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In a blink, Dr. Lynn is standing before me, his free hand on the hilt of the knife. In one smooth motion, he yanks the knife out of me. Igasp as his eyes go wide. “You are not alone, Tegan.” And then he opens his palm. Rose petals lie there. He inhales deeply and blows them in my face as I collapse to the ground.
My eyes flyopen as I clutch my chest and gasp for air. The sound of blood rushing through my veins makes hearing impossible, but I wildly search my ceiling as I get my wits about me.
The somewhat familiar space of my bedroom focuses, and I calm my heartrate by counting in my head, inhaling the familiar musty scent of the house.
Everything is dark, but outside my bedroom window, I can see the sliver of a moon, giving me something normal to grasp onto.
My breathing begins to calm, and slowly, the blood pumping in my ears lessens. And when it does, the melody that was playing in my dream filters into my room.
“What the fuck?” I say as I gather myself up on my elbows and look around my black room. I stick a finger in my ear and wiggle just to make sure that I’m actually awake and not headed back into the dream where the melody came from.
But the melody persists, building and building until it crashes into the climax of the song.
Fear pierces my chest, just like the knife in my dream. Someone is in my house, and that someone is playing on the piano.
I grab my phone off the floor and fumble with it as I unlock the screen. After a few button clicks, Tori’s number is being dialed. I slide it to my ear as I look wildly around my room for some kind of weapon but come up short. I really should have learned from the bathroom encounter.
“Hello?” Tori’s groggy voice comes through when she answers.
“Tori,” I whisper as quietly as I can. The piano’s song builds again, filling the house with deceivingly beautiful sounds.
“Tegan? Do you have any idea what time it is?”
“Shh. Listen. Do you hear that?” I go quiet, but as soon as I say the words, the piano stops. “Shit,” I add in a hiss.
“Hear what?”
“The music,” I whisper-yell into the phone.
“You weren’t playing the radio?” I hear an edge of impatience to her tone.
“No,” I nearly shout. Sliding from my bed, I pad my way across my bedroom and to the door. As I do, the floorboards creak in their usual spot, but I pay them no mind as I put my ear to the door.
Nothing. I hear nothing.
“Tegan,” she draws out. A rustling sound comes from her end. “What the hell is going on?”
“Someone was playing the piano in the house,” I growl.
Silence stretches on the other end until she clears her throat. “Have you gone to check it out yet?”
“No.” My heart skips a beat. “Should I?”
“Yes?” she says as a question.
“What if it’s a murderer?” I whisper feverishly.
“A murderer? Breaking into your house to play the piano? God, are you that afraid of death that everyone is a murderer?”
I cringe at how that sounds and put my ear back up to the door. Again, I hear nothing.
“Don’t be a pussy. Go check it out.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re safe and cozy in your townhouse.”
“Are you going yet?” she asks impatiently.
Growling, I place my hand on the door handle, gather what little courage I have, and slowly open it. “If I die, I will come back to haunt you.”
