The hallway was dark, lit only by the moon that seemed to peek ever so gently through the grime-covered windows on the wall. Across from them were portrait paintings, which too had a thick layer of dust clinging to every surface. The thin silken layer of sediment heavily desaturated the otherwise (supposedly) vibrant colors underneath. The corridor was silent, save the padded footsteps Edgar's boots made as he walked along the thick red carpet. His glasses seemed to fog every time he exhaled, which doesn't usually happen all that often. Although, seeing as he had been walking through what he now came to believe as a countless number of hallways and rooms- each slightly darker than the one before it- Edgar had begun to breathe deeper and faster as he lost track of the direction he had come from. Anxiety crept and curled up into the nape of his neck as he walked, feeding the perspiration above his brow. Yet, however anxious young Edgar was, his memory of each room was fond- much unlike his recollection of where it was.
The library he had passed through just moments ago was home to hundreds- if not thousands- of books, each containing first-edition stories that had no resting place other than within the pages on those very shelves. And not only was the library a sanctuary of priceless collections, but its wood-paneled walls were also home to hundreds- if not thousands- of childhood memories. So many, in fact, that if you had a slide projector (Uncle Reman's old one was bound to be stashed somewhere) and placed in every moment like a picture, you would most likely see Edgar's entire boyhood life flick and stutter endearingly before your eyes.
The roof of this library was so high, Edgar's neck felt sore after a mere minute of looking up at it, though that didn't stop him as his eyes had been glued to the magnificent mural that spread itself across the ceiling. Looking up at it, Edgar reminisced when he and his older sister, Mona, would blow up the helium balloons his Aunt Sylvia sometimes brought them. They would then lie on their backs, balloon strings in hand, and eager Edgar would listen to Mona countdown from "3.. 2.. 1.. ok, let go!" and the two would watch as their respective balloon lazily drifted upward, only to be held back by the painted angels on the rafters. It was meant to be a fair race, but somehow Mona's always won.
The stunted ceiling above Edgar now paled in comparison to the one in the library as it displayed no more than the heavy beams of oak holding up the room above. Edgar wiped his glasses on his maroon sweater vest, bringing his attention to the present. The hallway Edgar was in ended with a small, iron-wrought staircase that tightly spiraled upwards. Edgar grabbed hold of the skinny railing that lined the outskirts of the steps. The black metal was cold and rough, rusted from years without polish. As Edgar's boots climbed up the narrow steps, the eerie and empty metalled sound they made rattled through the hallway, cutting through the silence like an owl's hoot in the night. The stairway was short, and as Edgar's head poked out from the cutaway in the room above, he felt a chilly breeze that sent a shiver partway up his spine.
The large room he emerged into was domed in shape, coupled with gold embroidered engravings above and beautiful marble patterns below. Half of the room's walls were broad windows, presenting an enamoring view of the Parisian skyline. Unfortunately, many of the window panes had been shattered, cause enough for the breeze, and indicated either vandalism or unsympathetic weather in their past. Due to the spacious windows, the elegant shine of the moon gave a heavier presence than in the hallway below, illuminating what stood in the middle of the floor.
A grand piano, ebony in color, stood there invitingly. Edgar left the stairway behind and approached it to get a better look. The piano was radiant and reflected the moonlight with relative ease. Curiously, each of its gleaming surfaces noted the absence of dust. The lid was propped open, allowing for the strings and cast iron plate inside to glisten in the silver lighting. The keys were a perfect contrast without any discoloration whatsoever. The black keys were topped with rich, deep brown leather while the pearly white ones shone in an ivory glow.
Edgar was in awe of the instrument before him. He never saw a piano of this size as a boy, nor had he seen one as a man. While admiring the dark wood of the frame, Edgar began to grow more confident in his curiosity. He noticed that unlike the rest of the objects he'd seen in the mansion, the piano presented not a single piece of dust. Instead, it was as if the piano had been placed there only moments ago, ridding itself of the anguish of time the rest of the building had endured and presented.
Edgar pulled out the large bench hiding beneath the keys and poked the large leather cushion before sitting down. The heels of his loafers hovered just off the floor and gave enough room for his legs to slightly swing back and forth if he lifted his toes. Edgar held out his index finger above a white key that lay between a pair of black ones. He stared at it for a moment, keeping still. Finally, Edgar lowered his finger, and just before he made contact with the ivory, a note much higher in pitch sounded around him. Although quiet, it was unmistakeably clear.
Edgar dove off the bench and fell backward onto the ground, his legs now residing where his bum had a moment before.
He scrambled to his feet and looked desperately for the origination of the sound. It couldn't have been the key he was looking at, for he hadn't touched it. Moreover, the sound he had heard was almost too faint to remember clearly and was rapidly escaping his memory.
After what felt like ages, Edgar once again sat on the bench, held his finger above that very same key, and locked his eyes to it. He sat there for a moment, half expecting to hear another tone uncalled for. He began to move his finger ever so slightly towards the key, and before he made it to the same place he had before, he quickly looked to the right to catch the stray key. A sound came again, this time much lower, and although expected, it scared him regardless. Edgar was prepared to find his feet this time and jumped off the bench. He paced quickly backward away from the piano, nearly stumbling. He stopped and stood staring at it, mouth agog and shivering in fear.
Edgar remained still, not knowing what to think. Was he imagining things? Was someone playing a cruel joke? Was it haunted? No, no, he thought. That last concern was childish. But maybe
...That's when he spotted the corner of a sheet of yellowing paper, timidly reaching out from under the lid of the bench. Edgar looked to the piano again, then back to the bar before approaching it. He lifted the cover of the seat and pulled out the single sheet of paper inside. Inscribed on the top of the page was the title, Fantasie-Impromptu. The notes below it were very plentiful, rising and falling multiple times per line. Edgar had read music before, but nothing as intricate as this. Edgar had all but forgotten about the interruptive pitches that scared him previously, and he sat down tentatively upon the bench once more in front of the keys. He lay the sheet on the music rack and peered suspiciously at the keys once more.
Edgar sat still, almost watching the piano for movement. Oddly, he felt as if the piano had been doing the same, watching him with disquisitive eyes. He squinted at the sheet music, adjusting the frames of his glasses. Edgar pulled from his memories the piano lessons his mother had given him... After a moment, he had figured out the first note. A strong octave played by the left hand. "Remember, Eddie, your hand is holding an orange.." Yes, yes, Mother, Edgar's subconscious child dismissed. Edgar scanned the piano, found the two black keys, and moved his hand closer. His pinky and thumb ever so slightly approached the pair as he arched his palm just the way Mother had taught him to do. Then, hand outstretched and fingers tight, he thrust his hand down and made contact with the leather. The unexpectedly slick ivories pounded the bottom of the keyboard so fiercely that Edgar could hear the sound of the two hammers, deep within the cavernous inside of the piano, colliding with the thick strings with a great and resonating "THUNNN!" The firm notes sounded heavy and reverberated strongly throughout the dome, some vibrations bouncing enthusiastically off of the walls and some escaping out of the missing window panes.
A half-second later, the grand piano began to play. Notes flew out of the frame of the piano as keys started to pull themselves down. Hammers were hitting strings before the keys even hinted at command, and the pedals below seemed to cringe at the mercy of the written song. Edgar lept backward for a final time and stood a few feet away while he watched in utter shock. The piano's concert paid his hasty absenteeism no mind. Gradual and plummeting crescendos and deep tenutos, soaring melodies that hugged a deep structural bass, continued untroubled. A terrifyingly beautiful dance so intense and so horrifying, Edgar could not help but get lost in the passion of it. The piano kept going, playing and playing through the song until all at once, it stopped.
The final notes bounced against the walls before lingering hauntedly in a ghost of a musical echo. Edgar stood there trembling with such a lack of breath that his glasses finally had a chance to defog. Without an inclination of what to do next, Edgar began to shuffle towards the stairs, keeping his body facing the instrument. It wasn't as if the piano was of a danger to him, but he wasn't prepared to let it out of his sight while in his presence. Once Edgar reached the staircase, he steeled himself. Tight-lipped, his deep green eyes were wide and glued to the ebony and ivory shape before he painfully ripped his gaze away. He expeditiously spun around and puttered and clanged down the thin metal spiral until he was gone.
The sound of Edgar's hurried footsteps could be heard for a few moments until they disappeared with his shadow. The piano lay there alone, sad in its silence. It graciously gave the air around it a few moments rest before the sheet of music dejectedly slid back into the disheartened stool, which in turn settled underneath the keyboard once more. So it lay to rest, silently waiting to be played again.
