The Haunted Piano by Sophia Konoplytska

The girls have heard the old town tale a thousand times

— a haunted piano that keeps the soul of the dead genius in its music, playing the lost melodies at night, hoping to reach the living. Equipped with only flashlights and flowers, they walked up the hill and entered the house. Their footsteps echoed through the long empty halls. The moon lit up the living room through the broken windows with its beautiful silver light. The air was thick with dust, and the piano looked like it hadn't been touched in years. Careful not to disturb the peace of the room, the girls kept quiet and waited patiently. As hours passed, one of them got bored and, feeling brave enough, approached the piano. Her fingers trembled as she touched the keys. 

Suddenly, awakened by her touch, the piano began to play. The music started softly, as to not startle the guests, and it felt like a sunny day and a happy little spring running through the forest. As the waltz continued, it grew louder and stronger, filling the whole house with its ominous sound. The intense tune slowly shifted into a delicate melody, it was beautiful but haunting, in a way an old cemetery is — it was the sound of longing, of all the things lost. Once it stopped, the girls stood silent for a while. Then they clapped — first shy, but it grew into enthusiastic applause. They put the flowers they brought on top of the piano and stepped back to give the room one last look before leaving. 

That's when they noticed a woman’s silhouette standing by the window. The shine of the moon seemed to make her look silver, almost transparent. But once she stepped out of its light, the silver stayed. She bowed to the girls and floated gracefully to the piano, sat down and stretched. The group stayed still, their breaths taken away by the sight of the ghost. The music filled the room again, this time a new, different melody. It was cheerful and light, and the woman looked up at the girls, inviting them to dance with a smile. Cautiously, they started swinging and whirling around the room, and as the music continued they felt safer and more peaceful than ever. One of the girls tripped over the old carpet and the ghost laughed, but her laugh made no sound. Her music was the only sound she could make, the only way for her to communicate, to share her story and remind the world — and herself — about her. 

She kept playing, song after song, The girls twirled and swayed and spinned to the beautiful melodies of the past. The moon was the only one watching.