Shadowed Dreams & Rippled Water

Haunting Voices

Three

Haunting Voices

We headed inside, and I paused before the waiting piano—the bane of my existence that I avoided when I could. I undeniably had some musical talent, but I didn’t enjoy it. Mum believed I possessed a musical gift that needed to be shared. To prove it, she hired Mr Tomlinson, my school’s music teacher and our local MP, to tutor me, and I was expected to perform at the Christmas talent show this year.

“When I see you at that piano, I feel so proud, Darling.” Mum had said the day I attempted to argue my way out of the lessons. “I couldn’t ask for anything more. Promise you’ll continue to play, please. It would break my heart if you stopped.”

Ultimately, her natural ability to change my train of thought won out. Not only did I continue with the lessons, but my Saturday mornings were now booked with an extra one and a performance. My personal life was now non-existent.

It seemed there was no escape today. As I continued to stare at it, the brass words Yamaha pleading for me to grace my fingers over the ivory keys, the melody I had been practising began to play in the back of my mind. It had been two weeks, and I still hadn’t mastered it. And at this rate, I was worried I was never going to.

“Is everything okay?” Dean asked, stopping before the built-in bookcase beside the piano.

“Yeah…” I fiddled with The Dictionary of Quotations and cleared my mind. “I should put this back.”

“I’ll wait for you,” he said, leaning against the bookcase. “Just in case you hurt yourself…”

“You’re so funny,” I scoffed as I knelt before the bookcase and ran my fingertips over the spines of the other books until I found a free spot between the old Australian Atlas and the 2005 Adelaide road map. I pushed them aside and slid the old book between them, knocking bits of leather over the bookcase.

“Ah, for hell’s sake… Why’s it not here? It’s always here!”

I peered up at a familiar voice grumbling from the kitchen. “I think Dylan’s home.”

“Yep, there’s no mistaking that tone.” Dean chuckled, rubbing his forehead. “You know, he gets that short temper from Mum.”

I had to agree. If anyone was our mum’s personality double, it was Dylan. Sometimes, baby Stacey could flip between moods just as quickly, but Dylan and Mum could do it at the drop of a hat.

Dean hoisted me to my feet, and we followed Dylan’s deep, crackling voice. It wasn’t hard to find him. He was crouched by the kitchen sink with his arms buried elbow-deep in the row of drawers underneath it. In these drawers—the junk drawers—you would find just about anything—tape, scissors, nails, you name it—it was there.

“Where the hell is it?” Dylan groaned under his breath. He pulled out a plastic container of nails, a ruler and a dirty old hammer missing the rubber handle. “C’mon, I know you’re here somewhere!”

“Hey, little bro, dirty talk won’t make it turn up any quicker…” Dean teased, winking at me.

“Say’s you…” Dylan replied, yanking off his old baseball cap. He scratched his impeccable white-blonde hair, which always did as he wanted—not like my unruly mess, then returned to the drawers. “I need the bloody thing. Where the hell is it?”

“What are you looking for?” Dean asked, stepping beside Dylan.

Dylan shoved his hat back on. “That stupid measuring tape, the one Dad usually keeps in here. I need it,” he tossed the contents back in the draw, slammed it shut and turned to us. “Ah, don’t s’pose you’ve seen Dad this morning? I’ve searched the entire shed, the toolbox in Mum’s car, and here. I can’t find the stupid thing!”

“I haven’t seen Dad, sorry,” I said, shaking my head. “Come to think about it, I haven’t seen him since last night. His car’s not in the yard either.”

“Maybe he’s working?” Dean suggested, disappearing behind the fridge door, “He mentioned there was workplace training this weekend.”

“I need to finish this project before the end of the weekend,” Dylan whined. “Or I’ll fail woodwork class, and I can’t fail! Especially if I want to keep my job at the hardware store with Mr Gilliard.” He lifted the corner of his paint-stained shirt to his face, wiping the sweat from his brow. “This sucks…!”

With a deep sigh, I stuffed my hands into my dressing gown pockets. “Speaking of good grades, I better prepare for my piano lesson. Mr Tomlinson should be here any minute.”

Dylan straightened his shirt and smiled at me. A glint of pride filled his eyes. If he wasn’t wearing his trusted blue cap, I would have seen a younger version of Dad staring back at me.

“I’m glad you’re keeping up with the piano lessons, Sis.” He tucked his fringe under his cap. “I heard you practising the other day. Mum was right. You might be the next David Helfgott.”

“David Who...?” I asked, blinking back at him.

Laughing, he leaned against the kitchen sink and folded his arms and legs in front of him. “You don’t know who David Helfgott is?”

“Nope,” I shook my head.

“He’s that guy, umm...” Dylan clicked his fingers, trying to jog his memory. “Ah, what’s his face… Geoffrey Rush plays him in the movie Shine. You know, he’s a child prodigy piano player who had a breakdown… But overcame it in the end.” He nodded at me with a matter-of-fact grin across his lips. “Not that I’m saying you’d have a breakdown—you have a natural gift.”

“And it’s an excellent way for you to keep your delicate little fingers warm,” Dean added, wiggling his fingers.

I laughed through my nose. As usual, Dylan ignored his brother’s remark and proudly smiled at me.

“Well, if I want to be that good, I should get ready.” I backed towards the hallway, heading for the stairs.

Dylan nodded at me. “Keep it up. You never know where it will take you.”

I glanced from Dylan to Dean. “I guess I’ll leave you two to find that measuring tape.”

“s**t, I still need that…” Dylan patted Dean’s shoulder. “Bro, if you still have time before work, can you give me a hand?” He pulled open the top draw. “You check there. I’ll check the bottom one again. Then we’ll both check the shed. It’s always handy to have an extra pair of eyes.”

I climbed the stairs and headed towards my room, glancing briefly over my shoulder.

“Have fun,” Dean called, winking at me.

I scowled back at him as he disappeared from my sight.

Once I had closed the bedroom door, I turned to see my flushed reflection staring back at me in the oval dressing table mirror. What was going on with me?

After I dressed in faded denim jeans, a black shirt, and a knitted white jumper, I checked the digital clock on my bedside table. I blinked, and the numbers clicked to 6.45 a.m. I sighed, “I have a little time…”

I stepped towards my bed when a static shiver vibrated down my spine, prickling all the tiny hairs on my neck. My entire body shuddered. Out of nowhere, I was struck by a sudden headache. I perched on the end of my bed and caught my trembling breath. I rarely got headaches, but when I did, they always came after a bad nightmare. “Arh, it hurts!”

A cool breath whisked past my ear. I peered over my shoulders, half expecting to find someone behind me, but I was alone. I caught the reflection of my bedroom door in the mirror and watched as the door handle slowly began to turn.

“Who’s there…?” I asked. No one replied, and the door handle continued to turn until there was an echoing click. “Hello?”

When no one opened the door, I closed my eyes and opened them again. The door handle was facing the right way, and my throbbing headache disappeared.

I rubbed my forehead, “Kane, if that’s you, I don’t have time for this...”

There was no reply.

“This is not funny…” I growled.

Sucking in a deep breath, I knelt beside my bed and lifted the grey valance. The red folder where I stored my music sheets was tucked behind a pair of old sneakers and a broken silver bracelet I had to fix. I threw it on my bed, spilling tufts of dust over the quilt, and flipped it open to Eternal Winter, the melody I was learning.

“Lucy...”

“What?” I shrieked, jumping to my feet. My heart rattled against my chest. “Who… who’s there?” I glanced at the built-in cupboard, expecting Kane to jump out and yell, Surprise!

But no one laughed or appeared before me. And as much of a prankster Kane was, he never took the pranks to this length. That realisation made goosebumps cover my arms. Trembling, I faced the mirror. An eerie chill coursed through me. I clutched the edge of the dressing table and swallowed a timid breath.

A burst of icy mist passed beside me, smearing my reflection in the mirror, followed by an eerie voice, “Lucy…”

“W-who’s there?” I asked, hugging myself. “Kane?”

When no one replied, I backed towards the door. My footsteps thumped in my ears, becoming a chorus of loud, hollow drums. Then I realised the footsteps weren’t mine—they were rising from the floorboards before me.

“Lucy...” My name seeped between the ghostly footsteps. Each syllable was drawn out, mixed with a haunting whisper.

I gulped back the stubborn lump in my throat as I reached for the door handle. Warning signals shot through my body. Something wasn’t right. “It’s my imagination… my mind’s playing games on me.” I could hear the uncertainty in my words, but my fear was winning.

“Lucy...!” The whisper hissed loudly.

“No! I can’t be here!” I shouted as I yanked the door open and raced downstairs without looking back. “Kane, if it’s you, I will get you back!”

I skidded to a stop by the dining table, knocking my knee on the closest chair.

“Ow!” I hissed, hobbling to the sink. I had done it so often that I knew it would pass shortly. “If this was another one of your bad pranks, Kane, you’re in big trouble!”

I reached the sink and balanced myself. My knee ached, but it was already settling. I grabbed a glass off the sink and filled it with water, my heart still racing in my ears. Was that Kane in my room? I was starting to doubt it.

“See, I told you it would be there.” Dean chuckled as he stepped through the back door and into the kitchen. “You’re lucky I’m on the afternoon shift…”

Dylan appeared at Dean’s side, shaking his head. “That seriously sucks. I checked there five minutes ago...!”

“Oh, c’mon little bro,” Dean nudged his arm. “You never would have found it without me.”

“Yeah, I s’pose... thanks, Dee.”

“I bet that was hard for you to say, little bro. So, you’re welcome.”

Both of them glanced up at me as I limped between the chairs.

“What did you do to yourself this time, Lucy lady?” Dean asked, suppressing a laugh.

I massaged my forehead. “I thought I heard something in my room. It scared me, so I thought Kane was playing some stupid prank. I panicked, ran downstairs and hit my knee on a chair... again.”

Dean’s eyebrows farrowed. “What prank?”

I lowered my shaking glass and stared at him. “You two didn’t put a tape recorder or something in my room?”

He shook his head. “Not that I know of unless Kane did it without telling me, but I doubt it.”

“Well, if it wasn’t Kane, then I’m not sure what I heard…” I grumbled.

“At this rate, we’re going to have to invest in some bubble wrap,” Dean teased, gesturing at my noticeable limp as I moved around the table. “Either we wrap you in it or the house…”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Dylan agreed, dangling a yellow measuring tape between his fingers. “A friend of mine once lined his hallway with a roll of bubble wrap. Then, we had competitions to see who could pop the most bubbles in thirty minutes. We could do that… Without the competition.”

“And here I thought you were the weird friend, Dyl,” Dean smirked, patting his back.

“f**k off, Dean,” Dylan sneered, shoving him away. This was his mood flip in action, and it would likely escalate if someone didn’t step in.

“It was just a joke, Dyl,” Dean defended. “There’s no need to get your knickers in a knot…”

“I see you found what you were looking for.” I interrupted, gesturing towards his hands. This was the best way to defuse the situation and extinguish Dylan’s anger.

“Hell, yes...” Dylan tossed the measuring tape on the dining table. It had worked. He slipped a sheet of paper from his pocket and dangled it before me. It was littered with ruled lines, measurements and scribbled notes. I couldn’t understand a single thing.

“It’s a mailbox,” Dylan explained. “Dad helped me design it. The woodwork teacher, Mr Newt, was impressed with the diagram.”

I studied the diagram, but all I could make out was the shape of the mailbox. I tried to picture it, but my imagination never reached his level.

“When you’re finished, you’ll have to show me,” I said with an honest smile.

He scooped up the measuring tape and stuffed it into his back pocket. “You bet, Sis.”

“Weren’t you supposed to be getting ready for your lesson?” Dean interrupted. He pointed at my arms. “Where’s your music book?”

“Umm, yeah…” The thought of going back to my room sent the hairs on the back of my neck on end. “That…”

“What’s wrong, Lucy Lady? You look pale.”

“Nothing… it’s nothing. I forgot just it…” I sucked in a deep breath as I turned for the stairs.

There was no ignoring it. I needed my music book. Just in and out…