The ghosts play a concert every night. You don't notice it at first, for life takes up all of your attention. When the sun goes down, and the din of your daily routine becomes silent, that's when the conductor takes up their baton.
You hear the sound of a piano, in a house where there is no piano. A lonely solo that resonates within the soul, more felt than heard. The haunting melodies echo down the halls. The notes ring of loss and pain, a dirge to loved ones long gone You wake up with wide eyes, as your rational mind knows it isn't possible. Perhaps it's a long-forgotten dream, a dance with a lover you never had.
Either way, the memory fades with the morning light. Life hums once more, and the dream is forgotten.There's too much noise to make out a single voice.
The second night, when you close your eyes, you hear the flute. Beautiful and sad, it takes up the melody as the piano switches to the harmony. The same wistful theme, a leitmotif of everything that came before and will never come again. You listen intently, as the metronome matches your heartbeat. A soft clarion call that won't leave your mind.
The cello joins on the third night. Its soulful counterpoint lays the foundation for the music to follow. An important piece of the whole puzzle. Sure, you could leave it out, but then you would miss the shivery undertones that pulls it all together.
Every night, an instrument joins the chorus. The violin soars as the viola keeps it grounded. The pipes weave a mournful interlude, more strings, more woodwinds, even a brass instrument or two. A voice perhaps, a lilting soprano with a firm contralto, clear tenor and bone-shaking bass.
No one else hears this, only you. It grows louder, night after night, until finally, it is a symphony just for your ears alone.They know you are a captive audience and you will never leave.
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