Sleepy Violin Prequel

Name: Andee

Age: 13

Gender: Male

I hear it again. That music. I can hear it playing in my ears so soft and faint. Where is it coming from? I walk to the window. I walk to the closet. It seems any direction I step towards, the sound comes from the opposite. Where is it? Why can't I find it? The vexation grinds my innards.

The frustration must be making me dizzy. I sway to the side and the drop shadows tease my eyes. What the Hell? I come to a door. When did we ever have a door here in our house? I don't remember it. I pull the handle gently and the music pours through the blinding white light. I force my eyes open. I have to see...

"Mom," I say for the fourth time, "There was a woman in there. There was a door there. She was playing a violin!"

Mom shakes her head at me. "Today is Christmas. You're just overly excited, that's all. Don't let it get to you, dear." She frowns at me. "Go back to bed, now. I promise there's no monsters or anything in the house. I'll come wake you and your sister up at eight so we can open presents." Why doesn't she believe me? I saw it. I swear to God I saw it. Why won't anyone believe me?

I am starting band next year. I hadn't decided the instrument I wanted to play, so it was wonted that I would recieve one.

Mom and Dad look uneasy and even slightly suprised. There's an awkwardly wrapped package laying in the middle of the floor. It says "From Yours Truly" with fantastic elaborate loops and curves decorating the text in a dark red ink . Is it ink? There are smudges where it looks as if someone's attempted to forcefully rub it off. There's a big white glob of... is it white out? It was behind the writing, though. The letters had bled through the white blotch, maybe. I can see red veiny cracks in the dried liquid where it's seeped through, like when you cut yourself and the blood collects in the lines of your hands. Then I see something hurriedly scribbled beneath it in Mom's writing in a finer pen... "Santa Claus".

I touch the wrapper and feel it crinkle under my touch. I feel my respiration increase and my breath shorten. I touch the paper again. It's exciting. And in the back of my mind I see a bright light. I pull lightly on it with my fingertips and slowly the light begins to dim. The paper begins to tear and I see my hand gripping the strange door tightly, the outline of a woman coming into focus. I grab the wrapping in my fist and rip it off; bright red eyes pierce my whole body with thousands of needles. A bead of sweat runs down the side of my face; the woman's long silvery, gray hair falls to the side as she tilts her head and smiles, showing off her oddly long and pointed teeth. I look down into the open box and see the same cherry glow of the violin as the woman's had. I see her fly towards me, her teeth sinking into my flesh; a healthy bite. Her delicate hand embraces my shoulder as the other one holds the violin. The music. It burns my ears. There is no one playing yet I sill hear the music.

I grab the woman by the neck. Or is it the violin? I grab it, and I slice her torso violently with the bow and wrap my fingers around her thin, cold throat. I slash and slash, and the music pounds in my ears. It's loud, eerie, uncomfortable, and screechy. I finally get my focus back and I see not a dead woman lying in my arms, but a violin. I'm in the room. I'm all alone. I look to the left and then the right. It's just a room filled with bright sunshine, a whitewashed room with a large open window. And a music stand. I instinctively walk to it with my violin and lift it to my shoulder. I feel hands on mine, gently pulling the bow back. A soft and beautiful sounds vibrates from my violin. I look straight ahead but see myself, like a third party, watching. I look cold, pale, and dead. There's a woman behind me with long silver hair and a dark, gray, shimmering dress, helping me play the violin. She smiles slightly and gently and kisses the back of my shoulder.

The music is so soft and faint. I can hear it but I can't find it. I fall in darkness, still able to hear that sleepy violin lullaby.

I open my eyes and find myself in my living room. I allow the violin to slide from my shoulder. It tugs on the joint in my shoulder as it falls as far as my arm will let it. My hands refuse to let it go. Mother and Father are lying on the couch in each others arms, sleeping? Sister is huddled under the Christmas tree clinging to a stuffed teddy bear, one of her hands limply lying over her upturned ear.

The only people who can hear the music are the people who I want to hear it.