Enchanted Summer

by Samantha Rose

  Standing there, knowing if he made another step he would go into the wrong direction, Nate didn’t move for a couple of minutes before finally resigning.

  He couldn’t fight it. Maybe just for tonight, he could forget the outside world existed.

  Nate walked through the living room and sat down on the bench. Opened the fallboard. One hand still grasping the edge of it, he pressed one finger of the other to the key.

  The sound reverberated through the silent room. Nate waited until it faded completely, then pressed the key once again, taking in every bit of the sound it produced. As if trying to understand its secret meaning.

  Today he would build a melody around this sound. An entire story for it.

  The music started—quiet and a bit hesitant at first, but with every new sound, it gained more and more confidence, grew louder. Nate didn’t even notice how he got immersed in it, forgot he was the one playing it. There was this one moment in playing a musical instrument—and his whole life he had lived for that single moment—when he forgot his fingers were striking the keyboard at all. When everything disappeared and he floated off into another realm, carried away by the music. It whirled around him, beautiful and enchanting, when all of a sudden …

  Everything stopped.

  The melody broke off abruptly, and Nate’s eyes were pinned to the window on his right.

  There was nothing outside, just the darkness and the quiet, but he could swear—just a second ago, there was a bubble of light floating behind the glass.

  Somebody was watching him.

  Nate knew he was probably just imagining things after that conversation with Ray, but he couldn’t be sure. Maybe it was one of his neighbors with a flashlight in their hand. He hoped he didn’t wake them up with his music.

  Pushing off the piano, Nate rose to his feet and came up to the window to peer outside. The garden looked as usual: no bubbles of light floating around in the air. Maybe it was just a moth? No, moths didn’t glow in the dark. A firefly then? With all the surprises nature had given him lately, that could have been anything.

  Coming out of the living room, Nate walked to the front door and opened it up. Crickets’ chirping and moonlight greeted him along with the porch light that’d switched right on. Nate looked around at the houses of his neighbors. None of the windows was lit up.

  Then he cast a glance at the willow tree.

  It all had started with it, and somehow, Nate suspected, all the mysterious events were connected to it.

  Three

  “Definitely a ghost,” Ray concluded the next day.

  Nate was smiling, but some part of him wanted to believe his friend. “But that thing was small. Aren’t ghosts bigger in size?”

  “Maybe it was a ghost of something small. A ghost bat?” Ray shrugged and pushed the iced drink across the counter.

  Nate chuckled.

  A group of new customers came in, and he went to take the orders. Ray soon joined him.

  “I have another theory,” he said while cleaning up the table after the company of loud teenagers. “That old piano in your house—it may be the reason for all of this.”

  Nate shook his head, the corners of his lips turning up slightly. “I don’t think so. How did you even get this idea?”

  “Things like that—old pianos, dolls, creepy heirlooms—they always attract supernatural beings. You said nobody had touched it in years.”

  “But it’s been there for decades. And nothing happened.” Nate didn’t even know why he argued—it felt so silly. Maybe he and Ray were just bored. In any case, discussing ghosts and other mysteries was better than talking about his past or answering questions about his life.

  “Right.” Ray nodded. “Because nobody played it. And now you do.”

  “I know; I should stop,” Nate murmured, more to himself than to anybody.

  He didn’t even notice the words escaping his mouth before Ray turned his head to look at him. “Why?” he asked curiously.

  Nate blinked at him for a second, then shook his head. “No, it’s just … Nothing serious would come out of it, so I’m just wasting my time,” he said—almost the first thing that came to his mind.

  “Well, if it’s the way for you to relax after work, I don’t see anything bad about it. Unless you’re attracting ghosts to your house with it,” he added, picking up a tray and moving to the bar stand. “Have you ever tried to record yourself playing?”

  Nate shot a glance at him. “Not in a long time.”

  “Maybe you should try? I would like to take a listen.”

  “You would?”

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

  Nate considered Ray’s words for a second, then nodded. “I will try to record it tonight.”

  “And while you’re at it, you can also install a camera to your window,” Ray said as the bell chimed, announcing the arrival of new customers. “To see what happens when you play the piano.”

  “Whoever it is, they are probably friendly,” Nate mused. “I was thinking, maybe it’s one of the neighbors.”

  Ray rolled his eyes. “Your neighbors are anything but friendly. And your house is haunted.”

  “Whose house is haunted?” A girl’s voice sounded from behind his back.

  Ray started, spinning to face the newcomer. Nate went over to the bar stand to pour another drink.

  “Oh, hey,” he heard his friend say. “I didn’t expect you to come so early.”

  The girl crossed her hands over her chest, then flashed him a smile and moved closer to kiss him.

  That must be Hanna, Nate guessed right away.

  She was a pretty girl with long blonde hair and brown eyes, dressed in jean shorts and a crop top. Behind her stood another girl—shorter in height, her hair a shade lighter. It took Nate a few seconds to recognize her—so different from the way she looked yesterday. He smiled at her, and she returned the smile coyly.

  “You took Mimi with you?” Ray said, sounding a little surprised.

  “What’s so strange about that?” Mimi cocked her head to the side.

  “Nothing.” Ray blinked at his sister, releasing his girlfriend’s hand. “She just never visits us here. Do you want a milkshake?”

  “I do,” Hanna said.

  “Me too,” Mimi squeaked, casting a quick glance at Nate.

  She came forth now, and he could see that she was wearing a cute summer dress. Her hair, braided on one side, cascaded down her shoulders in soft waves.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” Hanna pointed out to Ray. “About the haunted house.”

  “I’ve already told you about it.” Ray jerked his chin toward Nate. “It’s his house.”

  Saying that, he headed to the kitchen, leaving the two girls in the company of his friend.

  “You must be Nate,” Hanna flicked her eyes to him.

  Nate smiled at her. “That’s right. Nice to meet you.”

  “I’m Hanna.” She nodded at Ray’s sister. “And this is Mimi. We’ve been neighbors for years and know each other from childhood.”

  Mimi clasped one of her hands with the other. “We’ve already met,” she said, dropping her eyes to the floor.

  “So you are the guy who lives in a haunted house?” Hanna went on, stepping closer. “Ray’s been talking about it for weeks. Is it really that bad?”

  “Depends on what he’s told you.”

  “I want to see it. I love supernatural stuff. We should come over one day, right, Mimi?” She cast a glance at the other girl.

  “I can get a little scared,” Mimi murmured, blushing.

  “There’s really nothing special,” Nate said. “All the strange events seem to occur mostly at night. But you can come and see the garden.”

  “That will be fun,” Hanna replied. “Nothing ever happens in this town. We should try and make this summer special—for Mimi.” She looked at her friend. “It’s her last one. She’s leaving for college at the end of it.”

  Mimi’s blush deepened. “I�
��m not leaving forever. I will come back.”

  “Still, we should make it memorable. I’ve been making a list of things for us to do.” Hanna’s eyes sparkled. “First—we should go and find the Secret Lake.”

  Mimi rolled her eyes and sighed. “Oh, right,” she said. “Then we should swim with mermaids, feed a yeti, fly to the outer space on an alien ship …” She trailed off, catching Nate’s curious glance, and dropped her eyes to the floor again, her cheeks burning hot.

  “No, I’m serious!” Hanna countered. “We should go find it. Enough people have seen it, so we have to find it, too!”

  “The legend says the lake only reveals itself to the ones it chooses,” Mimi mumbled, eyes pinned to the floor.

  “Wouldn’t it be cool if some of us could see it while others couldn’t?”

  “It also says that you can get lost in the forest forever trying to find it.”

  “That would never happen.” Hanna waved her hand. “We have GPS now.”

  “You guys sure know how to have fun around here,” Nate broke into their conversation.

  Hanna splayed her fingers on the bar counter. “Well, there are lots of myths and legends around this town, but most of them are just tales. However, I do believe in the Secret Lake. My uncle had seen it once.”

  “Your uncle has seen a lot of weird things …” Mimi sighed. “Maybe we should do normal things instead? I don’t want to get lost in the forest.”

  “Don’t be silly; we won’t get lost.” Hanna rolled her eyes, stepping away from the counter. “And I have lots of ‘normal’ things planned. Making a bonfire, camping in the backyard, catching fireflies …”

  “I’m not a five-year-old, either,” Mimi muttered.

  Nate smiled to himself.

  “Here you go, girls.”

  Ray appeared seemingly out of nowhere, holding two milkshakes in his hands.

  “Strawberry and banana,” he announced, handing out the drinks.

  “You guessed my favorite!” Hanna exclaimed, receiving hers, and leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek. “Okay, Mimi and I are going shopping. We are making plans for the summer. See you later.”

  Saying that, she spun on her heels and walked toward the exit. Mimi waved goodbye and followed suit. As they walked out, a bunch of new customers entered. The diner got visibly more crowded.

  Ray stared after the girls for a moment.

  “Mimi asked a lot about you yesterday,” he said, looking at no one in particular.

  “She did?” Nate asked. “What did she want to know?”

  “Who you are, where you come from, how long you have been working here …” Ray shrugged. “Don’t know what’s gotten into her. She’s never been interested in any of my friends,” he added quietly, almost talking to himself, then shook his head and proceeded to work.

  As soon as Nate parked his car by his house that day, the front door of his neighbors’ home flew open. A middle-aged woman stepped out onto the porch, her hands planted on her hips. One look at her told Nate something had gone wrong during his absence.

  He climbed out of the car and shut the door. Meanwhile, his neighbor—Mrs. Johnson, as he’d hastily remembered—descended the steps and strode to him. She was wearing a night robe, and her hair was twisted into a bun on top of her head.

  Nate locked the car and turned just in time to face her.

  “Good evening, Mr.—” Mrs. Johnson broke off, clearly blanking on his last name.

  “Nate.” Nate attempted a nonchalant smile at her. “Just call me Nate.”

  “Mr. Nate,” Mrs. Johnson repeated, folding her hands across her chest and looking over him before casting an accusatory glance at the old willow tree. “I have a complaint for you.”

  “What?” Nate’s eyebrows furrowed.

  “Well.” She flicked her eyes back to him. “Somebody broke into my house today and stole some things from the kitchen.”

  Nate blinked at her in puzzlement. “Really? What things?”

  “There was a jar of honey on the kitchen table, and I also had a shawl draped over the back of the chair. Maybe I’d left the shawl on the front porch. I don’t remember, to be honest. But it doesn’t matter—I still can’t find it.”

  “Are you sure they had been stolen?”

  “Absolutely. The kitchen window was open and anybody could walk in.”

  “But … What does it have to do with me?”

  Mrs. Johnson frowned at him. “I spotted an empty jar a few hours later—on your porch. As for the shawl, I still can’t find it, but I’m sure that whoever took the honey had taken it as well.”

  “My porch?” Nate fumbled with a set of keys in his hand. “I have no idea who it could be. I’ve been at work the whole day. Maybe it was some of the kids from the neighborhood. Just playing pranks on us.”

  “Whoever it might be, I need to find them,” Mrs. Johnson stated. “And I expect you, Mr. Nate, to help me with that.”

  “I don’t know how I can help you.” Nate shook his head. “I hardly know anyone here. Maybe you’d better call the police.”

  “And tell them that you have stolen from me?” She arched an eyebrow at him. “Remember, the jar was found on your porch.”

  “I have been at work the whole day,” Nate repeated. “And yesterday. And the day before. I don’t know who stole your things. And I’m sorry about what happened, but I’m not sure I can be of any help here. Good night.”

  Saying that, Nate turned around and walked off, leaving his neighbor standing alone.

  “If you had the time and money to renovate your garden, you should certainly consider becoming a more responsible neighbor,” Mrs. Johnson called out after him.

  Nate released a long breath before opening the front door.

  That night, everything repeated almost exactly like the previous one. Nate set up his phone on top of the piano, turned on the recording, and began playing. And just when the melody started to unfold, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a bubble of light floating behind the glass of the living room window.

  Nate stopped the recording immediately and rushed to peer outside, but there was nothing there besides a bunch of moths clinging to the light coming from the house.

  Maybe he was going crazy? Maybe he was seeing things?

  Nate opened the window to let the night air in and switched off the living room lights. It seemed a bit stupid, but he wanted to try.

  Settling down on the piano bench, he turned on the recording once again and placed his fingers on top of the keyboard. Casting one last glance at the opened window and the insects exploring the window frame, hesitant to come in, he started playing.

  Whatever it was behind the glass—a ghost, or an alien, or any other supernatural being, mythical creature nobody knew about—he welcomed it in. Trusted it didn’t mean any harm.

  Hanna had mentioned this town having many legends. Maybe it was one of them. Maybe he had to talk to people—her uncle, for instance—and ask them if they could tell him something about it.

  But right at that moment, it was only him and the sweet-scented summer night; crickets’ chirping in the distance, moonlight playing in the drooping branches of the willow tree. And the beautiful melody. It seemed like the entire garden and all of its inhabitants leaned in to listen closely.

  Nate waited, and just as it had been before—when the melody grew louder and began to unfold, something flickered at the edge of his vision. He smiled to himself, but this time, he didn’t move. Didn’t stop playing. Didn’t even look up in the direction of the light.

  Come in, he silently beckoned. Don’t be so scared; I won’t hurt you. Let’s share this moment.

  And the light—whatever it was—seemed to sense his request. It paused above the windowsill and then settled in the corner, curiously peering inside.

  Nate played and played. His fingers never ceased moving. For the first time in his life, someone seemed to be genuinely interested in his music, and he didn’t want to let this someone down.
/>
  A couple of moths wandered inside the living room. They fluttered around the piano, brushing the keys with their phantom gray wings as if wanting to play along. Nate welcomed them in, too.

  Somehow, tonight he didn’t float away into the magical realm. Instead, it came to him. And he’d never felt so connected to the outside world like he did that night, playing for everyone and everything that was willing to come and listen.

  Deep in the night, he sent the recordings to Ray, closed the window—all the insects and the bubble of light had disappeared as soon as he stopped playing—and retreated to his bedroom.

  Four

  The next morning, Nate’s car lock clicking accompanied the appearance of Mrs. Johnson on her front porch. She was dressed the same as last night, except this time her shoulders were covered by a turquoise crochet shawl.

  Nate was about to climb into the driver’s seat when she called out to him.

  “Mr. Nate!”

  He half-turned to glance at her leaning against the porch pillow, her arms folded across her chest.

  “If I had to threaten you with the police in order to get my shawl back, you could’ve just told me so!”

  Nate’s brows shot up. He shook his head. “I’m sorry?”

  “My shawl”—Mrs. Johnson touched the crochet material—“that was stolen. I found it lying on my porch chair this morning.”

  “That’s great,” Nate commented. “But I’ve already told you—I didn’t take it. Maybe whoever took it overheard our conversation last night and brought it back. But it sure wasn’t me.”

  “Maybe.” Mrs. Johnson inclined her head. “But from now on, I’m watching you, Mr. Nate.”

  And with that she was gone, her front door slamming in her wake.

  Nate took a deep breath before reaching for the car door and climbing in to get to work.

  An hour later, Ray was laughing, listening to the story of Nate’s encounter with his neighbor.

  “A jar of honey and a shawl? Is she out of her mind?”

  “No; those things had really gone missing,” Nate remarked. “But who could have taken them, and why? What can you do with such things?”