by Anonymous
“Billie Jean is NOT MY LOVER,” Michael seemed to bellow in Noelle’s ear.
“SHE’S JUST A GIRL THAT CLAIMS THAT I AM THE OOOONE,” Noelle continued, belting
the lyrics she had been raised to until the grumble in her stomach started to drown out the blare in her ears.
With a huff, she hauled herself up from her bedroom floor, brushing off the dirt from her backside.
Groaning, she pushed open her door and stepped out into the dimly lit hallway. Every contact
between her foot and the floor made a creaking sound, a purposeful tactic used by architects to
prevent intruders. She took the stairs four at a time, deciding she was ready to sacrifice her life for food at this moment. Life with busy parents was underwhelming, to say the least. Other teenagers had house parties, while she had house piano lessons. She classified herself as a financially aided orphan, seeing her so-called ‘guardians’ eight times a month.
If they were feeling guilty.
She caught a look at herself in the corridor mirror, flinching at the masses of unkempt coily hair that descended from her head, failing to cover the luggage-sized bags beneath her eyes. She swayed her hips to the music, admiring the way her caramel skin was complemented by the orange lights. The flash of lightning illuminated her dark eyes, studying the way her hair bounced as if it had a mind of its own….. until she abruptly stopped dancing when the song changed.
“That’s not right,” she mumbled, recognizing the beginnings of the melancholic Carolina Buddies
song she was learning in her classes.
She pulled out her phone, wondering how the song had snuck its way into her playlist. Skipping the song, Noelle resumed her moonwalk, poorly mimicking her idol. Sashaying down the corridor, she reached the brightly lit kitchen that cast shadows into the hallway. She immediately raised her hand to her eyes, shielding her delicate pupils from the intense lighting. She allowed her eyes to adjust before reaching for the fridge and sighed at the sensation of the cold air soothing her burning skin. A shiver went down her spine, goosebumps appearing all over her skin. Not because of the cool air, but because of the lyrics that resounded through her earplugs.
‘It was on last Christmas evening
The snow was on the ground
His home in North Carolina
Where the murder was bound
Noelle knew what came next without having to hear the words.
His name was Charlie Lawson
And he had a loving wife
But, we’ll never know what caused him
To take his family’s li-i-ife.’
Noelle violently tugged off her earplugs and, as she expected, the music continued,
but not from her phone.
She swivelled her head back and forth, so fast she heard a crack. Rubbing her neck she paced a few meters in every direction, expecting the music to get louder as she neared the source.
It didn’t.
Noelle took two long strides out of the kitchen and towards the lower corridor. Her mouth felt numb and as she passed a mirror, she saw they were moving, mouthing the lyrics that were muffled from a distance.
‘They say he killed his wife the first
And the little ones did cry
“Please, Papa, won’t you spare our lives?
For it is so hard to die.’”
Attempting to stop the lyrics spilling out of her, she bit down on her tongue and felt liquid streaming down her face. Wiping the tear away from her cheek, she looked up at the mirror and saw her face was stained with red, trailing down from her tear ducts.
Blood.
She raised a hand to her mouth, the horror shining in her eyes. Her legs moved, but not at her
command, carrying her faster across the corridor than they ever had. Her body terminated its
movements as it stopped at every doorway. Her head poked in to peek into the room for a few seconds before her body tugged her back out.
She didn’t know what her body was looking for, but somehow, knew she’d know it when she saw it. The feeling was unexplainable. The tug that pulled her closer to the room, not because the music was louder, but because of the feeling of desire that washed over her as she neared it.
Her chest heaved as she pushed herself against the wall next to the room. Inhaling, she poked her head into the room harboring her Grand Piano. The piano cast shadows onto her face as she stepped into the room, studying the back of the piano. She rounded the piano and halted.
There was no one there.
It was then that she realized the muffled lyrics were coming from her.
The keys of the piano were fluttering on their own accord, the hinting melody reminding her of her time spent in this room, perfecting this very song.
Suddenly she felt another pang of desire so strong she saw her pupils dilate from her reflection in the glass jug resting on the piano stand. She saw a raw wanting in her eyes. Hunger.
She craved nothing more than to sit herself on the bench and follow the melody that rang from her head to the nerve endings in her toes. As her red-stained trembling fingers hovered over the keys, a force with no relation to gravity pulled them down. Her fingers pressed the keys as the invisible force disappeared, shouldering the responsibility of continuing the somber song. Closing her eyes, allowed the music to envelop her, like a thorned blanket embracing her.
It was at this moment that she remembered the name of the song.
The Murder of The Lawson Family.
Elements Magazine 