Half World by Hiromi Goto

Author:Hiromi Goto
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

TWELVE

THE FOYER WAS dark but a diffuse light spilled around the corner of the hallway. Melanie stood in the half-light, gripping the handle of the cleaning cart in tight fists. A faint trace of something sour lingered in the air.

No more atrocities, she mouthed silently. Let this be okay.

The writhing threads of hope and terror were unbearable. She wanted to vomit.

Instead, she stepped through the doorway, pushing the cart in front of her as if it would somehow protect her. The door swung shut behind her.

The rubber tires squeaked overloud on the cold marble tiles. Melanie stopped.

“Hello?” she tried, her voice no more than a hoarse whisper.

She was inside. Suddenly her disguise felt horribly inadequate. As if she were a child who had been forced to design her own costume for the school play.

“Housekeeping,” Melanie croaked feebly.

She was surrounded by silence.

Leaving the cart in the foyer, Melanie tiptoed down the hallway to cautiously peer into the living room.

The room was luxuriously decorated. The floor was covered in a rich, dense carpet, and the furniture was elegant and old-fashioned. Antiques, Melanie guessed, with finely carved armrests and curved legs, floral-patterned cushions. A low table, easy chairs, and a chaise divan were loosely arranged around a stand of bamboo growing in an enormous ceramic pot. A black grand piano was set near the heart-stopping wall-sized window. The lid was open but it barely seemed to take up any space in the sprawling room. The massive framed oil paintings looked like postage stamps on the walls. Even in black and white the riches of the room were the grandest things Melanie had ever seen.

She released a long sigh of relief. No one was there, and she could quickly explore the room.

Glancing this way and that, Melanie stepped onto the carpet.

Two notes on the piano were pressed simultaneously in a quick three-beat succession.

Melanie gasped.

The same notes pressed three times again. Then two different notes, one, two, three, one, two, three . . .

The melody was bizarrely familiar.

Melanie stood at the edge of the living room, staring at the piano, the player hidden behind the raised lid.

“Chopsticks.” The person was playing “Chopsticks.”

The pianist played the notes that brought the tune back to the center of the keyboard to begin the piece once more. One, two, three, one, two, three . . .

Melanie did not know what to do.

And the piano player continued playing the maddening tune.

As if caught in a dream, she was pulled toward the horrible music. Her footsteps silent on the dense carpet, she drew closer and closer to the piano perched on the edge of the precipice window.

“Chopsticks” playing on and on and on . . .

Her heart filling her throat, Melanie moved around the piano to face the player.

The bench was empty.

She stared at the keys as they played themselves.

“Ha, ha, ha, ha,” Melanie began to laugh weakly. “Hee, hee, hee, hee!”

“Who are you?” someone directly behind her asked.

Melanie shrieked and spun around, almost knocking over an open book on a book stand.

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