The Haunted Piano [Short Fiction]

by Robin Ray:

Ben Nguyen stood outside of the little theater on Oak Street one Saturday afternoon. It was a perfectly cloudless day with no threat of rain or thunderstorms. Young couples were walking hand in hand to local restaurants.  The occasional beggar held out hope that someone would come alone and save his day, perhaps buy him a beer or a pizza from one of the nearby eateries.  Dog walkers, joggers, and skateboard enthusiasts took advantage of the balmy weather because, in this town, it was rare.

As he continued reading the flyers and posters scotch taped to the theater windows, one of the city’s less fortunate approached to ask for financial assistance. Checking his pockets, he turned to the disheveled old man and apologized for being broke. The beggar simply nodded, looked at the posters in the windows, and continued on his way.

The flyers were advertising for upcoming performances of Jerry L. Cole’s new play, “The Rose in the Saddle.” Back in his days as a drama major in college, Ben was very familiar with Jerry L. Cole, even met him a few times. He’d acted in two of his seminal plays, “Monastery Gardens” and “Beyond Happenstance” and enjoyed his time with each. He smiled thinking about those days. There was controversy over each drama’s use of simulated violence, excessive profanity and nudity, but at least no one could say they were dull or forgettable.

As he stood beneath the dark façade of the Oak Street Theatre, he thought about acting again. It had been a few years since he’d threaded the boards, so to speak, but perhaps it wasn’t too late. As he was only in his early 30’s, he thought it’d be fun. He was only working part time anyway, plus it could give him a reasonable reason to get away from his annoying roommate every so often. So give it a try? Why not? You never know who you might meet.

Walking into the theater, he didn’t know what to expect. He’d never seen any plays there before, let alone step one foot in the place. He’d passed it many times on his way to catch a bus, cash a check, or buy groceries at a supermarket. The thought of stopping in, however, never crossed his mind until today.

The first room he stepped foot in off the sidewalk was the lobby. Partially lit by low wattage fluorescent bulbs, he realized there was no one in the ticket office. Every wall, he also notice, was painted black. Noticing a door to the right of the ticket booth, he pulled it open and entered.

Before him was a darkened room with approximately sixty chairs and a stage. For a community theater, this was adequate size as he knew they had to compete with the local theaters, concert halls, and sports arenas for citizens’ entertainment dollars. Most of the light in the theater was coming from the stage. There was no one in the audience save one man sitting up front with a pen and pad in hand. On stage he saw two young actors sitting in chairs reading lines from a play. Quietly, he walked in and sat down in a seat in the back of the spacious room.

As the actors read their lines, he reminisced about his own theatrical past. He remembered how he used method acting techniques in emoting his lines, especially the difficult emotionally draining ones. He remembered how timid he was to look out at the audience as he didn’t want to see their displeasure, if they had any, in their faces. He reminisced about the scenes where he played a modern day Casanova, swashbuckling through a firestorm, no, a maelstrom of angry gang members, drug addicts, and other derelicts.

He also fondly remembered how he also liked to accompany singers on a stage piano if they had one. Piano playing was really his calling, but because he lacked certain confidence in his art, he always thought he wasn’t good enough to become a professional. His mother, as he recalled, was the one who pushed him towards learning the beautifully difficult instrument as a boy. He would have been satisfied learning math and physics; still, the crisp angelic tones of a well-tuned piano also captured his fancy like nothing else ever could.

His reverie was instantly broken when he heard, “Stop!” coming from the front of him. Looking forward, he saw the man sitting in the audience with his arm held high. “That must be the director,” Ben thought. He watched as the man stood up and gave verbal some notes to each actor. The taller one, biting his nails, was obviously not taking the scrutiny well. In fact, he must’ve been so distraught that he simply got up, turned and walked off the stage. The director yelled for him to come back, but the saddened young man simply picked up his heels and ran even faster. The director then stomped his own foot and waved the other actor off the stage. The second actor didn’t leave, though. He simply poured himself a glass of water from a jug on a nearby table, picked up a script, and started reading it.

Ben thought about walking out at that time. He didn’t know if he was in the mood to deal with an aggressive, forceful type such as this director. In any case, while he was already there, he figured he’d give it a shot. Exiting his seat, he walked down to the front to meet the man in charge.

“Hello?” he began, approaching him. “Are you the director?”

“Yes. Can I help you?”

“Are you still holding auditions for your play?”

The director looked him over carefully.

“It’s not my play. It’s my brother’s. My name is Nathan Cole.”

“Hi. I’m Ben. I knew Jerry.”

“You did? From where?”

“At the university. I was in two of his plays, Monastery Gardens and Beyond Happenstance.”

“Oh, I see. So you have experience, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Those were old plays. Have you done anything recently?”

“It’s been a while.”

“What’s “a while?”

“About ten years.”

“Did you see the gentleman who just left? He probably won’t be back. His mind is like a sieve. It retains nothing, probably from smoking too much herb. That would leave a vacancy.”

“I’m willing to try.”

“I don’t want anyone to attempt anything here. Either one is in or not.”

“I’m in.”

The director picks up a script and hands it to Ben.

“Take a seat on stage and read Rooster’s part.”

“Rooster?”

“Yes.”

He turns to the actor, Jon, already on stage.

“Show him where to start, Jon.”

“Okay,”

Ben climbed the stage, sat down next to Jon, greeted him, and opened his script.

“Turn to page 14,” Jon tells him.

Flipping to the page, Jon read his lines, followed by Ben, followed by Jon, and so on for about ten pages. The reading went well. Ben delivered his lines, to their surprise, like he’d written the play himself. Nathan was so impressed that he offered Ben the job of Rooster on the spot. He accepted it right away. After the hiring, and after papers were filled out, Nathan asked Jon to show Ben around the theater so he would be familiar with the ins and outs of theater production.

Jon showed Ben the ticket booth, the movie projector they had acquired for future productions, the bathroom facilities, the stage curtains, and the backstage area where the changing rooms were. Next to the changing room was a door that was painted black. It stood out because the rest of the backstage area was dark purple. He asked what was behind the door but Jon stated he didn’t know as no one went in there.

Over the next few days, Ben rehearsed the play with the rest of the cast. Some were new to acting, some were more seasoned. At least two of them were in commercials on TV and one had a bit part in an HBO movie. On the whole, everyone was pretty friendly. One actress in particular, Anne-Marie Trang, really sparked his interest. Not thoroughly a knockout, she was, nevertheless, the kind of woman who made guys pause and take notice. Delicately refined, she appeared to spend a lot of waking hours at the gym. He also learned she was a fantastic singer.

One day, while waiting for the director to show up for rehearsal, he was in the lobby arranging the posters in the windows. Anne-Marie arrived at practice singing a song to herself.

“Hey, Anne-Marie,” he called out to her. “Nice voice.”

“Thanks, Ben.”

“You’re actually a good singer.”

“Oh, I don’t know. It’s something I do just for fun. Nothing serious.”

“Your character actually has a scene where she sings but Nathan skips over that part. Maybe you can convince him to bring it back.”

“Me?”

“Sure. Why not? I think your voice is okay.”

“Okay. If you think so. I’ll go ask him. I don’t know how it would sound a capella, though. Might be off pitch.”

“I play the piano,” Ben informed her. “I can train you. There’s one in the back room but I haven’t checked it out yet.”

 “Alright. I’ll ask him about it. See ya later.”

“Bye.”

As it turned out, Nathan did want the singing part left in the play, but he wasn’t sure if Anne-Marie was up to the task. She told him she’d rehearse with Ben on the back room piano but Nathan didn’t like the idea. When prodded, he said he’d heard stories about the instrument, how it was bad luck and best left alone. She thought that was the craziest thing she’d ever heard him say, and to a certain extent, he agreed. Still, something gnawed in the back of Nathan’s mind and gave him no peace. The stories he’d heard about the piano seemed too real and too odd to keep to himself.

One day, after some pleading from Anne-Marie, and deciding the singing scene would be an interesting break in continuity, Nathan thought the piano idea might work. So, together with Ben and his potential singer, he unlocked the black door, pulled back a curtain, removed the blanket off the piano, and showed them the silent work of musical art.

“It’s a Steinway Model M,” he informed them, motioning to the black 5’7” baby grand sitting in the tiny closet. “It was built in Hamburg in 1914 and belonged to Lady Angelika Gersten. She was a fine player, but her husband was better. There were rumors he’d bring women to their house and serenade them with her piano, but she didn’t want to believe that. Her husband? Cheating? She thought he loved her too much and people were just jealous of her good fortune.

One day, she returned home early from a visit to the country and discovered her husband playing her piano to some young tart. Both were in sleepwear. Lady Gersten was so beside herself she cursed her husband and the piano and flung herself off a balcony. Weeks later, Lord Gersten married this young tart, but their life was riddled with such bad fortune – loss of wealth, illness, childlessness – that they both killed themselves in a driving accident.

The piano was bought by a traveling businessman and amateur vaudevillian and shipped to America in the 20’s. It was used extensively in local theaters during the depression. Many pianists who were fair to middling found they sounded like Rubinstein when they played it. But, mysteriously, those musicians died one by one by grotesque accidents right after concertizing on it. One fell out of a hotel balcony. They thought he was drunk, but he wasn’t. One was crushed by scaffolding that fell from a truss fifty feet in the air. One slipped in his bathroom and hit his head on the tub he had filled with bathwater. He drowned on the spot.”

“Do you believe those stories?” Anne-Marie asked him.

“A little, I guess. It may seem like superstition, but after they linked their deaths to this piano, it was shuttered away.”

“May I try it?” Ben asked.

“Well,” Nathan sighed, “I’m not given to superstitious excess, so let’s see what you can do.”

Cracking his finger joints, Ben took his place at the piano and started playing parts of Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue. Both Anne-Marie and Nathan thought his playing, and the sound of the nearly 100 year old instrument, sounded fine. Actually, more than fine, it was exquisite. As he performed, they left like they were being transported to another world, a perfectly serene world, one in which hardships and depression were left stranded at the door.

When he finished playing, they applauded. Ben revealed he was surprised he performed so well considering the grief he’d usually gotten from trying to execute it. Nathan told them it was okay to use the piano to rehearse the singing scene. Anne-Marie was excited and nervous at the same time. She’d come to accept her singing, but performing live before an audience was a different matter. Ben promised to help allay her fears as much as possible. She agreed.

Soon, the day of the first show arrived. The whole troop had been well rehearsed, phone calls were made to the press, and ads were placed in the local weeklies. On the night of the first performance of the play, there was a long line outside of the box office. Based on Nathan’s reputation alone, the lobby was packed.

From the backstage area, Ben peeked in at the growing audience. It seemed all the seats were filling rapidly. Nathan was jubilated. He spoke to the cast and gave them last minute notes. The Steinway, already perched on the left side of the stage, sat quietly waiting to the played.

After everyone took their seats, the drama began. Nathan, sitting in the audience, watched as his actors recited their lines flawlessly. Their blocked patterns, so well rehearsed for weeks, were well delivered. Then, it was time for Anne-Marie to sing her song, a cheery little cantata about forgiveness. Changing into a sleek black dress, she took the stage to raucous applause. Ben, wearing a black tuxedo, sat himself in front of the piano.

Anne-Marie, with one arm on the piano, introduced the song with a few words. Ben waited patiently for his verbal cue. When she said the magic words, Ben laid his hand over the instrument and pressed a chord.

WHISH!

A bass string from the piano snapped.

The audience watched in horror as the string whipped out towards Anne-Marie, and in one unerring move, separated her head from her shoulders. The audience screamed. Some leaped to their feet and dashed out of the hall as Anne-Marie’s body dropped to the stage. Everyone was horrified as blood spilled to the wooden floor. Ben was beside himself with grief. Anne-Marie’s family who were in attendance was inconsolable. Needless to say, the show stopped on the spot as the spectators tried to reason what happened.

Ben never did return to the theater after that night. As a matter of fact, neither did Nathan. The trauma of the broken piano kept them at bay. The newspapers and TV shows had a field day with the horrific incident. Once again, the Hamburg instrument was locked up in the back room as none truly believed it was cursed. To this day, it still sits there, waiting for some curious musician to take it out, admire its timeless beauty, and re-awaken the mystery of The Haunted Piano.

 THE END

Robin Ray is an author/musician from Seattle, WA. He is a writer of screenplays, novellas, short stories, poems, and fairy tales. His work has appeared online at Red Fez, Darkest Before the Dawn, Powder Burn Flash and Enchanted Conversation.

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