Page 37 of Petrify

I feel every passing second of the afternoon, time stretching to unbearable lengths. Pacing in the dark, waiting for the sun to fall, for the house to become silent of everything but her music.

And when she plays my melody until the last possible moment, I know,I know, she’s resigned herself to being mine, wholly, completely.

Chapter 19

The Pianist

I tellmyself that his absence wasn’t my fault.

The day went as normal—lessons with Henri this morning, a quiet afternoon to myself, a bit more guided practice with him before dinner. He picks things up quickly. I was eager to practice for myself, being in such a good mood. Eager to seehim.

It’s twisted, tutoring the young boy in the morning, and speaking with his dead brother at night. Keeping this a secret from Henri, from the family, from everyone. Reece said the Ghost was just a rumor.

Does anybody know the Ghost isreal? Do the Beauchenes know their eldest son isn’t dead? If they do…

It’s a truth I’m not sure I want to unravel. Why would the family keep such a secret?

And then I chastise myself, because I’m no better.

I was so eager to see him, and then?—

Nothing.

His absence was a rejection as clear as any. No matter what I played, no matter how many times I ran through his waltz, he never showed himself. It wasn’t long into my practice that I began to feel foolish—embarassed by my wanting and chastising myself for even thinking he really owed me anything.

Maybe hewasa ghost. Maybe somehow I’d summoned him with my music. Maybe today I did not do well enough to conjure his form.

Maybe I’d imagined everything last night, and imagined everything the night before. Maybe he didn’t really exist.

I ready myself for bed in a haze, analyzing everything from the last two days, absentmindedly brushing my hair and changing my clothes. I hope, when I wash my face in the bathroom, I will open my eyes to his mask in the mirror. I hope I will feel his eyes on me again.

Nothing.

All day,nothing.

It’s not too late in the evening when I finally crawl under the plush sheets, but when my eyes seem to open a second later, the silence of midnight has descended upon the house and the clock on the wall reads only a few minutes into the morning.

But the quiet is not what startles me.

A figure stands at the foot of my bed, cloaked in shadows. I know it’s him, Iknowit’s him, by the set of his shoulders and the way I can feel him staring at me,intome, like a predator taking a moment to observe its prey before lunging.

I gasp at the sudden chill sending all my hair on edge.

He knows I’m awake.

The chair is still shoved under the doorknob. How did he get in here?

I sit up, slowly, holding the blanket to my chest, feeling entirely exposed.

“Why are you here?” I whisper. A stupid question because he hasn’t left me alone since I arrived. For a moment, I’m not sure he heard me.

Except he did, because he’s hitching a knee up onto the bed, limbs barely visible in the dark, his ghostly white mask only illuminated enough by the moon outside.

I don’t move a muscle when the mattress gives under his weight.

His hand finds my leg through the covers. On hands and knees, he’s crawling over the bed to me. Grips my ankle, the blanket the only thing separating us, and I have the immediate urge to rip away, to run from the bed and into the hall and scream until the whole house is awake.

Except they’ll look at me like I’m crazy and insist I was only having a nightmare.