Read Online 13 - Piano Lessons Can Be Murder by R.L. Stine - (ebook by Undead) - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: R.L. Stine - (ebook by Undead)
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told it to Kim, it all came back to me.
Kim had a big grin on her face. “You’re a better storyteller than I am,” she
said. “Do you know a lot of ghost stories?”
“It isn’t a story!” I cried. Suddenly, I was desperate for her to believe
me.
Kim started to reply, but my mom poked her head into the family room and
interrupted. “Kim, your mom just called. She needs you to come home now.”
“Guess I’d better go,” Kim said, setting down the hot chocolate mug.
I followed her out.
We had just reached the family room doorway when the piano began to play. A
strange jumble of notes.
“See?” I cried excitedly to Kim. “See? Now do you believe me?”
21
We both turned back to stare at the piano.
Bonkers was strutting over the keys, his tail straight up behind him.
Kim laughed. “Jerry, you’re funny! I almost believed you!”
“But—but—but—” I sputtered.
That stupid cat had made a fool of me again.
“See you in school,” Kim said. “I loved your ghost story.”
“Thanks,” I said weakly. Then I hurried across the room to chase Bonkers off
the piano.
Late that night I heard the piano playing again.
I sat straight up in bed. The shadows on my ceiling seemed to be moving in
time to the music.
I had been sleeping lightly, restlessly. I must have kicked off my covers in
my sleep, because they were bunched at the foot of the bed.
Now, listening to the familiar slow melody, I was wide awake.
This was not Bonkers strutting over the keys. This was the ghost.
I stood up. The floorboards were ice-cold. Outside the bedroom window, I
could see the winter-bare trees shivering in a strong breeze.
As I crept to the bedroom doorway, the music grew louder.
Should I go down there? I asked myself.
Will the ghost disappear the minute I poke my head into the family room?
Do I really want to see her?
I didn’t want to see that hideous, grinning skull again.
But I realized I couldn’t just stand there in the doorway. I couldn’t go back
to bed. I couldn’t ignore it.
I had to go investigate.
I was pulled downstairs, as if tugged by an invisible rope.
Maybe this time Mom and Dad will hear her, too, I thought as I made my way
along the hallway. Maybe they will see her, too. Maybe they will finally believe
me.
Kim flashed into my mind as I started down the creaking stairs. She thought
I was making up a ghost story. She thought I was trying to be funny.
But there really was a ghost in my house, a ghost playing my piano. And I was
the only one who knew it.
Into the living room. Across the worn carpet to the dining room.
The music floated so gently, so quietly.
Such ghostly music, I thought….
I hesitated just short of the family room doorway. Would she vanish the
instant I peeked in?
Was she waiting for me?
Taking a deep breath, I took a step into the family room.
22
She had her head down, her long hair falling over her face.
I couldn’t see her eyes.
The piano music seemed to swirl around me, pulling me closer despite my fear.
My legs were trembling, but I took a step closer. Then another.
She was all gray. Shades of gray against the blackness of the night sky
through the windows.
Her head bobbed and swayed in rhythm with the music. The sleeves of her
blouse billowed as her arms moved over the keys.
I couldn’t see her eyes. I couldn’t see her face. Her long hair covered her,
as if hiding her behind a curtain.
The music soared, so sad, so incredibly sad.
I took a step closer. I suddenly realized I had forgotten to breathe. I let
my breath out in a loud whoosh.
She stopped playing. Maybe the sound of my breathing alerted her that I was
there.
As she raised her head, I could see her pale eyes peering out at me through
her hair.
I didn’t move.
I didn’t breathe.
I didn’t make a sound.
“The stories are true,” she whispered. A dry whisper that seemed to come from
far away.
I wasn’t sure I had heard her
Kim had a big grin on her face. “You’re a better storyteller than I am,” she
said. “Do you know a lot of ghost stories?”
“It isn’t a story!” I cried. Suddenly, I was desperate for her to believe
me.
Kim started to reply, but my mom poked her head into the family room and
interrupted. “Kim, your mom just called. She needs you to come home now.”
“Guess I’d better go,” Kim said, setting down the hot chocolate mug.
I followed her out.
We had just reached the family room doorway when the piano began to play. A
strange jumble of notes.
“See?” I cried excitedly to Kim. “See? Now do you believe me?”
21
We both turned back to stare at the piano.
Bonkers was strutting over the keys, his tail straight up behind him.
Kim laughed. “Jerry, you’re funny! I almost believed you!”
“But—but—but—” I sputtered.
That stupid cat had made a fool of me again.
“See you in school,” Kim said. “I loved your ghost story.”
“Thanks,” I said weakly. Then I hurried across the room to chase Bonkers off
the piano.
Late that night I heard the piano playing again.
I sat straight up in bed. The shadows on my ceiling seemed to be moving in
time to the music.
I had been sleeping lightly, restlessly. I must have kicked off my covers in
my sleep, because they were bunched at the foot of the bed.
Now, listening to the familiar slow melody, I was wide awake.
This was not Bonkers strutting over the keys. This was the ghost.
I stood up. The floorboards were ice-cold. Outside the bedroom window, I
could see the winter-bare trees shivering in a strong breeze.
As I crept to the bedroom doorway, the music grew louder.
Should I go down there? I asked myself.
Will the ghost disappear the minute I poke my head into the family room?
Do I really want to see her?
I didn’t want to see that hideous, grinning skull again.
But I realized I couldn’t just stand there in the doorway. I couldn’t go back
to bed. I couldn’t ignore it.
I had to go investigate.
I was pulled downstairs, as if tugged by an invisible rope.
Maybe this time Mom and Dad will hear her, too, I thought as I made my way
along the hallway. Maybe they will see her, too. Maybe they will finally believe
me.
Kim flashed into my mind as I started down the creaking stairs. She thought
I was making up a ghost story. She thought I was trying to be funny.
But there really was a ghost in my house, a ghost playing my piano. And I was
the only one who knew it.
Into the living room. Across the worn carpet to the dining room.
The music floated so gently, so quietly.
Such ghostly music, I thought….
I hesitated just short of the family room doorway. Would she vanish the
instant I peeked in?
Was she waiting for me?
Taking a deep breath, I took a step into the family room.
22
She had her head down, her long hair falling over her face.
I couldn’t see her eyes.
The piano music seemed to swirl around me, pulling me closer despite my fear.
My legs were trembling, but I took a step closer. Then another.
She was all gray. Shades of gray against the blackness of the night sky
through the windows.
Her head bobbed and swayed in rhythm with the music. The sleeves of her
blouse billowed as her arms moved over the keys.
I couldn’t see her eyes. I couldn’t see her face. Her long hair covered her,
as if hiding her behind a curtain.
The music soared, so sad, so incredibly sad.
I took a step closer. I suddenly realized I had forgotten to breathe. I let
my breath out in a loud whoosh.
She stopped playing. Maybe the sound of my breathing alerted her that I was
there.
As she raised her head, I could see her pale eyes peering out at me through
her hair.
I didn’t move.
I didn’t breathe.
I didn’t make a sound.
“The stories are true,” she whispered. A dry whisper that seemed to come from
far away.
I wasn’t sure I had heard her
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