He looked at the organ keys. They were ragged and worn, the tips broken off and warped. There was no possible way for this organ to play such incredible music.
So Timothy sat himself at the bench, even more curious.
And Timothy played.
It was the first time he was truly astounded with his own talent. He was able to play the keys effortlessly and passionately, with not a single lesson on the organ before this day. His fingers trickled across the keys, every deep and disturbing memory released into every note. It was euphoria. He loved the way his misery felt, how it sounded, how it vibrated in his chest as he played.
He continued to play... and play... and play... until he had forgotten his own name.
But it was not important. He wasn't Timothy anymore and he didn't need to be.
As he played, the door of the church creaked open, a man in uniform came through the door. His eyes were still drying from the funeral of his comrades in a great war – the second one of its kind, which had ended in the week before – his heart heavy and aching for catharsis. His name was Christopher. He had a wife and a daughter. He lived on Nantucket Drive. He loved his mother's catfish.
And his soul had become something he no longer recognized.
"Hello and welcome," Timothy said. "You must have come to see me play."
FINI ~~
YOU ARE READING
The Tragic Organ Player (Short Story)
Mystery / Thriller"A man's soul can shift into all kinds of animals; into beings he never knew existed." A melancholy organ melody had echoed through Broadway Avenue every Sunday night for more than one hundred years... Short story by Deidrea DeWitt (C) 2023
