The Organ of Madame Ophelia (short story)

The Fourth Act

The next morning, Mrs. Bunt was pale and drawn. Mr. Bunt woke to find her standing in front of the mirror, touching the deep purple shiners under her eyes.

"I could hardly sleep last night," she said, without turning around. "Every time I did, I dreamed about that awful organ playing."

"It was only a dream, darling," Mr. Bunt said soothingly. "It's the stress of moving into a new house that's getting to you. You just need some time to adjust." He sat up and began feeling under the bed for his slippers. "What time is it?" He paused, cocking his head, and then said, "Well, I'll be darned. That old clock has stopped again."

Mrs. Bunt went downstairs to fix herself some tea, at Mr. Bunt's recommendation. Her footsteps had barely faded on the stairs when he heard her screaming his name. He rushed downstairs, half-dressed and still in his slippers. "For goodness sake, Sarah! Where are you?" he shouted, running into the kitchen and then back out when he found it empty.

Entering the room adjacent to the dining hall, he found her standing by Madame Ophelia's organ. The lid was thrown back, and the keys were gleaming like yellowed teeth.

"Sarah, what in the world?" Mr. Bunt said.

She held very rigid and still, her back to him. "It was you playing the organ last night, wasn't it?"

"What?"

"I wasn't dreaming. You were the one playing that ghastly song!"

"I haven't touched this organ!"

"Then why is the lid open again? I closed it last night. I know I closed it last night!" When she turned to look at him, there was a strange expression on his face. The odd gleam faded from his eyes just as quickly as she'd glimpsed it, before she could tell if it was real or imagined.

Mr. Bunt ran both his hands through his hair. "I don't know why the lid is open again, but it wasn't me. I've just about had enough of this organ. I'm getting rid of it today."

Her eyes were wide. "Rid of it? Who are you going to sell it to?"

"I'll donate it. Who wouldn't want an expensive antique like this for free?"

"Everyone, I think. Everyone in this town knows it belonged to the Madame. They're not going to want it."

"Then I'll destroy it."

Mr. Bunt went back upstairs to get dressed. When he came down, he was lugging a can of gasoline and a box of matches from one of the storage closets.

It took some heavy lifting and quite a bit of maneuvering, but they managed to carry the organ outside.

"There," Mrs. Bunt said, pointing at a patch of bare ground behind the house.

They set it down, and the organ's legs sank deep into the moist soil. The earthy stench filled Mrs. Bunt's nose.

Mr. Bunt tilted his head upward. "It looks like it may rain soon. Let's make this quick."

Dark clouds were turning overhead, gathering in the sky and casting the town in a thin veil of shadow. Looking down, Mrs. Bunt saw thick coils of fog cloaking the rooftops and swirling around the base of the hill. There wasn't enough sunlight to lift the fog, and now it was rising, creeping up towards the manor in long, spidery white tendrils.

The organ's shiny black lid, though coated in dust, still reflected the thin, pale fissures of light breaking through the clouds. Silhouetted against the manor, surrounded by grass and dirt, it looked starkly out of place and magnificently grand.

Mr. Bunt doused it in gasoline and lit a match. The glowing flame flickered as he dropped it onto the organ and stepped back. For a moment, it continued to feebly gasp for life. Then it touched the slick sheen of gas dripping off of the organ's black wood, and it rose in a sudden swell of light.

The organ was engulfed in flame.

The fire danced eerily, reaching for the darkening sky. The air filled with smoke and the sharp smell of burning wood and paint.

Mr. Bunt watched it for a moment. His eyes glinting with the wavering reflections of wildly leaping flames. Then he turned to his wife. "I'll take care of the fire once the organ's burned. You can go inside and make your tea."

Mrs. Bunt obeyed.

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