13 - Piano Lessons Can Be Murder

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.

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.