Episode 8: The Girl at the Piano

*Click*

Voncid: We are en route to the apartment of Gloria Matthews, who was reported missing by her ex-boyfriend, David Howard, three days ago. It seems no one had seen or spoken to Ms. Matthews in the last two weeks; since she quit her job. While they were no longer in a relationship, Mr. Howard had attempted to contact Ms. Matthews as she’d been exhibiting some suspicious behaviors in recent weeks, and he became concerned when she stopped responding to messages and wouldn’t answer the door. According to the initial report, when a welfare check was conducted, Ms. Matthew’s apartment was discovered to be boarded up from the inside. When police finally got in, they found the living room to be messy, unusually so according to Mr. Howard, but there were no signs of struggle or distress. And no body. However, when the young man pointed out an…anomaly…they called me. 

*Click*

Voncid:  Ms. Matthews? Gloria, can you hear me?

(brief pause)

Gloria:- Who is this?

Voncid:  Gloria, my name is Voncid. I’m a Reclaimer. Do you know what that means?

Gloria: (somewhat dreamily) - I think so. It means I’m dead.

Voncid: I’m afraid that’s true. I’m so sorry, but I’m trying to figure out what happened.

Gloria: Oh.

(slight pause)

Voncid: (moderately confused) - I-, you don’t seem surprised or upset by this. 

Gloria:  Shhhh. The others can’t hear the music.

Voncid: Music?

Gloria:....

Voncid: (clears throat) - Gloria, I want to talk about the photograph. The one on the wall of your apartment.

Gloria: (brightens) - The photograph! Yes, I’d love to talk about it!

Voncid:  Please, start from the beginning.

Gloria: It was fate, really. Finding it.

Dave and I were looking for something to do, and it was such a nice day. We decided to drive out to Wincrest, it’s the rich people neighborhood, and walk around. He liked the architecture of the old houses, and I liked to pretend we were shopping for our future home. Not that we would ever be able to afford one. Dave was an assistant professor and I worked at a florist shop. But it was fun to imagine. I’d always end up picking a different house as my favorite. Only this time was different.

There was an estate sale. We’d noticed the house before. It wasn’t as nice as the others, mostly because the lawn was overgrown and the roof seemed to be caving in. I’d always thought it looked…scary. But, that day the grass had been mowed and there were tables everywhere, each covered with antiques and knickknacks. There was furniture and art, everything. We thought it would be fun to walk through. 

I don’t know what happened to the owner of the house. There was a sign on the check-out table for a local auction house. The stuff was really nice, but everything seemed dirty. Like it hadn’t been cleaned in a really long time.

I was browsing a random table while Dave dug through a stack of records. I knew we wouldn’t be leaving until he’d examined every single one. I found this wood box. I think it was for jewelry, but there was nothing inside. Except I saw the false bottom. *smile to her voice* That’s where I found the photograph.

It seemed simple at first. A woman sitting at a piano. Her hands were on the keys, probably playing some melody or other, but she was facing the photographer, smiling. She had long pale hair that fell over her shoulders and a lovely dress with adorable short sleeves and a huge skirt! The picture was black and white, so I don’t know what the actual colors were or how old it was, but I poked around online and based on the style of her dress, maybe 1860s? I don’t know. Apparently it was unusual for a woman to be photographed wearing her hair down like that, which, when I learned that, only made me like her more. To me, the woman at the piano was a strong person who did what she wanted. 

She was so beautiful. Not just her face, like a movie star or people in magazines. It was her expression, her posture, her…confidence. Like, she knew exactly who she was and loved everything about herself. *small laugh* I realized I’d never felt that way in my whole life. 

There were other people in the room, dozens of them, sitting in rows of chairs. Her audience. Everyone was clearly listening with rapt attention. And everyone was smiling. Dave said it was odd. How some people in the audience were dressed more modern than they should have been. He said it was probably fake, a photoshop experiment or something. I don’t know. I didn’t really look at the clothes. I was too focused on their faces. They all looked like the woman at the piano. Content. It felt like that music room was its own little world, where everyone was happy. And that world revolved around her.

Anyway, I had to have it. I couldn’t explain why, not then, but something about her spoke to me. I didn’t want the jewelry box, just the photograph. The estate sale people said it wasn’t really worth anything, and since they didn’t know it had been there, they let me take it for free. Like I said. Fate.

*Scoff* Dave thought it was silly. That I wanted a potentially fake photograph of someone I didn’t know from a weird estate sale. He didn’t understand why I wanted it so badly, but he didn’t mind. He joked about it, probably thinking it was some quirky thing I’d lose interest in over time. But he didn’t actually care. Not at first.

 I hung it on the wall in my living room. I thought, seeing her everyday, seeing her confidence and strength, maybe it could help me feel those things too. In those first few days, I would glance at it from time to time, and think about what her name had been. I came up with so many ideas of what it could be, but in the end, nothing seemed quite right. Nothing fit. She’s simply, “Her”.

In the beginning, I’d still go about my day and there would be times when I’d forget about Her. While I was working or driving or out with Dave. But, whenever I got home, she’d be there. Waiting for me. I started hearing music in my dreams, a soft piano *soft piano music begins, then fades* It was never at the forefront, simply a quiet soundtrack to whatever I was dreaming about. It was nice.

Well, the weeks went on, and the random glances turned into looks. Looks turned into staring. And before I knew it, I was standing in front of that photograph for hours every day. I couldn’t take my eyes off it. I didn’t want to leave the apartment, and even when I was there, I spent most of my time in the living room.

I-, well, Dave said I had become obsessed with it. That it was weird and unhealthy, because I was looking at it all the time. That I didn’t want to do anything else. That I was already confident and happy with life, so why did I need the stupid photograph? He didn’t understand. And, I mean, I was looking at it. I was always looking at it. But every time I studied it, I noticed something new. Like the pocket watch on the edge of the piano just about to fall, or the hint of a shoe peeking out from under her dress. The way her mouth was barely open, like she was a heartbeat away from saying something. All these little details began to jump out at me, and I couldn’t get enough.

Well, I had to stop going to work. I couldn’t concentrate on it. I was too busy wondering what color her dress was, or her eyes. I wondered whether the piano bench was comfortable or not. I wondered what the people in the audience had done to be lucky enough to join her. What was the price of admission? But my boss, he didn’t understand either. So, I quit.

When I had to sleep, I curled up in the living room. Right below the photograph, so She could watch over me. I started dreaming that I was outside the room, listening to the music playing on the other side of an elaborate door. I couldn’t hear very well, but the door was always locked, *piano music begins again, very faintly* so it was the best I could do. Still, it always felt like there was so much more than music waiting on the other side.

At some point Dave stopped coming by. I don’t even remember when. I think the last time he was there he broke up with me? That sounds right, but it didn’t matter. Because I had Her. Still, I didn’t want anyone else dropping by, interrupting me, so I took apart an old dresser and used the pieces to seal the front door. It was hard, mostly because I had to step away from the photograph to do it. But, also I was feeling really weak at that point. I was still eating from time to time, when my body demanded it, but swinging a hammer felt like the most strenuous task I’d ever done. But I did it. And it was worth it, because no one bothered me after that.

Then, it was just us. 

She didn’t speak, not with words. But her smile, her eyes, they all said so much. How she wanted me to join her, to listen to her play. Some days, even when I was awake I’d swear I could hear music. A piano playing a lovely song *piano music begins again*. It was all just out of reach. 

Then, one night, (or was it daytime?), well, in my dream, the door was unlocked! I started crying with joy as the handle turned, and I finally got to go inside! Everything was more beautiful than I could have hoped. There were gas lights all around the room, giving the space a comforting glow, and an enormous crystal chandelier on the ceiling. I had to stand way at the back, because there weren’t any chairs open, but I could see Her across the room. Her dress, it was green! A beautiful, pale emerald color that took my breath away. I couldn’t see her eyes, I was too far away to know what color they were, but just being in the same room as her felt like enough. I could hear the music clearly and it wrapped around me like a weighted blanket. It made me feel safe. And that I was worth something. 

*sad sigh* When I woke up, I cried. Because I was back in my living room. But from then on, whenever I dreamed, I was in the room. Always at the back, but I was there. And when I was there, I didn’t feel any pain or criticism or inadequacy. I was…just…part of the music. I starting sleeping as much as possible, but when my stupid body couldn’t let me sleep, at least I’d have the photograph. I’d have Her face, smiling at me. Showing me this amazing life in the music room, that was so much better than mine! It was all right there. *wistful* Just..right there.

Before finding the photo, I’d thought I was happy. I thought I enjoyed my job. I thought I loved Dave. I thought I liked my body and my personality and my friends. But, She showed me how that was all a lie. How I was weak, and fearful. How I could be so much more, if I let Her help. And She was right.

She finally spoke to me. She told me the price of admission.

My body.

When She told me, I was honestly relieved. I was worried it was going to be something impossible, or important. But I didn’t need my body anymore. And She did.

She needed to eat.

I said yes, without hesitation. I didn’t even mind the pain, because I knew what was waiting for me. 

A chair in the front row.

She plays for us every day. The most incredible songs. And I’ve never felt happier. Everything is absolutely perfect.

And her eyes are the same color green as her dress.

(At this point, Voncid is struggling to comprehend why she isn’t upset.)

Voncid:  Gloria, Gloria there are some things I can try to help you, to get you and the others out of the photograph. Then your soul can move on and-

(now Gloria shows real anger.)

Gloria: No! I’m not trapped here. She let me join Her!

Voncid: My dear, there is no “she”. The woman at the piano isn’t real. Whatever entity is inhabiting the photograph, it’s not a person. It killed you, Gloria, and dozens of other people. It must be stopped so no one else gets hurt. I believe the only way to do that is to free all of you.

Gloria: You’re just like Dave. You don’t understand. I’m here because I asked to be here. I begged Her to take me! I’m finally happy and I won’t leave!

(other whispers of voices echo through the room) - I won’t leave. I won’t leave. I won’t leave.

Voncid: You would stay there willingly, trapped, forever?

Gloria:  Forever and ever. Now shhh. She’s starting a new song.

*Click*

Voncid: The investigation into the house in Wincrest yielded mixed results. The home belonged to Thomas Banson, who died of natural causes at the age of 89. He had no remaining family, hence the estate sale. According to a Missing Person’s report filed by the family, Mr. Banson’s only son Simon vanished in 1984, and the case is unsolved. By all accounts, he had been a happy, ambitious man…until he wasn’t. Using family photos as a reference, we can confirm that Simon is among those in the audience of the woman at the piano, seated in the front row, right next to Gloria. 

We were able to identify two others from the audience, both of whom vanished without a trace. The other twenty-two individuals remain unidentified.

I suspect Mr. Banson knew the dangers of the photograph, and kept it sealed away in the hidden compartment of the jewelry box to spare others from his son’s fate. But because the jewelry box could not be recovered, nor any other personal item that may have been of use, Mr. Banson’s soul was unable to be reclaimed for further answers. How it came to his, or his son’s, possession remains a mystery.

The entity in the photograph is, as yet, unidentified. I can find no no information about a woman matching this description, and no record of anything that hunts this way. Because I am convinced that’s what it’s doing. And not simply to consume the body, though that is part of it. No, this being appears to twist its victim’s minds until they are convinced everything in their life is inadequate, including themselves. That they can only be happy with Her. 

Whatever it is, it has been most successful. None of the souls now trapped inside the music room were willing to leave.

I’ve decided the best course of action is to seal the photograph away where it can never again be found by an unsuspecting individual, and hope future Reclaimers can someday find out the truth of its origins, and free those trapped inside.

(From off to the side, Luca speaks. His voice is hesitant, he knows he isn’t supposed to interrupt, but he can’t contain himself.)

Luca: That’s it? That’s all we can do? But, all those people?

Voncid: *wearily*  I can’t think of a better option. The souls will not cooperate with us and the sheer number of them makes forcing them out nearly impossible. With so much unknown, I don’t dare risk destroying the photograph, for fear that whatever It is could be unleashed in the process. For all we know, the photograph is a prison. And the prisoner is lonely.

Luca: Oh. *pause* I just…

Voncid: Out with it then.

Luca:  I can’t stand not knowing.

Voncid: Nor can I. 

*Click*