Haunted Objects - The Chord

0:00Tyler Reddick here from 2311 Racing. Victory Lane? Yeah, it's even better with Chamba by my side. Race to chambacacino.com. Let's Chamba. No purchase necessary, VTW Group, voidware prohibited by law, CTNCs, 21 Plus, sponsored by ChambaCacino. Hello, I'm Wilkins' stories all the time. Glad you are here. Let's get into it. I bought my first guitar to Garo Sal in 2006. I was 12 years old and only bought the thing because the neighbor selling it had it marked for $15. In 2006, songs like Over My Head by the Freight chasing cars by Snow Patrol and You and Me by Life House, which all heavily featured acoustic guitars played on the radio constantly. I thought if I learned how to play, maybe I could impress some of those girls I'd recently developed an interest in. So I found a few beginner guitar lessons on this insane new website called YouTube. I also found a few instructional books at the library. Within a couple of months, I could struggle through Over My Head chasing cars and You and Me.

1:00And then I discovered the white stripes. The white stripes, if you somehow missed their flaming karma before it burned out, were a husband and wife to your comprised of Jack and Meg White. Over the course of 11 years, they released six albums that invariably harness, if not defying, the sound of 2000s alternative rock. I learned that due to his deep love of all school blues heroes, Jack White loved analog gear and teak instruments. So I, an impressionable young line, became obsessed with old instruments and gear as well. The only problem? A kid in high school does not usually have hundreds of flexible dollars to drop on a musty instrument. I found a couple of beta bold guitars from the ages of 90s upon shops and made due with those. As I entered adulthood, I contented myself with the handful of guitars I already had and started investing most of my time of money into building a life with the love of my life, Stephanie Stump. Stephanie, I met in high school when she transferred during I junior year. We got married in 2016, bought a house in 2017 and supported one another through the early days of our careers. She was a graphic designer for a publishing company that somehow hired her without a degree.

2:01Maybe no self-respecting degree holder would have accepted the salary and benefits or a lactor of, they gave her. I became an electrician, but hoped of one day recording a demo in my spare time that would kickstart the career I really wanted. On an electrician's salary, plus Stephanie's meagre pay, I wasn't able to grow my instrument collection despite a consistent craving for something with it and beat it and store it. In early 2018, Stephanie got pregnant. We trimmed our budget even further to save for the baby, but Stephanie still liked to pop into albots and teeks every week or two to have a look around. She occasionally picked up a trinket that she would gildily hide behind her back whenever she came home as she explained her rationale for purchasing it. I wouldn't verybly kiss her on the cheek, lips, or forehead and tell her something like, well, the baby just paid his rent, so we're flush at the moment. Or, don't worry, I put a line item in the budget for home-on-induced decisions. She was never a big fan of that second one. Sometimes, I went with Steph to Abbots, admittedly, when money felt tighter than usual and I needed to rain her in a little bit. I didn't make up the home-on-induced decision thing out of nowhere, but I did enjoy looking around the store, too.

3:03Occasionally, a storage instrument would find its way onto a rack with a price tag for half my paycheck dangling in the air between us. I would always pretend to haggle with Benson Albert over the guitar, lap steel, banjo, mandolin, or whatever it was. Benson curled on the store with his wife, Dory, who would always scold her husband if she overheard us. Benson, Albert, you give that young man a bargain. He doesn't need to break the bank with a baby in the way. I'm going as low as I can hear, Dory. This guy's just too cheap, Benson would reply, always with a twinkle in his eye. Once I responded with, I'll trade you the baby, Benny, my firstborn for that Martin with the cracked hit stuck. That one got everyone but Steph laughing. The way she rolled her eyes and smirked was better than a laugh, though. Benson said, stay here a minute and disappeared into the office behind the front counter. Oh, I know what he's getting. That cruel man said, Dory. Benson emerged a moment later, carrying a time-want-slingle in May of a parlor guitar. So can 1930 something. He said as he laid it across the counter in front of me, I said, it's beautiful, Benny. I mean, it's beat up, but that one

4:03then makes it better. Oh, how much tone I bet is in this wood. Do you hear him? Steph got to Dory, who grinned and flopped a hand down with like, Pisha. I asked, when did you get this in? Benson answered just a few days ago. It was my father's sexually. He had a tidden up in attic. Oh, I'm sorry. Did he pass recently? I asked. Oh, somewhat. What was it, Dory? A month ago now? Anyway, it was a long time coming and he's better off now. Me and Dory, we went down to his house and held in the state sale. That might seem sort of cool, I know, but it's what we know how to do. It paid for the funeral anyway. I almost kept this guitar for myself. I didn't even know he had a tucked away up there. But I taught myself out of it. I'm not much of a player. Some young guy about your age, I guess, bought it. But you know, it's the strangest thing. He called us a few days later and asked if we'd give him a refund. You know we don't do that. All sales are final. But I bent the rules a little bit

5:04because, to be honest, I regretted selling this thing. It's maybe not in the best shape, but listen to this. Benson picked up the mabel and strummed a mystical sounding called that run warm and woody from the sound hall. The bee-tuner slips all the time, Benson explained. Makes it hard to play along to my Johnny Cash records. Did you bring this out just to tell me you won't sell it? I groaned. Dory said, please take it Julian. And he won't put the damn thing down since he got it. It meant him, Benson replied, very flat. I saw only for a brief second a flash of something in Benson's face which I'd never seen before. He and his wife shared a fantastic and sarcastic sense of humor. Listening to them, Bicca was half the entertainment at Albert's and Teaks, but at Dory's fairly innocuous insinuation that he played his father's guitar too much, Benson appeared. At least for a moment irritated. Wondering if perhaps I had accidentally sired Benson's mood, I said, I'm joking, obviously. I would never dream of separating you from something so sentimental. Of course I know that, Benson replied, now with a friendly grin. I just thought you'd like to take a look.

6:04Want to play it? I looked at Steph, who wore an obvious impatience that her pregnancy prevented me from ignoring. I said, next time for sure. I think we've got to get going. Stop by again before that baby comes. Heaven knows we won't see you much after he does, Dory said. We assured them we would and said goodbye. We returned to Albert's and teaks a couple of weeks before Stephanie's due date. Benson greeted us cheerily, but Dory wasn't there. She's off today visiting her sister, he said. Then laughed. She'll be sorry she wasn't here. I don't imagine you'll make it back before the big day, right? Looks like you're about to pop. Stephanie politely laughed. I am and I'm sorry she's not here, too. We'll just have to surprise her with a visit from the baby after he's born. Do you have a name picked out yet? Thenton asked. I said not yet. It's hard to narrow them down. Oh sure sure. Well, why don't you have a look around? And Julian, when you're ready to check out, there's something I want to talk to you about. Oh sure, I said blindsided by a sudden heaviness

7:06in Benson's normally bouncy voice. He had always seemed to me like a rocket rising above the exhaust of all the decade behind him. As he said, something I want to talk to you about, his voice creeped in a way that made it suddenly seem like the rocket might not escape the atmosphere. He gave me a warm, but pain smile and went into the office behind the counter. Wonder what that's about, Stephanie whispered as she waddled into the first aisle? Probably nothing, I guess. I expected Benson to lay some fatherly advice on me or maybe share some old man with him about maintaining a marriage during the tumultuous first months with a newborn. But when Stephanie returned to the counter, me empty-handed and her with the collection of tiny picture frames for the baby's room, my heart skipped with excitement. I saw Benson's father's maple guitar prop against the stool he was sitting on. Remember this? He asked, do I? I replied rhetorically. We remember how I wouldn't sell it. Don't tell me you've changed your mind. Benson picked up the guitar and laid a flat in his lap. He ran his thick fingers across the tarnish strings before wrapping his hand around the neck

8:06and standing the guitar up on his knee. He gave it a once-over, then looked at me again. Name your price. I didn't know how to respond. After standing there stupidly for a second, I said Benny I can't. The sentimental value alone, forget the sentimental value Benson replied very serious. Perhaps the most serious I've ever seen him. I don't want it anymore. It has it just reminds me too much of my father in ways I'd rather not be reminded. Oh, okay, I replied. Oh, well, Benny, I know it's not nearly what it's worth, but the most I could probably give you is. I watched Stephanie's fist carefully, as I said, 200. Making it sound like a question. Her expression held nothing but encouragement. Her eyes told me you've been waiting for this long enough. Do it. 200 dollars, I said, more definitely. I totally understand if you'd rather 100, Benson interrupted. I paused with my mouthhacking open before saying, Benny, no, that's not even a quarter of what it's worth. All right, fine. 50 Benson replied.

9:07Wait, hold on. Julian? Steph interrupted this time. She touched my bicep tenderly. No, seriously, just a minute, I stammered. Benson cut me off again. He keep talking and I'll drop it to 25. A spark of his signature twinkle flasked in his eyes, which made me feel slightly better. No, don't do that, I laugh. I couldn't help it. Here was the guitar of my dreams basically being gifted to me, but I didn't feel I could take it. It felt wrong. It felt dirty. It felt I'm not sure how to accurately describe it. Don't you have a song? I asked. Shouldn't you pass it down to him? I don't want him to have it. Benson answered, almost robotically, then quickly amended this statement. I, what I mean is, he doesn't want it. He's not a player like you. 50 bucks in this little beady is all yours. I can't, I said. Julian's stuff could. I looked at her expecting her to understand why I refused to basically steal a family heirloom from a kind old man, but she nodded toward the guitar and waved me forward. Dory's all right with this.

10:08I asked. Benson said, Dory would be angry at me for taking a dollar from you. I would just give it to you, but I want you to feel like it's yours. Don't you think of it as my daddy's guitar, all right? It's yours to do with what you will. I understand, I said, pulling out my wallet. Benson said, good, but his eyes grew heavy and dark. I almost backed out of the deal, afraid I was hurting him, but I knew he would only insist again. And saved us both the trouble. I may Stephanie hold the meabal between her legs and the drive home. Her belly created a nice rest for the neck. I left it in the passenger seat while I helped her out of the car and into the house through the garage door. Tyler Reddick here from 2311 Racing, another checkered flag for the books. Time to celebrate with Chamba. Jump in at chambacasino.com. Let's Chamba. No purchase necessary. BTW Group, boy, we're prohibited by law. CCNC, 21 plus sponsored by Chamba Casino. Once she settled into her chair with her diet cook, for a bowl of Cheerios, and the TV remote, I brought the guitar inside and took it to my back off a slash home studio to spend some time getting to know it.

11:10For a guitar from the 1930s, the meabal felt great in my hands. Besides some understandable cosmetic wear, the body was in fantastic shape. The bridge lay flat, the neck was straight, and although pretty oxidized, the frets were still even. The strings looked to be a decade old or possibly older. They were also oxidized, but I wiped them down with a string refreshing solution to take care of that. The brass windings all looked grey and the online strings were almost black. They sounded cool though. They played dull and quietly, which I thought might fit a few of the songs I had in the works. Plus, with a baby on the way, I thought a quieter instrument might be nice to have around. Despite having extra strings in one of my drawers, I opted to keep the originals on. Benson was right about the tuning peg for the B string. It slipped about a half step no matter what I did. I wondered to myself, what would Jack White do with this thing? I thought of how out of tune Apple Blossom from the white stripes second album sounds and how honest the imperfect guitar makes the song sound. Sure, by Ikey Thump, Jack's guitars were pretty much in tune, but I hadn't reached the Ikey Thump point of my career yet, had I?

12:11No, I was still in self-titled album territory. I decided to improvise a bit, sometimes avoiding the flat string and other times seeing how I could incorporate it. My fingers repeatedly found this one chord shape I was not used to using. It sounded terrible when I included the flat string, but the picking pattern my right hand originally fell into kept bringing the wrong note into the fold. I hope Stephanie couldn't hear me down the hole. I was driving myself insane with the dissonant mess of a chord, but I couldn't resist playing it. It felt like a secret door turned locking. What? A melody? A wholesome. I worked out that the chord in question was a be augmented seventh chord. I know it sounds crazy, maybe some of your musicians can relate, but it felt like the guitar I wanted me to use that chord. Like the instrument was expressing itself the way a musician playing it usually would, but I could never have used a chord with that flat be string. It just sounded awful. Experimenting, I wish to dive into the be strings tuning gear. I knew it was the long term fix, but voila, the string played mostly in pitch. When properly tuned, I'm played openly with the chord. A trouble string provided a beautiful octave repeat of the root note.

13:14Finger picking pattern my fingers kept making me play now sounded pleasant and bouncy instead of ugly and dissonant. But it felt dishonest in a way too. I'd experienced this before while working on a melody a riff that sounded just a little bit too much like something else. I always found it best to walk away from the line between creative borrowing and plagiarism instead of trying to walk it. So despite all the time I'd spent with the be augmented seventh chord, I tried to ditch it. I grabbed a light pick and started strumming something new. But after I played about three bars, my arms suddenly would stiff. The pick dropped from my paralyzed fingers, and before it hit the floor, my hand sprung into the perfect position to play that finger picked be augmented seventh by no will of my own. Thus poised the muscles in my arms relaxed again to allow me to play. I jumped to my feet, nearly dropping the maple and panic. I caught it just before it hit the ground. I immediately set it on a wool mount and closed my office door behind me when I left. I could hear my heartbeat in my naked ear. I heard Stephanie getting out of her chair in the living room, probably to use the bathroom as she needed to frequently. I composed myself as best I could before she came around the corner and saw me.

14:16How's the new guitar? She asked. I deflected. New. It's actually pretty old. Steph old her eyes. Ha ha, you know what I mean. But it works okay? A little issue with one of the tuning gears, but I bet a good Lothia can fix it, I said. I heard you missing with that, said Stephanie. Oh no, you heard that? Sorry, I thought I was playing quietly. You were, she said smiley. But we don't live in a mansion. Not yet, I have laughed. Just wait until I get this album done. Then you'll have to pick which mansion you want to Julian. Steph interrupted. Sorry, it's just I got a pee. I attributed my weird muscles peasant to playing that chord for too long. My fellow guitar players can attest to the way our fingers can freeze if we spend too long playing in one shape or position. I'd never had it happen to my whole arm before, let alone both arms at the same time. By how else could I explain it? The guitar took over my body? I shoved the ridiculous idea away. We don't live in a mansion. Stephanie's words poured at my mind

15:17as I tried to fall asleep that night. I thought she loved our little ranch house, our little starter home. Her earlier complained about being able to hear me because we didn't live in a mansion was the first sign of dissatisfaction I'd ever heard from her. Well, honey, if you wanted to live in a mansion, maybe you could have given me a little more space to pursue a music career that might have brought us some real income instead of the piddly salary and occasional commissions I get being an electrician. And graphic design? Aren't there 12 year olds with iPhones who can do that job? This train of thought cracked through my mind while I lay next to Stephanie's extra warm body in our queen bed. We really needed a king but buying a bed costs at least $1,000 anymore. Maybe if Steph didn't have a semi-weekly and taking habit to feed, we could have saved up for a bigger bed. But it wouldn't matter in a few weeks anyway. She would give birth to our screaming baby and then one of us would probably be stuck with him half the night freeing up the whole bed for the other. I owed him that sound like joyful relief. Stephanie started snoring. I couldn't take it. I left the bed aggressively enough to make her stare. I'm not sure if she actually woke up but she quits snoring

16:18and let her leg drift into my vacant spot. Fine, I thought. If you aren't the bed, you can have it. All yours, honey. Enjoy. I slept a rest of the night in the couch. The next morning, Stephanie woke me with a gentle shake. I opened my eyes and said, Huh? You fell asleep on the couch. Silly, Stephanie said. Oh, I realized. She was already asleep when I came into the room last night. She doesn't even know I got in bed. Wobbing my eyes, I said, I tried to fall asleep in the bed, but how to finish? I thought for the reasons I'd abandoned her the night before and realized they were all pretty stupid. Her mansion comment had obviously been a passing remark, not a criticism. She loved her house. That's why she helped to take such good care of it. And the heat of her body, of course, was just a side effect of her pregnancy. Couldn't I give her a little grace while she was growing her child inside her? My gripe about our small bed might have been valid, but not the way I blamed Stephanie for it. Stephanie filled in the silence before I had a chance to complete my thoughts, saying, I'm so sorry, did I keep you up?

17:19My body is like to your temperature regulation right now, and I was worried it might bother you, so I tried to move over as much as I sat up and kissed her cheek. She stopped bothering and smiled at me. No, I'm sorry, I said. You wouldn't know it, I guess, but I got super frustrated with you last night for a bunch of random reasons I'm realizing now are pretty dumb. It came out of nowhere. I feel way better now, though. She ruffled my hair. A good night's sleep can do that. Actually, I don't know how you could have slept well on that old thing. I'm going to start the coffee. Thank you, I said with love. Stephanie could not partake in coffee thanks to the pregnancy. It's a rule she followed faithfully, even though coffee is the only thing she loves more than me. Shortly, Steph brought me a steaming mug of my favorite light roast, brew to perfection. After I changed, I went to work, leaving the house quite for Stephanie to work. She had been working from home on enough since the onset of her morning sickness, and now, so close to her due date, she opted to work remotely all the time. Driving stairs, excess noise, and co-workers microwave vigisolmator uncomfortable as sick,

18:20so commuting to the office was anti-productive anyway. As I drove from job to job throughout the day, the lovely feelings for Steph that I'd recovered window, partially due to constant daydreaming about picking up that old maple again. Where would that strange magnetic cord take me? I predicted the muse which had taken me over the previous day would not let me move on until I'd uncovered the house on. A part of me felt a little afraid of the task. And the muse. Unligitar itself in a bizarre way. I'm paying off anxiety about the instrument glowed in my brain like a dashboard warning light, but as long as I didn't look down, I wouldn't have to acknowledge it. I could just keep driving like everything was fine. Towards the end of the day, Steph began spamming me with texts about how exhausting her day had been, half-restrating her boss was. She told me in four different ways how tired she was. She heavily implied she wanted a massage and mature to include the disclaimer, don't expect any quiprocule, UKM. Not trying to be mean, just don't have it any. Really? As if I didn't give her free massages all the time. What kind of monster did she think I was? Sorry, what kind of caveman?

19:21And I'm sorry, but if she thought her boss was frustrating, she should have met the widow who made it a weird point to tell me her husband did so well she never had to work a day in her life and then proceeded to yell at me every time one of my tools rose above the decibels from her TV. Or how about the house I went into with four sick kids who were too unwell for school, but apparently just fine to hand over my shoulder and swipe the occasional stray screw from me. No, she couldn't imagine what real frustration felt like. And at the end of the day, what did she have waiting for her? A massage and probably whatever obnoxious reality shows she felt like watching with whatever bland meal she could stomach. And how about me? Oh yeah, I'd be giving her that massage. No quiprocule caveman. I'm feeling my brain, my unchallenged creative brain, render into a slimy stew as I sat on the couch being there and being most importantly quiet. Couldn't have anybody playing an old guitar that didn't really keep a tune, could we? No, that would be frustrating. Oh, how awful. I realized I might not get another chance to play the guitar that day because as soon as stuff decided it was her bedtime, it would be quite time for me too. Unless I just said no.

20:23If she was really so tired, what would she do? Get up and take the guitar from me. As I recount these thoughts to you, I feel guilty, creepy and weak. But this is where my mind went that day. I remember clearly, and unfortunately, there is more. I realized life would have been much simpler without Stefan it at all. The woman was eight months pregnant with my baby, but if I'd registered eight short months earlier that I could have had the studio and the album and the honest shot of real career-making music, if I just left her behind to figure out her own life, I could have had it all. I still could, I surmised. There was just one big obstacle. Well, two, technically. But one was so small and defenseless and at that point faceless. It wouldn't take much to. I reached for my water and quite distracted, grabbed my coffee mug instead. I realised before actually sipping from the anti-mug what it was, but not before the cup was under my nose, filling it with a rich hand of my favourite light-roast. I remembered how Steph had brewed it perfectly that morning, even though she could not drink and drop herself. She did that for me. She did so much for me.

21:23And all she wanted after a hard day was a quick massage. And I bet she would give me a bit of time to play the guitar if I told her I needed it. Maybe that could be her could proquel. I asked her when I got home if it would be alright for me to duck into my office to relax a bit before we settled into the catch. She said yes, that she felt like taking a nap anyway. She said if I was going to play the old guitar to just keep the door closed and try not to get too loud. Sure honey, I thought. Caveman, try not bang too loud. But that was fair. Wasn't she giving me exactly what I had asked for? In my office, with that bad amable in my hands, the moustache over me again. I felt it take control, but it led me nowhere. Stephanie napped until I started getting ready for bed. What time is it? She asked, emerging with her blue shirt wrinkled and her virtual meeting ready hairdrew, touse up mess. Just about 10, I told her. She said, ha. Well, I guess I'll probably be up for a while. Well, any chance you want to stay up and keep me company? I'll, I hesitated to answer. I had another full day of work living,

22:24and besides, wasn't even sure how long I could stay awake. Wait, Steph said, rubbing her face at the palm of one hand. Sorry, that's not fair of me to ask. I'll heat something up and watch one of my shows. She stepped forward on her to be toast to kiss my cheek and said, I'll be fine. Good night. Tyler Reddick here from 2311 Racing. Another checkered flag for the books. Time to celebrate with Jamba. Jump in at JambaCasino.com. Let's Jamba. No purchase necessary, BTW Group. Boy, we're prohibited by law. CCNC, 21 plus sponsored by JambaCasino. I woke up in the middle of the night. My blurry vision reported a race form next to me in bed, so I assumed Stephanie had joined me and closed my eyes again. I tried to fall back asleep, but I heard faint conversation coming from somewhere in the house. Then, still muffled by the walls, I heard pumping music. This time I propped myself up on my elbows as I opened my eyes and looked closer at the shape next to me. It looked like Steph was laying under her blankets, but then, did she leave the TV on when she came to bed? I reached across and tenderly touched the form beside me to see if it was actually my wife,

23:26but when my hand should have touched soft flesh, I felt something hard and cold. Still only half a week, I pulled back the blankets and found not Stephanie, but they owed me a laying in bed next to me. Violently disturbed, I pushed the guitarway. It cut out off the bit, strings ringing out in an eternal bellow of purdest. I then crawled over the mattress, off of the bed, and the wrapped my hands around the mabel's neck, intending to swing the tormenting instrument over my head and smash it on the floor. When I tried to lift the guitar, it resisted with impossible way. This incongruity stuped my anger. I pressed my knee against the guitar's body and braced to snap the thing in half instead. A strangled whimper halted my rage and made me look down at what lay between my hands. The neck I held was crushing in my fingers. Was not the guitars, but my wife's. And my knee was not on the body of the guitar, but rather pressing into Stephanie's upper spine. Another second, and I would have snapped her head back, killing both her and the baby, I yelled, tumbling off of Stephanie and rolling her over at the same time. I didn't think my way had been on her belly. Oh, but hers definitely had. And the fall had she landed belly first

24:29or rolled over while trying to recover. Stephanie accried. Stephanie, I'm so sorry. Do you think he's okay? Do you think the baby's all right? Stephanie looked up at me with fearful eyes. She raised a hand and I grabbed it, but she pulled it away. I let it go, assuming she was afraid of me and not wanting to frighten her anymore. But she raised one finger of the hand, she pulled away and put it to her lips. Her eyes turned from me to the open bedroom door. Now, instead of muffled talk and loud beats, I heard a gentler type of music, an acoustic guitar playing solo down the hall. I still might have believed it was coming from the TV except the timbre of the guitar was too specific and the song too familiar. It was impossibly. The very bee augmented seventh-code pit exactly the way I'd been stuck doing since I brought the Maybell home. And era still, each high octave was slightly flat just like on the Maybell with the dime stuck in the tuning gear. Stay here at Old Stephanie. If I yell, lock the door and call the police. Wide-eyed and mute, Stephanie nodded. I crept into the hallway, hands numb, feet tingling, skin-crawling.

25:30The haunting music continued to be played and standing in the hall. I could confirm it was coming from my office where the old guitar should have been hanging silently in the wall. The pattern ringing through the wall sounded so fancy, so upbeat, but in the dead of night when no one else should have been inside the house, it sounded disjointed and disoriented. I felt like I was in somebody else's house sneaking toward another man's office. That woman I'd left behind on the floor, the one whose neck I had almost snapped. She was another man's wife. You may guess, as I did, that those feelings were a protected side effect of my terror, but unfortunately, there was another explanation for them which I discovered when sighting passed the bathroom. The bathroom door was open. A nightlight glowed from the outlet next to the sink. I could see the mirror above the sink from the hallway and as I moved into it's reflection, I saw a man I did not recognize. A mummy of a man stared back at me from the mirror. Vincent Albert is someone I would describe as an old man, but if Vincent was old, the man I saw and my reflection was ancient. His eyebrows curls and long strands above his yellowed, squinting eyes. His only other hair wrapped around the side

26:30and back of his head. He had a big nose and small mouth pinched in a tight grommis, which did not correspond with my own trembling jaw. The man's scrawny body was uncloed. His skin hanging often loose clumps from the backs of his arms and the sides of his round belly. Thankfully, they counter-covered him from the waist down. Behind the next door down the hall was haunting notes continued to play, ringing with characteristic distance. My eyes were locked in the eyes in the mirror and when my lip departed to suck down a trembling breath, the lips in the mirror parted in a toothless grin. I tore from the bathroom, rejecting still as I ran the last few steps to my office. I threw up in the door, turned on the light and found everything in perfect order. The mabel rested in the wall, stringed dead and still. But I knew what I had heard. I lifted it off as hanger. This time, no additional weight prevented me from swinging it overhead and smashing it on the ground. The carpet absorbed too much of the first blow, so I slammed the broad back of the guitar against the corner of my desk. The brittle wood splintered and the strings resonated loudly. Then I swung the flimsy remnants of the antique instrument down again.

27:31This time, the carpet could not prevent it from splintering apart. The bridge broke off. The strings made an awful grating sound as they rubbed against one another in a disorderly twist of metal and wood. The next knocked away from the jagged remains of the body. I set the headstock against the floor, put my foot on the back of it and leveraged inek until the headstock snapped behind the top of the fretboard. The fretboard itself popped off in two chunks, one of which flapped upward and hit me in the cheek. I squinted against the impact, and when I opened my eyes, I was laying in bed again. I looked around the dark bedroom, checking the space in the bed beside me by lifting up the covers. It was empty. I listened and heard faint, muffled dialogue mixed with subtle music, but not a single guitar. Quietly, I left the bedroom and went to my office. I saw myself in my reflection as I passed a bathroom mirror. In my office, the mabel hung still and siled on the wall. I removed it, slipped it into a soft case and carried it out of the room. Julian, Steph asked days of Lee as I walked through the living room, get our case in hand, waking her from a hazy half-sleep. The TV glow flashed like cross her face,

28:32making her squeeze her eyes shut before she could fully tick me in. I'll be right back, I said. Just gonna put this in the car for tomorrow. Now, she asked. What time is it? I said, I don't know. I'll explain later, but I've got to get this thing out of the house. In the morning, I'm taking it back to Alberts, and if Benny won't take it back, I'll be his him over the head with it. True to my word, I drove to Alberts with the mabel and I trunked the next morning. I called and sicked to work, so I wouldn't have to wait until the end of the day to get rid of it. The doba rang as I walked into the shop. I hoped to see Dory at the counter. I thought if I could return the guitar through her, I might be able to avoid getting too detailed about my reasoning. I concocted a believable fight between Steph and I over-space, during which I hypothetically admitted to having too many instruments and agreed to downsize. I would tell Dory, I didn't want Benny's dad's guitar to be a sore pointer to his death, and I because it would spoil the joy of playing it. The basic fact that the guitar could bring me no juror trap with the true story, at least. However, Benny, I'm so sad at the counter that morning that greeting glasses on the edge of his nose

29:33and a good old-fashioned newspaper between his hands. He looked up when he heard the bell, saw me and smiled. Then he saw the guitar case in my hand and his smile instantly faded. Oh, he said, folding the newspaper and setting it on the counter. He forced a portion of his welcoming smile back on. Having some trouble with the guitar, are you? Is it that mean old B-string? I tell you, the tuner on that bad boy shot too. Any? I interrupted. I have to ask you to take this back. Well, now he said, cool in. You're a good customer, and I consider you a friend, Julian, but the rules apply to everybody. I can't make an exception for you. I'd have to do it for everybody. What do you mean? I asked. All sales are final. No returns or exchanges. Come on, Benny. This was no business transaction. Was it? Was it? Benny asked back, looking hurt now. Of course, I thought internally smacking myself. It was personal. Very personal to him. We're not talking about some vase he sold me.

30:33We're talking about a family arrow. Look, Benny, I said, I don't want the money back. I just want to give this back so you can find. I was going to say another home for it, but despise that possibility so much I changed it to something else to do with it. I really enjoy getting to play it, but I just don't have the space for it right now. It's just not the right time with the baby and. Benny's eyes widened, and he looked up at me with his neck bent slightly, like he was trying to examine something under the sweep of my hair. His eyes, I saw, were a little wet. Stephanie, he said, breathily. How Stephanie and the baby? Are they all right? Sure, she's fine, I answered. Then some clothes to his eyes with relief, squeezing a small tear from the corner of the left one. He parted his lips slightly before he opened his eyes and said, I'll take it back. I'll thank you. Seriously, it means so much that you offered it to me in the first place, and I really did. How much did you pay for it? He cut in. A 50 bucks. I said embursed. He opened the till and handed me a crisp 50. I unzipped the guitar case and,

31:33as ceremoniously as I could, handed the guitar over the counter. They're really okay. Vincent asked. He wasn't looking at me, but holding the guitar in his lap and studying it with distant vision. I thought I understood why he was asking, but didn't dare bring up the malevolent influence of the guitar. Lest I learn he was just making conversation. Yeah, Stephanie had a bit of a weird night, but I think, weird in what way. Vincent asked, a notch above curiously. I told him about Steph's late nap and off to an old TV binge. This seemed to appease him, and I made one final apology about the guitar before bidding him farewell with a lie that I needed to get to work. Vincent turned a guitar over and propped it on his knee. I heard him tune up the B string to match the others pictures I walked away. I watched him over my shoulders, I went, and yes, old Benny took a coin from the till and wasted it into the tuning gear. By this time, I was directly in front of the door. I put my hand in the push bar just as Vincent began to pluck at a B augmented seventh. The B augmented seventh called that I had stumbled onto. He was picking the exact same pattern I had. I froze.

32:34Vincent stopped playing. What is that? I asked turning around. Oh, just the beginning of an old song my father used to play long ago, Vincent replied. Vincent, be straight with me. I've had that guitar in my house for two days and two nights. They've been two of the strangest of my life, and I doubt you're surprised to hear that. He's a dangerous, whatever's in there. Growing angrier, what could it have done to my family? How? What did you send home with me? Vincent refused to look at me. He gently slid the guitar back onto his legs, holding it like a lap steal. He studded the dull patches and crux in the finish for a few quiet seconds. Then finally said, it's hard to believe it's really him. But I think it's my father that haunts this old thing. Could you believe it? Your own dad, or at least a part of him, trapped in this thin wood. I saw him, I said. I saw him in the mirror. It was a dream, but I have a feeling it might have also been more than that. Vincent said, I'm sorry, Julian. Truly I am. I took the easy way out myself and put your wife into Stephanie Noe. She knows I've been a bit of a jerk the last couple days,

33:36but that's about it, I said. In hindsight, I think I did a pretty good job of hiding the dog thoughts from her. You're strong, Vincent replied. That's good. You'll be a good father, Julian. I mean that. Better then, well, better than any I've ever known, including myself, that's for sure. Still angry, I said, I hope so, and turn to leave again. But then a realization hit me as if I'd walked into the door and stopped read just as hard. I once more turned around. Vincent was looking at me as if expecting a question I asked next. He already looked guilty, ashamed, and anxious. Then he, I asked, where is Dory, really? They'd dug Dory Albert's body out from a hole under Benson's shed. He had bashed a skeleton with a sony stereo to speak of the day before selling me the mabel. Journalist crafting curiosity pieces dug into Benson's past. Their discoverers made local news their national. The reason the story made big headlines was Benson's father, Elijah Albert. If not for the news coverage, I never would have learned Benson's father had brutally murdered his mother and apparently screened at a sentencing hearing.

34:36I broke her the way all bad women should be broken. She got what was coming to her, and I'd give it to her again. Stephanie and her baby boy, Rory Devil's Weeks, was born the same day somebody broke into the out of business Albert and takes and store dozens of valuable items, which included a 1930 slinger lameeble parlor guitar with a loose bee string tuner. As of this writing, the criminal or criminal's responsible have not been identified or apprehended. I've searched online, but the burglars are either biting their time until the heat wears off or they uploaded their take through more private channels. Every time I see a new story about a husband or boyfriend murdering their wife, girlfriend, or entire family, I try to find out if they played guitar and if they did, whether they might have recently purchased an antique mabel. I haven't tracked the guitar down. I hope somebody's had the sense to destroy it by now. I wish I had. Although, I'm not entirely sure I would have been able. Perhaps it's just sitting in storage somewhere, molding and warping and rotting away. I hope it becomes useless before another person has a chance to pick it up. But if they do, I bet I know just what they'll play. I may be hoping for too many things,

35:36but if I can be allowed one more, I hope nobody else is around to hear the taunting song. And that is the end. Thank you for listening, and I will see you in the next one. Go to Chamba Casino right now to play hundreds of games, including online slots, bingo, slingo, and more. Live the Chamba Life at ChambaCasino.com. No purchase necessary VGW group void were prohibited by law 21 plus terms and conditions apply.