Ghost Notes

Excerpt:
Becky’s apartment was tiny, but she’d always thought it was pretty much perfect. The landlord let her paint the walls caramel with coffee-colored swirls, once she’d agreed that she’d repaint it all white before she moved out. There were framed photos hung all over the walls, in varying sizes, from poster-sized all the way down to framed snapshots, everything from her first piano recital – age five – to the time she met Yo-Yo Ma.

None of the photos or pleasant memories were helping Becky lately, though. She sat at the piano with her hands in her lap. Sheets of music sat unfinished on the stand, her pencil’s inertia long since given way to stillness and silence. She’d been working on – read ‘staring at’ – the same line of music for three days, with no real progress, except in the amount of time she spent on the phone with her best friend, Jack. She was desperate, and also highly caffeinated.

In that state, hearing voices shouldn’t have been all that surprising. Shouldn’t have been. But it was.

“You’re slurring too much for a vivace; you should try using a trill sequence to keep the mood in the middle,” said a voice from behind her.

She whipped around on the bench and squeaked when she choked out, “What—who are you?”

The woman was short, all lush curves, creamy skin, and dark curls. Becky thought she was beautiful. Especially when her eyes widened in shock and she said, “You can see me? You can hear me?”

Before Becky could answer, could say something like, “Of course I can see you,” or “What the hell are you doing in my apartment?” the woman was just… gone.

Becky scrambled up from her chair and rushed over to the spot where her visitor had been standing. Nothing. Not even a scuff on the hardwood floor from the chunky black shoes the woman had been wearing. Even without any evidence, though, suddenly her perfect apartment didn’t feel so perfect anymore.