I bought a haunted piano on craigslist… via /r/nosleep

I am a musician. Not one of grave importance or even outstanding ability. Still, I consider myself a musician. I can play with the best of them and I know my way around an instrument or two. More importantly, however, I am a collector. A collector of various items ranging from the odd to the obscure. There is no rhyme or reason to my collection; it consists of anything that peaks my interest that I can get my hands on. That is why when I saw an ad on Craigslist for a vintage, rustic, red piano, I couldn't help but reach out to the seller.

The ad's title seemed normal enough – "OLD PIANO – FREE TO A GOOD HOME". I'd seen countless ads like this before – it was nothing out of the ordinary and certainly nothing that would grab my attention. Still, I felt the need to click on it. Maybe I was bored, or maybe I just liked the idea of not having to pay for a potential addition to my collection. Either way, I gave in to my compulsion.

Upon clicking on the ad, I was greeted with an anomalous and intriguing story. It read something like this:

"I am offering my piano to anyone who is willing to come and pick it up. It is very old, but still playable. I can prove this upon your arrival. It is red and bears no brand markings. This is because it was made by my great great grandfather. This instrument is one of a kind. He went out himself and chopped down a redwood tree to provide the wood to build it. It took him many days to finally cut down the tree, and much, much longer to finish making the piano. Nearly his entire life was put into this thing. I, however, have no use for it. It has been passed down in my family many times over. I have no wish to continue the tradition, and the piano is currently taking up too much space in my home. I want it gone as quickly as possible. My name is Margaret and you can reach me by phone at the number listed below. Serious inquiries only!"

Reading the ad sparked my curiosity. One of a kind? Redwood tree? How strange and absurd! I had to see this thing. If it was half as remarkable as Margaret's description made it out to be, then it was a must-have for my ever-growing collection. As such, I decided to give her a call.

Margaret answered the phone after the first ring and immediately asked if this was about the piano. Although I found this to be an odd greeting, I assured her that it was indeed why I had called. She seemed rather enthused. I too was happy to know the piano was still available. We set up a time the following day when I could come over and take a look at it. I hung up the phone excited and bewildered. I had a feeling this piano could very well be the centerpiece of my oddities.

My collection spans many eras of history, as well as numerous countries. They range anywhere from the mundane to the wildly strange – but all of them are nothing if not great conversation pieces. Some of my favorites include a genuine voodoo doll from Louisiana, a tooth from a sabre-toothed cat, a book of spells written by an alleged witch, and a piece of an antler from the world's largest moose. Being a musician, I also own countless instruments – too many to name. Each time I acquired a new item, my heart would race with excitement – with whatever it was I was receiving becoming the focus of my attention. This piano was no exception. I could not wait to see it in person.

I woke up the following day with no resistance to my alarm. I was more than eager to start my day and head off towards a potential new addition for my collection. I swiftly went about my daily routine in an effort to minimize the time in between me and Margaret. She did say that she was an early bird and that I could swing by whenever. With this in mind, I showered, brushed my teeth, got dressed, and ate breakfast at a record pace; making it out the door roughly twenty-five minutes after waking up. It might sound a bit silly to be this worked up over a material object, but to that I'd say you must not be a collector. This piano was my mission, and it was one I intended to see through until the end.

I found myself at Margaret's house while it was still morning, as she was just two towns over from where I lived. It was a quaint cottage at the end of a dead end road, surrounded by shrubbery and woods. I noticed an old tire swing in the backyard indicating that it may have been the house she lived in as a child. Maybe her parents passed away and left her the house. Maybe the piano reminded her of them and that was the real reason she was getting rid of it. My speculation was interrupted by a woman who came running out of the cottage to greet me. She signaled for me to come inside and went back in herself. This was no doubt Margaret. I never told her what car I'd be in, but I assumed not many people came out there in the middle of nowhere and parked in front of your house. I got out of my car and made my way up the stone walkway to the front door.

In entering the house, Margaret seemed overjoyed to see me. It was something adjacent to a relative seeing you for the first time in a great while. It was odd, but refreshing. It certainly made things less awkward. We exchanged a few pleasantries before she rushed me over to the room that contained the piano. I could tell she was excited to show me it – just as excited as I was to actually see it. I matched her pace as we made our way to the room.

Upon entering the room, I stopped dead in my tracks. There, just a few yards away was the piano in all of its glory. It was a beautiful concoction of wood and ivory, the likes of which I'd never seen. It had such a striking red color, giving it an illustrious and bold finish. And the design – it was magnificent. Simple, yet magnificent. Highly original, and certainly one of a kind like Margaret had said in her ad. I stood there in awe with my mouth open.

Margaret must have thought I didn't like it, because she quickly started going off on a sales pitch about its charm and history. She then went on to sit down at the stool in front of it and placed her hands over the keys.

"I tuned it yesterday after your call. Let's hear how it sounds."

Margaret began playing a beautiful piece. Not only did she play, but she sang as well. This is when I took my attention away from the piano and allowed myself to notice her. She was a young woman, maybe in her late twenties. Very beautiful, very slender. She had silver highlights in her hair, giving it a strange albeit lovely luster. Her singing voice, accompanied by the wonderfully rich tone of the piano captivated me in a way that I can't describe. It surprised me to know that she not only played, but could also tune the piano. Her ad made it seem like she wasn't musically-inclined at all. I allowed myself to be taken by the song until she finished.

Before I could compliment Margaret on her playing, she quickly began talking, continuing her well-rehearsed sales pitch. I don't know if it was her playing or her voice, but I was sold the minute she touched the keys. Because of this, I interrupted her.

"I'll take it." She seemed astounded when I said this.

"Really? You will? Wonderful!"

We were both happy and everything seemed fine, but one fact kept creeping and crawling in the back of my mind. I wasn't sold on the piano's backstory just yet, so I decided to ask her about it. Keep in mind that Margaret and I live in the Midwest.

"So, have you lived in this house your whole life?" I asked, secretly fishing for information.

"Yes, as did my parents. This house is very old. Older than the piano."

"And your great great grandfather, he lived here as well?" I kept bombarding her with questions.

"Yes, he did."

"Well, redwoods only grow in California. So your great great grandfather travelled all the way out there to chop down a tree to make a piano and brought it all the way back here?"

It was at this point that Margaret realized I'd caught her in a lie. She apologized to me and explained the truth behind the piano. It would seem that her great great grandfather actually did go out and chop down a red tree to make this piano, just like she'd said. But it was not a redwood. It happened to be a tree that was located near where we both lived – deep, deep in a nearby forest. Being an avid historian, Margaret’s great great grandfather had known about this tree for a while. It was a local legend of sorts, and it had always been his dream to find it. Locals deemed it the "Blood Tree". It was a sacred tree, worshipped by a Native American tribe many, many years ago. Anyone who finds the tree is said to live a long life filled with luck and prosperity. Those who vandalize it, however, will forever live a life or fear and misfortune. Her great great grandfather, of course, fell into the latter category. Though she claimed to not believe in the legend, she did point out that he died of a heart attack shortly after finishing the piano.

Margaret's story was wild and entertaining. Even so, I believed her. It seemed that her ancestor finally found the tree he'd been searching for and wanted to take a piece of it home with him as a trophy. A piano was a fitting choice seeing as this seemed to be a family of musicians. As for the curse, I was not concerned one bit. Perhaps Margaret was scared despite her disbelief and that's why she wanted to give me the piano. Either way, I'm a skeptic at heart, so it's a win-win situation in my eyes. I gladly accepted the gift, dark past or not.

Depite Margaret's lie and the piano being free, I attempted to offer her money. She wouldn't have it – she insisted on me just taking the thing off her hands. That would have been fine, but just taking such a beautiful instrument from someone would not have sat well with me. It wasn't much, but I slipped an envelope containing $100 into her mailbox on my way out. After calling over a friend to help me lift the heavy piano into the bed of my truck, I took off from Margaret's house with my new collectible. I made it home with ease and with the help of that same friend, I positioned the piano in a lovely spot in my living room. I had a new piece for my collection and I was happy. All was right in the world. Or so I thought.

For a few days, my life continued as it normally did. My routine remained unchanged. The only difference was the new piece of furniture in my house – the new centerpiece of my lovely collection of strange objects. After a while, I barely noticed it was there. Despite its beauty, it blended in with the rest of my home, much like the other items in my collection. On the third night after receiving the piano, however, something weird happened. Something most certainly out of the ordinary.

I had just laid down to sleep and placed myself in a comfortable position on my bed. As soon as my eyes were shut, I started drifting into a light sleep. I had been exhausted from a long day at work. To my dismay, a loud bang coming from downstairs jolted me awake. I jumped up out of bed and took a moment to process the sound. I realized quickly that it sounded like the piano's fallboard slamming shut over the keys. That could easily happen on its own, had I left it open. But I hadn't played the piano even once since I procured it. So how could the fallboard slam shut if it was never opened to begin with?

I raced downstairs in an effort to satisfy my curiosity and to put my mind at ease. What I found did neither. Upon walking over to the piano I noticed that the fallboard was up. Not only did it not slam shut over the keys, but it somehow opened on its own? No way. There was no way that was even possible. I discarded the nonsense that was swimming around in my overly tired mind and chalked up the sound to being that of one of my neighbors. I also must have opened the fallboard when moving the piano and never closed it. That was the only explanation. I closed the fallboard over the keys and went back upstairs to bed. I ended up sleeping for the rest of the night.

The next day was pretty normal for me. I woke up early, took a shower, brushed my teeth, and ate breakfast. I went to work and dealt with the stress that came along with it, just as I always did. The piano was the farthest thing from my mind. It wasn't until I got home that day, that it made its way back in.

I opened the door to my house and immediately felt a cold gust rush out from within. This was strange as I didn't leave the AC on, and it wasn't a particularly eventful day as far as weather goes. Brushing this off, I walked into the living room and set my jacket on the couch. I then looked up and noticed the piano. The fallboard… it was up. That couldn't be. I knew that I'd closed it the night before when getting up to inspect that strange sound, I absolutely knew it. This got me to thinking – was someone in my home?

I sped around my house at full speed with a kitchen knife in hand, ready to attack an intruder if there was one. I raced up and down the stairs, covering every inch of the house. I checked and re-checked every room, making sure I was completely alone. As it turned out, I was. Eventually I found myself back in the living room, in front of the piano. I looked at it once more and noticed that the fallboard was down. Was I going mad? No, no. I was just experiencing the side effects of a long day at work, nothing more. I must have just thought the fallboard was up when I came home, that's all. At least that's what I told myself to keep from dwelling on the situation.

Still frazzled from the stressful day I'd had, I made my way to my bedroom and attempted to catch some shut-eye. I changed out of my work attire and into my nightwear then plopped down on my warm and comfortable bed. A good end to a bad day, I thought. As luck would have it, I wouldn't be getting any sleep just yet.

Quickly after shutting my eyes, I heard another sound coming from downstairs. This time it wasn't a loud bang; no, not at all. This time it was music. Not just any music either. It was the piano. How could this be? Was someone really in my house this time? Or… could it be… was the piano playing itself? Neither option sat well with me.

With nothing but adrenaline to guide me, I ran downstairs at full speed to catch the culprit of these late-night antics. Upon doing so, the music stopped and I watched as the fallboard actually slammed itself shut over the keys. My heart sank and I stood in place at the bottom of the stairs, completely and utterly in shock. After a few more moments of being a statue I raced back up to my room and locked the door behind me. In a nervous slur of movement, I ran over to my bed and leaped onto it, unable to comprehend what I'd witnessed. I sat there, contemplating, all the while a vile mixture of fear and confusion brewed in the pit of my stomach. What the hell was going on? Eventually the fear and confusion subsided, allowing melatonin to take over and do its job. I fell asleep and managed to stay that way until the next morning.

I woke up to the sound of my alarm clock early the next day. I sat in bed for a few moments and wondered if the events from the previous night were nothing more than a dream. Now, I knew this wasn't the case, but I gave in to the notion anyhow. Living in a state of denial was better than living in a world where I was going insane. I was so good at indulging in this falsehood that I actually managed to convince myself that it really was a dream, or at least the product of an overactive imagination. It was a splendid defense mechanism, and one that allowed me to go about my day without fear or unease. I left, went to work, came home, and went back to bed. Everything was back to normal, just because I told myself it was.

But lies only stretch so far. Eventually the truth catches up to you, when you least expect it. As I laid there in bed, ready to sleep through the night, I heard the piano once more…

I jumped out of bed rather abruptly and assessed the situation. What the hell was happening here? Was I truly going insane? If not, was this instrument really playing itself? Was there really an underlying layer of this world governed by laws of the supernatural, allowing this piano to be haunted in some way? I thought about it for a few more moments as the song went on, and then it hit me. This wasn't paranormal, no it couldn't be. This was a cheap parlor trick. Margaret created quite the jest. She outfitted this piano to play itself, much like the player pianos they had in saloons way back when. This was just a prank – a laugh at my expense. That's why the damned thing was free.

I ran downstairs to solve the mystery once and for all. Of course, as soon as I hit the bottom step, the piano stopped playing. I walked over to it calmly, confident in my new theory. I opened the thing up and looked inside, begging the piano to divulge its inner workings to me. It did, but I was surprised by the result. This was just a normal piano. Nothing extra was added in its creation to make it play on its own. Nothing at all.

Stunned by this new revelation, I stepped back from the piano. My calm demeanor was no more. I stared at the red wood and ivory keys before me and almost felt compelled to ask, "What are you?" Instead, I remained silent. This silence, however, was quickly obliterated by the sound of music as the piano began playing by itself once again. I wanted to run, but terror kept me still.

I watched as the horror unfolded in front of me. The keys were being pressed down harder than before, by some unseen force. The piece was also being played at a faster tempo. As if that weren't enough, picture frames began falling off of the wall. It felt as though my house was shaking, albeit slightly. A lamp in the corner then fell over, bringing my attention to that side of the room. That's when I saw it. Standing right outside of my living room window was a dark figure. I couldn't make out any features on it. The moonlight was not enough to reveal this living silhouette's identity. I'd had enough.

I gained some composure and ran back up to my bedroom. I locked the door behind me and climbed back into bed. All the while, the song raged on. The house continued to shake. The dark figure – for all I know, it could have made its way into the house. Knowing this, my heart and thoughts raced at an equal rate. I was beginning to believe that I was neither crazy, nor did Margaret rig the piano to play on its own. This was something entirely different. Something not of this world.

Just as I came to this realization, the music stopped. So did the shaking. With nothing left to do, I slept. it was no easy task, but fear has to taper off at some point. It eventually did, allowing me to escape the madness of my world and enter the realm of unconsciousness. I would have been grateful for this, had it not been short lived.

I awoke a few hours later to a house filled to the brim with utter silence. Honestly, it was so silent that I immediately took notice. Normally I'd hear at least the house creaking, or even the buzz of nature from outside, but none of these sounds were present. I got up and looked out my window for a clue.

The world outside my room was still. No wind, no cars, no animals, and no people. Nothing. It was peculiar. Sure, it was the middle of the night, but where were the crickets chirping, the frogs croaking, the trees swaying? Where was the life outside my home? For that matter, where was the life within it? I seemed to be the only moving facet in an eerily frozen world. I hesitantly ventured downstairs for any further indication as to why everything seemed to be suspended in time.

As I reached the bottom step, I looked over at the piano. There was something off about it. I walked over to it and realized that a few of the keys were pressed down. I attempted to touch them, but they would not budge. In pressing the other keys, I realized that none of them would budge at all. Unsettling yes, but not so much compared to what I saw to the left of the piano.

It was so dark, I almost didn't see it. Standing completely still next to the piano was that dark figure. When I noticed it, I jumped and let out an awkward and fearful grunt of sorts. The figure did not react. It was as if it was inanimate along with the rest of the world. I decided to use this opportunity to my advantage.

I crept over to the figure to get a better look at it. I noticed that it was wearing some sort of dark cloak, one that covered its entire body. In the face of the shroud I saw nothing but pure darkness. I cautiously attempted to pull the hood off of its head, but much like the piano keys it would not budge. I stood there staring at the figure for a few more seconds before a familiar sound filled the room.

The piano started playing again, and in an instant the world came to life. I could hear with it the sounds of my house, as well as those of the outside world. I also noticed that the figure in front of me had a swirling aura of energy surrounding it. It was a pelt of darkness wrapped around the shadowy figure, cloak and all. Before I could even react to its appearance, the dark figure hastily reached out to grab me with a skeletal hand. I fell backwards in fear.

Scrambling to get up, I managed to stand upright and make a run for it. I bolted towards the front door, rushed through it, and raced to my car. I got in, hot wired the damned thing (my keys were inside) and took off. From that point on, I was able to calm down.

I had escaped, but at what cost? In a much less frightened state, I began to think logically. Was I just going to abandon my house and all of my belongings just because of this… spirit? Was I going to quit my job and leave town? No, of course not. Just the idea of this was preposterous. Running away was not an option.

Driving in circles around my neighborhood, I weighed my options. I could go back and try to destroy the piano. No, no. Bad idea. That could make the spirit angry. It might attach itself to me in the process, if it hadn't already. I could tough it out for one more night until I come up with a better course of action. Nope. I didn't like that idea either. And that's when a solid plan came to mind, one I'm surprised I hadn't thought of earlier. I peeled out of my neighborhood in a fury and sped to my next destination. I was going to go back to the seller. Surely she would know what was going on. Perhaps she could even help. At the very least, I could give her a piece of my mind for selling me a possessed piano. Either way, I would feel better.

The drive was a blur. My mind was in such dire straits that I drove on auto pilot the whole way there. In seemingly no time at all I found myself smack dab in front of Margaret's house, desperate and troubled. I knew it was late, but I didn't care. I had nowhere else to go. I couldn't call the cops or tell a friend. No one would believe me. Even if they did, what could they do to help? Out of luck and out of options, I walked up the stone path to Margaret's door.

Just as I was about to walk up to her door and knock, something happened. My march was impeded. The dark figure from my house appeared directly in front of me, keeping me from reaching Margaret's door. I backed up a bit, confused and frightened, but the figure did not follow. I ran back to my car to make a getaway, but the figure remained at Margaret's door. Perplexed, I walked back up the stone path.

In reaching the figure once again, I examined it. It was still, just as it was in my house before springing to life. Keeping that in mind, I treaded lightly. I reached around the figure slowly to knock on the door, but I was stopped. The figure came to life once again and grabbed my arm with its skeletal hand. I tried to run, but it had such a tight grip on me that I couldn't move. Not only this, but I could feel its presence anchoring me to the ground. I can't explain it, but even without its hand this thing had its hooks in me.

I cowered before the figure and it leaned over me, almost as if to say "Leave this place." It then vanished into thin air, right before my eyes. I gained some composure, ran to my car, and quickly left Margaret's house. I spent the whole ride home thinking about what had happened.

It would seem as though the piano would not let me return to Margaret’s house. I was its owner and that is the way it would stay until I gifted it to someone else. The only issue with this theory is that I could not do that to someone. Even a complete stranger. The problem was mine to deal with and mine alone. I would have to discover a different method to ease my woes. I arrived home shortly thereafter and reluctantly opened the front door to my house. Everything appeared normal for the moment. I took advantage of this and headed up to my room. I locked the door behind me, not that it would help, and threw myself into the mess of blankets and pillows that was my bed. The song started up again.

I continued to lie down, sick of the repetition. I felt the house shake, but I remained unmoved. It wasn't until a banging at my bedroom door began that I started fearing for my life again.

It started off quiet, but soon grew louder. I jumped out of bed and started pushing my dresser towards the door. A blockade was the only solution I could come up with. After placing the dresser in front of the door, I rushed back to bed. Inspecting the door while the banging continued, I realized that both the door and dresser were moving. It was slight, but noticeable. Before I knew it, the dresser toppled over to the floor, spilling its contents as it did. Safety was too much to ask for it seemed.

I covered myself in a blanket, attempting to tune out the ruckus around me. The banging persisted, but I chose to focus instead on the song. For the first time, I allowed myself to properly listen to it. Upon doing so, I was pleasantly surprised. It was beautiful. Dark and sullen, but beautiful. The clash of ivory keys coupled with a storming melody soothed me. It soothed me to the point that I could no longer hear the banging at my door or feel the shaking of the house. It's almost weird to say but I was at peace. Relaxed, I drifted away with the song , seamlessly entering a state of sleep. While in this musical slumber, I dreamt.

The dream world I found myself in was different from that of my usual dreamscapes. It was intensely vivid and ambient. Hard to describe really. Words like 'surreal' and 'otherworldly' just don't cut it. The awareness I had is also difficult to explicate. Lucidity is too small a concept. This feeling required more explanation than that. I was completely aware of my surroundings in the sense that I could feel everything about it. I know that doesn’t make much sense, but it’s the only description I have to offer.

Relying on sight to truly understand where I was, I became aware of the fact that I was in a forest. It was very dense, but I could make out a clearing up ahead. Instead of walking to it, I felt myself floating forward. Knowing it was a dream, I neither questioned this nor tried to fight it. I found that fighting narratives in dreams usually led to an early awakening, and I did not want to wake up to find the dark figure looming over my bed, or anything like that.

I eventually reached the clearing. It was some sort of meadow. In its center was a tree. A very large, red tree. All at once I knew where I was. I could feel it too. This was the Blood Tree. This was the pre-cursor to my piano. The building blocks of a haunting in the form of an plant.

Just as I took in the sight of the tree, a person stepped out from behind it. He walked over to me as I watched. It was a Native American. I’d never seen one in real life, but I could still tell. He didn’t look exactly like the ones portrayed in documentaries, but he wasn’t all that dissimilar either. He was most certainly a Native American, I was sure of it.

He didn’t speak. He simply pointed at the tree. That is when the piano began leaking into my dream. I could hear the song playing from downstairs as glowing lines ran up and down the tree. It was amazing, for lack of a better word. The Native American then walked back over to the tree and put his hand on it. He motioned for me to come over and do the same. Confused and awestruck, I obliged.

In placing my hand on the Blood Tree, I felt its bark. It was a remarkably life-like feeling, especially considering I was in a dream. I also felt the glowing lines racing past my skin. It was an incredible sensation. I looked over at my new friend and noticed that his eyes were closed. He was in some sort of trance. Bewildered, I decided I should do the same, and so I did.

With my eyes shut, I was greeted by visions. Visions of the tree’s early life and purpose. They were visions of sight as well as emotion. I could feel everything that these people felt as they worshipped this ancient plant. It was breathtaking.

The tree wasn’t always red. It used to be of a normal color. The red is none other than blood. But there weren’t any sacrifices made there. Nothing like that. Willing Native Americans came up to the tree every year, sliced their hands open, and placed them on the tree. Their blood then dripped down its exterior. The glowing lines must have been the blood of each individual. Lifelines, if you will.

These people were celebrating life and trying to become one with nature. This tree was the anchor that kept their community together – that kept their family from falling apart. This is where they would play music, laugh, dance, and enjoy each other’s company. This is where they enjoyed life. They were free from judgement and the worries of day to day stress. They were at peace in this one spot, at this one tree.

My visions eventually led me to the burying of their dead. This too was done at the tree. Every Native in this group was buried under the Blood Tree. One of the elders would then play a song on a small ocarina-like instrument. I recognized it right away. It was the song that the piano had been playing every night. It was their song of death.

Abruptly, I snapped out of the trance I was in and found myself back at the tree. My friend was now sitting on the ground next to me, back against the bark. He had the instrument from my vision in his hand and began playing the song of death. I listened intently, but he would not finish. Instead, he handed it to me, motioning for me to play. I hesitantly accepted the invitation.

I managed to get the hang of the potato-shaped ocarina rather quickly as it was a simple instrument. As such, I began playing the song. The strangest thing happened when I did. The tree began wilting. Its bark changed from red to black and its leaves started falling. I stopped playing, but the Native American motioned with his hands for me to keep going, and so I continued.

I kept playing the song and the tree kept wilting. My friend was ecstatic. Somehow, this is what he wanted, but I didn’t know why. You know how something in a dream can be so perplexing, and it isn’t until you finally wake up that you truly divulge its meaning? That is what happened here. Before the tree could fully perish, I woke up in my bed at home. I was consumed by an instant revelation.

Margaret’s grandfather had taken away these people’s headstone. More than that, he took away their connection to nature, as well as with one another. The tree and its spirits needed to be put to rest once and for all, and there was only one way to do this. I needed to play the song of their dead on the piano, the whole way through, without interruption. I can’t explain how I came to know this. The culmination of emotions I felt in the dream – joy, tranquility, confusion, sadness – they all seemed to point me in this direction. I know it doesn’t make any sense, but to me it did.

I got out of bed shortly after coming to this realization and walked over to my bedroom door. There was no banging, no song, no nothing. The world seemed to be frozen again. A perfect opportunity to venture downstairs to the piano.

I opened the door and walked at a normal pace to my destination, so as not to disrupt anything or break the illusion, so to speak. I calmly made my way to the piano and sat down. I placed my hands on the keys and began playing. I knew the song by heart now, having heard it so many times. Not only that, but the piano itself seemed to be guiding my hands across the keys. As I played, the world around me ceased to remain still.

The house began shaking violently, knocking frames and furniture all over the place. Still, I continued playing. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the dark figure, standing outside of my window. This made me a bit uneasy, but I couldn’t stop for anything. I kept playing. I knew not the outcome of this nightly adventure, but I knew that I had an obligation to persevere, if not for the tree or its ghosts, then for myself. I needed this nightmare to end.

The dark figure kept disappearing and re-appearing at odd locations in the room. Sometimes I’d see it right next me, other times I could feel it breathing down my neck. I paid it no attention despite my fear. I wouldn’t let it ruin my chance at putting this haunting to rest. Not when I’d come so far.

Just as the shadowy figure appeared sitting next me at the piano and just as I felt the house stop to shake, I hit the final note of the song. How it felt can’t be described in words. Cathartic is a good attempt, but nowhere near as alleviating as it actually felt. It was like a huge weight was lifted, not only off of my shoulders, but off of the shoulders of many others too. It was an indescribable experience.

Basking in elation, I turned my head and noticed that the dark figure was still sitting next to me. It didn’t look the same, however – the swirling vortex of darkness surrounding it was gone. It now seemed to be nothing more than a cloaked man. He slowly reached up and pulled the hood down from his head as I watched. It was my friend – the Native American from my dream! But how? Before I could bombard the man with any questions I might have had, he looked at me and smiled before vanishing.

…

It has been many months since I was haunted by the piano, and I haven’t herd a peep out of it since. It’s still sitting in my living room and I do play it from time to time. It is my best guess that my theory worked. I somehow had a hand in laying the tree as well as many spirits to rest. The ordeal still begs the question, though – who was the cloaked man? Was he some form of death who wanted the souls of countless Native Americans put to rest? Or was he a Native American himself – one of many of the spirits trying to crossover to the other side? Either way, my perception of the supernatural and paranormal has been completely reversed. How could it not after what I’d been through? I’ve come to another conclusion as well. For as long as I live, I will never buy another piano off of Craigslist ever again.

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Christopher_Maxim