Shadows 5 by Charles L. Grant (Ed.)

Author:Charles L. Grant (Ed.) [Grant, Charles L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, azw3
Published: 2011-07-08T09:51:48+00:00

Beverly Evans returns with something quite a bit different than her previous "Waiting for the Knight. "Like many dark fantasies, this began with an actual incident. How it ends, however, is something we won't even begin to speculate on.

THE PIANO MAN by Beverly Evans

The piano was almost hidden in the rear of the music store, back behind the "family" organs and racks of returned rental instruments, each one mottled from the sticky sweat of children's fingers. The keyboard had been removed, and the dusty padding beneath was matted and ridged in regular intervals. The oak finish was original, and so fragile that a casual thumbnail could flake it away like chips of mica. The piano seemed to smile across the store, its wide, toothless, cotton-felt gums bared in a steady, strangely compelling expression.

Katie Prescott stood at the entrance of the music store and stared back at the piano. Years of memories welled up inside her; memories of hours spent practicing, memorizing, sometimes crying, eternally practicing; of little black dots buzzing before her eyes, swarming like so many no-see-ums on a hot summer day; of her first recital, with new anklets, new white sandals, a fresh Tonette, and all the confidence of a four-year-old capable of conquering the world . . . and the laughter. Waves of laughter that went on interminably as she had had to pull her long polished-cotton gown up around her waist in order to climb the high piano stool. The people had laughed, how they had laughed at the tiny blond child and her awkward, chubby little legs and her ruffled Carter's undies. Somewhere in her desk at home, a yellowed newspaper clipping from the Atlanta Herald, dated August 1952, still silently proclaimed: "Prodigy Bares All In First Recital."

"It's a beauty, isn't it," the music store's salesman said.

Katie started. "Oh yes . . . yes, it is . . ."

"Just came in yesterday. We sent the keys out for new ivory ..."

Katie couldn't stop staring at the piano. She remembered playing her repertoire of nursery rhymes and sonatinas flawlessly, while hot tears of humiliation ran down her cheeks and made damp stains on the lap of her gown. Katie threaded her way through the weekend shoppers and ran a finger across the curved keyboard cover. The feel of it sent little shivers through her, and she wiped the minute flecks of varnish from her fingers onto the leg of her jeans. LUCHENBACH, grand cabinet was still visible in carefully hand-painted gold lettering.

The salesman prattled on, "An old guy called in, asking to handle the repairs on this one. We don't usually contract out privately, but he was so insistent, we gave him the job. .. ."

Fourteen long years, Katie thought as she looked over the Luchenbach; fourteen years since she had touched a piano, much less played one. She remembered her mother screaming, shouting horrible, unforgivable things at her the day she left home, the day Katie had announced that she couldn't take one more minute of living like the only inmate in a prima donna's prison.

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