Read 13 - Piano Lessons Can Be Murder for Free Online

no one there,” Dad said softly, holding onto my shoulders. “See? No
one.”
    “Did you have a nightmare?” Mom asked, bending to massage her knee.
    “It wasn’t a nightmare!” I screamed. “I saw her! I really did!
She talked to me. She told me this was her piano, her house.”
    “Let’s sit down and talk about this,” Mom suggested. “Would you like a cup of
hot cocoa?”
    “You don’t believe me— do you?” I cried angrily. “I’m telling you the truth !”
    “We don’t really believe in ghosts,” Dad said quietly. He guided me to the
red leather couch against the wall and sat down beside me. Yawning, Mom followed
us, lowering herself onto the soft couch arm.
    “You don’t believe in ghosts, do you, Jerry?” Mom asked.
    “I do now!” I exclaimed. “Why don’t you listen to me? I heard her
playing the piano. I came downstairs and I saw her. She was a woman. She was all
gray. And her face fell off. And her skull showed through. And—and—”
    I saw Mom give Dad a look.
    Why wouldn’t they believe me?
    “A woman at work was telling me about a doctor,” Mom said softly, reaching
down and taking my hand. “A nice doctor who talks with young people. Dr. Frye, I
think his name was.”
    “Huh? You mean a psychiatrist?” I cried shrilly. “You think I’m crazy ?”
    “No, of course not,” Mom replied quickly, still holding on to my hand. “I
think something has made you very nervous, Jerry. And I don’t think it would
hurt to talk to someone about it.”
    “What are you nervous about, Jer?” Dad asked, straightening the collar of his
pajama shirt. “Is it the new house? Going to a new school?”
    “Is it the piano lessons?” Mom asked. “Are you worried about the lessons?”
She glanced at the piano, gleaming black and shiny under the ceiling light.
    “No. I’m not worried about the lessons,” I muttered unhappily. “I told you—I’m worried about the ghost !”
    “I’m going to make you an appointment with Dr. Frye,” Mom said quietly. “Tell
him about the ghost, Jerry. I’ll bet he can explain it all better than your
father and I can.”
    “I’m not crazy,” I muttered.
    “Something has you upset. Something is giving you bad dreams,” Dad said.
“This doctor will be able to explain it to you.” He yawned and stood up,
stretching his arms above his head. “I’ve got to get some sleep.”
    “Me, too,” Mom said, letting go of my hand and climbing off the arm of the
couch. “Do you think you can go to sleep now, Jerry?”
    I shook my head and muttered, “I don’t know.”
    “Do you want us to walk you to your room?” she asked.
    “I’m not a little baby!” I shouted. I felt angry and frustrated. I wanted to
scream and scream until they believed me.
    “Well, good night, Jer,” Dad said. “Tomorrow’s Saturday, so you can sleep
late.”
    “Yeah. Sure,” I muttered.
    “If you have any more bad dreams, wake us up,” Mom said.
    Dad clicked off the light. They headed down the hall to their room.
    I made my way across the living room to the front stairs.
    I was so angry, I wanted to hit something or kick something. I was really
insulted, too.
    But as I climbed the creaking stairs in the darkness, my anger turned to
fear.
    The ghost had vanished from the family room. What if she was waiting for me
up in my room?
    What if I walked into my room and the disgusting gray skull with the bulging
eyeballs was staring at me from my bed?
    The floorboards squeaked and groaned beneath me as I slowly made my way
through the hall to my room. I suddenly felt cold all over. My throat tightened.
I struggled to breathe.
    She’s in there. She’s in there waiting for me.
    I knew it. I knew she’d be there.
    And if I scream, if I cry for help, Mom and Dad will just think I’m crazy.
    What does the ghost want?
    Why does she play the piano every night? Why did she try to frighten me? Why
did she tell me to stay away?
    The questions rolled through my mind. I