha will leap 
to the keyboard and saunter across the keys, never interfering in the 
least with the progression of the lesson but still making annoying 
sounds as her paws press against the keys of the playing piano.  Her 
characteristic curiosity ultimately wanes and she eventually becomes 
content to do her figure eight rubs against my ankles as I sit sipping 
tea in the kitchen and marveling at the surreal events. 

After today's concert, as I stroked Samantha's long fluffy tail,
Samantha's tiny jaw quivered and she squeaked, as if she were talking 
to me. 

"I know kitty."  I said.  "I miss Martha too.  Tomorrow, we will go to
the cemetery and see her and Momma." 

"And that is the last entry in Margaret's diary."  Mrs. Bullard
explained. 

The devastation was massive.  The Great San Francisco Earthquake and
subsequent fire destroyed 460 square city blocks.  Nearly two hundred 
thousand were left homeless and hundreds were killed. 

"Margaret and Samantha never made their visit to the cemetery.  Shortly
before sunrise the next morning, the ground shook and a portion of the 
old Victorian house collapsed.  Margaret died in her sleep.  Samantha 
the was never found." 

"The piano was recovered from the ruins and was in our family for many
years afterwards.  We've been telling the story of the ghost piano 
since I was a little girl." 

As Mrs. Bullard finished her story, Angelina beamed a large grin. 

"I know how to make the piano play."  She said. 

Mrs. Bullard and I looked at each other. 

"Do you now?"  The old lady asked. 

"Yes, watch."  Angelina replied. 

Angelina ran to the kitchen and rummaged through the cabinet for a tea
cup.  She opened the refrigerator, removed a carton of milk and 
carefully poured the teacup full.  Returning to the living room, she 
sat the cup of milk on the edge of the piano frame. 

"Darling, you shouldn't put the milk on the piano."  I said as I rose,
about to remove it. 

"Wait."  The old lady said, holding her hand in the air, her eyebrows
perking. 

"Watch."  Angelina said as she gazed at the piano. 

Mrs. Bullard and I watched as Angelina backed away from the piano,
staring intently at the teacup full of milk. 

Seconds later, the sounds started.  It was individual notes, starting
high on the scale and working lower.  Not a song, more of a random 
thing it was.  As if somebody were tapping the piano keys from high to 
low in no particular pattern. 

I was astonished.  Still holding the old photograph, I glanced at it
again. 

"Maybe it's the same piano."  I said. 

"Well, you never know."  Mrs. Bullard replied. 

I was about to hand the photograph to the old lady, when I flipped it
and looked at its back side. 

Written on back of the old photo in faded ink. "Melody, Martha, Margaret
- SF 1900" 

"Look Mommy." 

Angelina opened the piano bench, removed the old tattered song book and
pointed to the name inscribed on the inside front cover. 

Melody. 

"It's the kitty."  She said.  "She likes the milk." 

"Well isn't that something?"  Mrs. Bullard replied. 


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