Gravesong

My friend Victor had not been himself lately. I had seen him, walking down the stone-paved street several times during the week, and he seemed to grow thinner and more pale each time I laid my eyes upon him. It wasn’t until the week’s end that I could speak to him, and when I did, I invited him over for Sunday tea.

When I took his hat and coat at the door, I was astounded at how much larger they seemed to be, though I knew it was actually Victor growing smaller and I inquired about his health before I even greeted him. His answer, however vague, was no surprise:

“I’m afraid I have been better, my friend.”

I poured he and I steaming cups of tea, staying silent to give him time to elaborate if he chose. When he did not, I took a moment to consider the proper line of question, and then spoke.

“And why is that?”

Victor told me that his sleep had been disturbed in the night, starting a week before. As he lay and slept, the most mysterious notes of music he had ever heard found their way to his ear. They woke him, and enchanted him. He had, he said, been obsessed with the music since it first reached his ears.

The expression on his face when he was describing the music was something between lovesickness, and absolute horror. He said the music was a voice, though it was definitely not human. He likened it to the sound of a mythical Siren, but said it was some how more sinister, almost vile. When I asked what the voice sang, he said there were never any words.

He told me that every time he heard the music, he was powerless. He could not eat; he could not slip; he could not live. He had apparently been plagued by the voice at his home nightly for a few days, when he started to hear it all night, no matter where he was.

Needless to say, upon hearing this I was rather worried for my friend’s safety, but I tried not to let it show. We drank our tea, discussing trivial matters. The tea turned to brandy, and the trivial matters turned to politics, which gave way to philosophy, and finally literature eclipsed the other two.

By now, night had fallen, and we had moved to the smoking room. We sat immersed in conversation, pipes smoldering in both our hands. Victor’s bad health and disturbing story had fallen by the wayside several glasses of brandy previously, and so I was taken by complete surprise when Victor’s eyes widened, and dropped his pipe, still smoking, to the floor.

I rushed to my feet to tend to him, but he pushed past me and I fell. He ran out of my house without his jacket, and I heard his fading voice as I rose to give chase;

“There!” he said, as he fled the smoking room. “Do you hear it? That’s the song!”

I heard nothing, which of course worried me more, and I chased him. I heard him slam my front door, and I opened it again to give chase. I could barely see him running like a mad man down the cobblestone street. I followed him as best I could, but he ran like a man possessed.

He bumped into a few late partygoers, knocking off a man’s top hat and earning Victor a strike from the gentleman’s cane. I apologized to the group of men and women, but Victor didn’t even acknowledge them, not even when the cane hit him round the knee. I haven’t even the slightest idea of how long I ran after him, following him blindly through the night, but we didn’t stop until we came to a massive stone wall with a huge, black, arching wrought-iron gate.

Once we arrived here, Victor froze and stood still with his head tilted slightly, as if he was, in fact, listening to something. I still heard nothing, but I was disturbed by the sincerity of my friend’s actions. His eyes darted between the shadows that danced in the night around us, the moonlight shone upon his gaunt, sweat-streaked face, giving him the look of a corpse.

We had scarcely paused a minute when he burst through the gate, and I lost him once more. I followed him through the gate, and found myself standing in the last place I expected; a cemetery. I made my way after him, dodging headstones and crypts on my way. The cemetery was as silent as one would expect, and also very dark. With little vision, Victor’s mad silence was hard to find, but, at last, I did. I ran at him once I saw him, but I stopped and stumbled as fear gripped me.

I saw victor kneeling before the ethereal form of some specter-woman. She was an odd gray color, tinged with an unearthly shade of blue, and exceedingly beautiful. I could see logic to Victor’s obsession, even though I still heard note a note.

I over came the fear that had transfixed me upon seeing the specter, and rushed towards Victor, but the spirit was faster. I recoiled in repulsion and terror as the thing swooped down upon Victor; who fell screaming to the ground with bleeding ears and hollow eyes.

I fainted without another thought.

A copper woke me up with a boot the next morning, and asked me a few questions. I could scarcely speak for grief. I felt horrible for allowing such a fate to befall my friend Victor. The policeman escorted me home, and after hearing my tale, advised me to get some sleep and forget about it. I heeded his words, and slept soundly, until nightfall.

A slow, haunting noise was creeping through my window, winding its way through the air like a venomous serpent, finding my ears and burying deep within. I was paralyzed by the haunting sounds, unable to move. I was enchanted by the sinister sounds so much so that it wasn’t until I had been listening for a while that I noticed, with a pang of sheer terror, that I heard not one of the haunting, ghostly voices, no, but two.