by R. L. Stine
PIANO LESSONS
CAN BE MURDER
Goosebumps - 13
R.L. Stine
(An Undead Scan v1.5)
1
I thought I was going to hate moving into a new house. But actually, I had fun.
I played a pretty mean joke on Mom and Dad.
While they were busy in the front room showing the moving men where to put stuff, I went exploring. I found a really neat room to the side of the dining room.
It had big windows on two sides looking out onto the back yard. Sunlight poured in, making the room brighter and a lot more cheery than the rest of the old house.
The room was going to be our new family room. You know, with a TV and CD player, and maybe a Ping-Pong table and stuff. But right now it was completely empty.
Except for two gray balls of dust in one corner, which gave me an idea.
Chuckling to myself, I bent down and shaped the two dust balls with my hands. Then I began shouting in a real panicky voice: “Mice! Mice! Help! Mice!”
Mom and Dad came bursting into the room at the same time. Their mouths nearly dropped to the floor when they saw the two gray dust mice.
I kept screaming, “Mice! Mice!” Pretending I was scared of them. Trying hard to keep a straight face.
Mom just stood in the doorway, her mouth hanging open. I really thought she was going to drop her teeth!
Dad always panics more than Mom. He picked up a broom that was leaning against the wall, ran across the room, and began pounding the poor, defenseless dust mice with it.
By that time, I was laughing my head off.
Dad stared down at the glob of dust stuck to the end of the broom, and he finally caught on it was a joke. His face got real red, and I thought his eyes were going to pop out from behind his glasses.
“Very funny, Jerome,” Mom said calmly, rolling her eyes. Everyone calls me Jerry, but she calls me Jerome when she’s upset with me. “Your father and I sure appreciate your scaring us to death when we’re both very nervous and overworked and trying to get moved into this house.”
Mom is always real sarcastic like that. I think I probably get my sense of humor from her.
Dad just scratched the bald spot on the back of his head. “They really looked like mice,” he muttered. He wasn’t angry. He’s used to my jokes. They both are.
“Why can’t you act your age?” Mom asked, shaking her head.
“I am!” I insisted. I mean, I’m twelve. So I was acting my age. If you can’t play jokes on your parents and try to have a little fun at twelve, when can you?
“Don’t be such a smart guy,” Dad said, giving me his stern look. “There’s a lot of work to be done around here, you know, Jerry. You could help out.”
He shoved the broom toward me.
I raised both hands as if shielding myself from danger, and backed away. “Dad, you know I’m allergic!” I cried.
“Allergic to dust?” he asked.
“No. Allergic to work!”
I expected them to laugh, but they just stormed out of the room, muttering to themselves. “You can at least look after Bonkers,” Mom called back to me. “Keep her out of the movers’ way.”
“Yeah. Sure,” I called back. Bonkers is our cat, and there’s no way I can keep Bonkers from doing anything!
Let me say right out that Bonkers is not my favorite member of our family. In fact, I keep as far away from Bonkers as I can.
No one ever explained to the stupid cat that she’s supposed to be a pet. Instead, I think Bonkers believes she’s a wild, man-eating tiger. Or maybe a vampire bat.
Her favorite trick is to climb up on the back of a chair or a high shelf—and then leap with her claws out onto your shoulders. I can’t tell you how many good T-shirts have been ripped to shreds by this trick of hers. Or how much blood I’ve lost.
The cat is nasty—just plain vicious.
She’s all black except for a white circle over her forehead and one eye. Mom and Dad think she’s just wonderful. They’re always picking her up, and petting her, and telling her how adorable she is. Bonkers usually scratches them and makes them bleed. But they never learn.
When we moved to this new house, I was hoping maybe Bonkers would get left behind. But, no way. Mom made sure that Bonkers was in the car first, right next to me.
And of course the stupid cat threw up in the back seat.
Whoever heard of a cat who gets carsick? She did it deliberately because she’s horrible and vicious.
Anyway, I ignored Mom’s request to keep an eye on her. In fact, I crept into the kitchen and opened the back door, hoping maybe Bonkers would run away and get lost.
Then I continued my exploring.
Our other house was tiny, but new. This house was old. The floorboards creaked. The windows rattled. The house seemed to groan when you walked through it.
But it was really big. I discovered all kinds of little rooms and deep closets. One upstairs closet was as big as my old bedroom!
My new bedroom was at the end of the hall on the second floor. There were three other rooms and a bathroom up there. I wondered what Mom and Dad planned to do with all those rooms.
I decided to suggest that one of them be made into a Nintendo room. We could put a wide-screen TV in there to play the games on. It would be really neat.
As I made plans for my new video game room, I started to feel a little cheered up. I mean, it isn’t easy to move to a new house in a new town.
I’m not the kind of kid who cries much. But I have to admit that I felt like crying a lot when we moved away from Cedarville. Especially when I had to say good-bye to my friends.
Especially Sean. Sean is a great guy. Mom and Dad don’t like him too much because he’s kind of noisy and he likes to burp real loud. But Sean is my best friend.
I mean he was my best friend.
I don’t have any friends here in New Goshen.
Mom said Sean could come stay with us for a few weeks this summer. That was really nice of her, especially since she hates his burping so much.
But it didn’t really cheer me up.
Exploring the new house was making me feel a little better. The room next to mine can be a gym, I decided. We’ll get all those great-looking exercise machines they show on TV.
The movers were hauling stuff into my room, so I couldn’t go in there. I pulled open a door to what I thought was a closet. But to my surprise, I saw a narrow, wooden stairway. I guessed it led up to an attic.
An attic!
I’d never had an attic before. I’ll bet it’s filled with all kinds of great old stuff, I thought excitedly. Maybe the people who used to live here left their old comic book collection up there—and it’s worth millions!
I was halfway up the stairs when I heard Dad’s voice behind me. “Jerry, where are you going?”
“Up,” I replied. That was pretty obvious.
“You really shouldn’t go up there by yourself,” he warned.
“Why not? Are there ghosts up here or something?” I asked.
I could hear his heavy footsteps on the wooden stairs. He followed me up. “Hot up here,” he muttered, adjusting his glasses on his nose. “It’s so stuffy.”
He tugged on a chain suspended from the ceiling, and an overhead light came on, casting pale yellow light down on us.
I glanced quickly around. It was all one room, long and low, the ceiling slanting down on both sides under the roof. I’m not very tall, but I reached up and touched the ceiling.
There were tiny, round windows at both ends. But they were covered with dust and didn’t let in much light.
“It’s empty,” I muttered, very
disappointed.
“We can store a lot of junk up here,” Dad said, looking around.
“Hey—what’s that?” I spotted something against the far wall and began walking quickly toward it. The floorboards squeaked and creaked under my sneakers.
I saw a gray, quilted cover over something large. Maybe it’s some kind of treasure chest, I thought.
No one ever accused me of not having a good imagination.
Dad was right behind me as I grabbed the heavy cover with both hands and pulled it away.
And stared at a shiny, black piano.
“Wow,” Dad murmured, scratching his bald spot, staring at the piano with surprise. “Wow. Wow. Why did they leave this behind?”
I shrugged. “It looks like new,” I said. I hit some keys with my pointer finger. “Sounds good.”
Dad hit some keys, too. “It’s a really good piano,” he said, rubbing his hand lightly over the keyboard. “I wonder what it’s doing hidden up here in the attic like this….”
“It’s a mystery,” I agreed.
I had no idea how big a mystery it really was.
I couldn’t get to sleep that night. I mean, there was no way.
I was in my good old bed from our old house. But it was facing the wrong direction. And it was against a different wall. And the light from the neighbor’s back porch was shining through the window. The window rattled from the wind. And all these creepy shadows were moving back and forth across the ceiling.
I’m never going to be able to sleep in this new room, I realized.
It’s too different. Too creepy. Too big.
I’m going to be awake for the rest of my life!
I just lay there, eyes wide open, staring up at the weird shadows.
I had just started to relax and drift off to sleep when I heard the music.
Piano music.
At first, I thought it was coming from outside. But I quickly realized it was coming from up above me. From the attic!
I sat straight up and listened. Yes. Some kind of classical music. Right over my head.
I kicked off the covers and lowered my feet to the floor.
Who could be up in the attic playing the piano in the middle of the night? I wondered. It couldn’t be Dad. He can’t play a note. And the only thing Mom can play is “Chopsticks”, and not very well.
Maybe it’s Bonkers, I told myself.
I stood up and listened. The music continued. Very softly. But I could hear it clearly. Every note.
I started to make my way to the door and stubbed my toe against a carton that hadn’t been unpacked. “Ow!” I cried out, grabbing my foot and hopping around until the pain faded.
Mom and Dad couldn’t hear me, I knew. Their bedroom was downstairs.
I held my breath and listened. I could still hear the piano music above my head.
Walking slowly, carefully, I stepped out of my room and into the hallway. The floorboards creaked under my bare feet. The floor was cold.
I pulled open the attic door and leaned into the darkness.
The music floated down. It was sad music, very slow, very soft.
“Who—who’s up there?” I stammered.
2
The sad music continued, floating down the dark, narrow stairway to me.
“Who’s up there?” I repeated, my voice shaking just a little.
Again, no reply.
I leaned into the darkness, peering up toward the attic. “Mom, is that you? Dad?”
No reply. The melody was so sad, so slow.
Before I even realized what I was doing, I was climbing the stairs. They groaned loudly under my bare feet.
The air grew hot and stuffy as I reached the top of the stairs and stepped into the dark attic.
The piano music surrounded me now. The notes seemed to be coming from all directions at once.
“Who is it?” I demanded in a shrill, high-pitched voice. I guess I was a little scared. “Who’s up here?”
Something brushed against my face, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.
It took me a long, shuddering moment to realize it was the light chain.
I pulled it. Pale yellow light spread out over the long, narrow room.
The music stopped.
“Who’s up here?” I called, squinting toward the piano against the far wall.
No one.
No one there. No one sitting at the piano.
Silence.
Except for the floorboards creaking under my feet as I walked over to the piano. I stared at it, stared at the keys.
I don’t know what I expected to see. I mean, someone was playing the piano. Someone played it until the exact second the light went on. Where did they go?
I ducked down and searched under the piano.
I know it was stupid, but I wasn’t thinking clearly. My heart was pounding really hard, and all kinds of crazy thoughts were spinning through my brain.
I leaned over the piano and examined the keyboard. I thought maybe this was one of those old-fashioned pianos that played by itself. A player piano. You know, like you sometimes see in cartoons.
But it looked like an ordinary piano. I didn’t see anything special about it.
I sat down on the bench.
And jumped up.
The piano bench was warm! As if someone had just been sitting on it!
“Whoa!” I cried aloud, staring at the shiny, black bench.
I reached down and felt it. It was definitely warm.
But I reminded myself the whole attic was really warm, much warmer than the rest of the house. The heat seemed to float up here and stay.
I sat back down and waited for my racing heart to return to normal.
What’s going on here? I asked myself, turning to stare at the piano. The black wood was polished so well, I could see the reflection of my face staring back at me.
My reflection looked pretty scared.
I lowered my eyes to the keyboard and then hit a few soft notes.
Someone had been playing this piano a few moments ago, I knew.
But how could they have vanished into thin air without me seeing them?
I plunked another note, then another. The sound echoed through the long, empty room.
Then I heard a loud creak. From the bottom of the stairs.
I froze, my hand still on the piano keys.
Another creak. A footstep.
I stood up, surprised to find my legs all trembly.
I listened. I listened so hard, I could hear the air move.
Another footstep. Louder. Closer.
Someone was on the stairs. Someone was climbing to the attic.
Someone was coming for me.
3
Creak. Creak.
The stairs gave way beneath heavy footsteps.
My breath caught in my throat. I felt as if I would suffocate.
Frozen in front of the piano, I searched for a place to hide. But of course there wasn’t any.
Creak. Creak.
And then, as I stared in terror, a head poked up above the stairwell.
“Dad!” I cried.
“Jerry, what on earth are you doing up here?” He stepped into the pale yellow light. His thinning brown hair was standing up all over his head. His pajama pants were twisted. One leg had rolled up to the knee. He squinted at me. He didn’t have his glasses on.
“Dad—I—I thought—” I sputtered. I knew I sounded like a complete jerk. But give me a break—I was scared!
“Do you know what time it is?” Dad demanded angrily. He glanced down at his wrist, but he wasn’t wearing his watch. “It’s the middle of the night, Jerry!”
“I—I know, Dad,” I said, starting to feel a little better. I walked over to him. “I heard piano music, see. And so I thought—”
“You what?” His dark eyes grew wide: His mouth dropped open. “You heard what?”
“Piano music,” I repeated. “Up here. So I came upstairs to check it out, and—”
“Jerry!” Dad exploded. His face got really red. “It’s too late for your dumb jokes!”
“But, Dad—” I started to protest.
“Your mother and I killed ourselves unpacking and moving furniture all day,” Dad said, sighing wearily. “We’re both exhausted, Jerry. I shouldn’t have to tell you that I’m in no mood for jokes. I have to go to work tomorrow morning. I need some sleep.”
“Sorry, Dad,” I said quietly. I could see there was no way I was going to get him to believe me about the piano music.
“I know you’re excited about being in a new house,” Dad said, putting a hand on the shoulder of my pajama shirt. “But, come on. Back to your room. You need your sleep, too.”
I glanced back at the piano. It glimmered darkly in the pale yellow light. As if it were breathing. As if it were alive.
I pictured it rumbling toward me, chasing me to the stairs.
Crazy, weird thoughts. I guess I was more tired than I thought!
“Would you like to learn to play it?” Dad asked suddenly.
“Huh?” His question caught me by surprise.
“Would you like to take piano lessons? We could have the piano brought downstairs. There’s room for it in the family room.”
“Well… maybe,” I replied. “Yeah. That might be neat.”
He took his hand from my shoulder. Then he straightened his pajama bottoms and started down the stairs. “I’ll discuss it with your mother,” he said. “I’m sure she’ll be pleased. She always wanted someone to be musical in the family. Pull the light chain, okay?”
Obediently, I reached up and clicked off the light. The sudden darkness was so black, it startled me. I stayed close behind my dad as we made our way down the creaking stairs.
Back in my bed, I pulled the covers up to my chin. It was kind of cold in my room. Outside, the winter wind gusted hard. The bedroom window rattled and shook, as if it were shivering.
Piano lessons might be fun, I thought. If they let me learn to play rock piano, not that drippy, boring classical stuff.
After a few lessons, maybe I could get a synthesizer. Get two or three different keyboards. Hook them up to a computer.