Haunted Music - Robi Crusoe (bill gates books to read .txt) 📗

Why do these things always happen to me? First, I almost die in Chesterfield Hall, and then I get hypnotized by an Egyptian ghost. Now I have to deal with the ghosts haunting me! Why can’t my life just be normal for once?
Hi, my name is Alex Grimm. As you can tell, things haven’t been going well for me lately. It’s all because of my profession. I work as a Ghost Hunter for the PGA, otherwise known as the Philadelphia Ghost Agency. I find the places that are haunted and try to convince the ghosts to move on. This is never an easy task. Then, to make matter’s worse, they now haunt my kitchen. Those vile ghosts are always up to no good. Take today for example…
When I got out of bed this morning, I tried to put on my slippers, and found that they had been thrown out the window on the other side of the room. I walked down the stairs in my bare feet, and went into the kitchen to brew my annual morning mug of coffee. I had just sat down at the table, when suddenly an unseen force ripped the mug out of my hand. It then sent the cup and its contents crashing down on the head of my pet ferret, Gwenet. She hissed at no one in particular, and then scurried off into her room.
I rolled my eyes, and then set off for work as if nothing strange had even happened. As I pulled into my parking space, I was greeted by my boss, William Daniels. Immediately I knew something was up.
He came up to me and patted me on the back.
“Good morning, Alex.” he said, “How is our number one ghost hunter today?”
“Same as usual,” I said. “Tired, thirsty, and aggravated at those pesky ghosts.”
“You know what you need,” he said to me. “Alex, you need a vacation.” I was puzzled by this. William hardly ever gives out vacations, and when he does, it usually has a catch.
“A vacation to where, exactly?” I asked him.
“A vacation to a place you know very well, my dear Alex.” he stated. “We’re sending you to your old homestead, Millvale, Pennsylvania!” I was shocked. I couldn’t believe that I would actually get to go home and see my dear mother again!
Soon, I was in my car, driving off into the sun, almost unbearably remembering all of the great times that I had in my hometown. When I finally reached home, it was late Saturday evening. I knocked on the door.
“Mom, it’s me, Alex, I came for a surprise visit!” I called. When no one answered, I shrugged, and opened the door. It seemed as if no person had set foot in the house for at least five years! I took one last look around, and then, hoping my mother would return soon, I fell asleep on the couch.
The next morning, since my dear mother still wasn’t home, I decided to go to church without her. I was lucky that it was still in the same building. I am a Catholic, so whenever I am in Millvale, I go to the Millvale Croatian Catholic Church. When I got there, I was greeted by my good friend, Reginald. He was the priest of my church.
“Hello Alex!” he said. “It is so good to see you again! Why haven’t you visited before now?”
“Well, let’s just say, things at work have been a bit complicated lately.” I replied.
“Really, they couldn’t be that bad, could they?” Reginald asked. “What is it that you do for a living?” I straightened my tie before proudly answering.
“I am a Ghost Hunter for the Philadelphia Ghost Association. I track down and ward off ghost.”
“Oh Alex, you must be joking!” Reginald chortled, howling with laughter. “Everyone knows that ghosts are just make-believe. They don’t exist!”
As he said those words, I felt a strange energy stirring inside me, quite like the time when I had faced off with Tabby inside my mind. I again felt a heavy circlet of ice fall on my head. I felt powerful, and above all, angry. It was as if someone had lit a fire within me, and it was being fueled by arrogance, pride, and menace.
“Of course they exist!” I hissed, the flames of my fury growing. I wanted to lash out at the priest; I wanted to make him suffer my full wrath! Then, all at once, my anger dissipated, and I was left calm and confused in front of a cowering Reginald.
“I’m really sorry if I offended you.” he whimpered.
“It’s alright, Reginald.” I said. “I don’t know what came over me.”
By that time, the church service was almost about to begin, so I said goodbye to Reginald and took my seat. Just to be prepared, I went ahead and grabbed a small, blue hymnal from one of the small cubbies screwed into the back of the pew in front of me.
I flipped open the front cover out of curiosity, and felt my blood run cold. I had thought that I would never see or here of her ever again, but there it was, written down in her loose, cursive script. It was the name of the literal ghost of my past. It was the name, Lily Carter.
Seeing her name again made me think back to when I had first seen her. I was seven at the time, and had just begun coming to church. I would sit in the pew as I always did, being a good little boy and reading Judges. One Sunday, I looked up from my reading, and noticed that there was a young girl, about my age, who was sitting alone about three rows in front of me. She always seemed to be reading something. I said nothing about it for the first few weeks, until one day as I was leaving; she slipped a note into my pocket. On it were five words in what I assumed was her handwriting.

Go ask Reginald about me, Lily Carter

.

I turned around immediately to carry out the task. Quietly, I tapped the priest on the shoulder.
“Excuse me, Mr. Reginald, but would you happen to know who Lily Carter is, and if you do, could you tell me her address?” I asked as politely as I possibly could. Reginald looked at me and laughed.
“I know who she is, Alex, but I can’t give you her address.” he answered. “Lily Carter has been dead for twenty-two years.” He then pointed to the pew where the young girl had been sitting.
“She died from a heart attack right there in that pew, while she was looking over her music for her big concert that night.” Reginald then told me. “It was such a shame that she never got to perform. She was the best violist around.” I ran the facts through my head, and almost couldn’t believe it, but I knew it was true. I had seen the ghost of Lily Carter.
I had come back that night, carrying nothing but a small magnifying glass and my miniature recorder. As most ghost hunters I had seen on TV did, I started in the place where I had first seen Lily, in the sanctuary.
I could feel a strange energy as I walked in. Then a trill began. It was soft at first, but gradually the sound became louder. Only after this, did I realize what I was hearing. It was the hauntingly beautiful music of Lily Carter’s viola.
Slowly, I inched towards the piano at my right. The only thought that I could think was that I had to accompany the sweet melody that had began only moments before. My hands flew across the keys, and the tune that followed was more astounding than ever.
As we finished the final sequence of notes, my urge to play ceased. Suddenly, I heard a voice behind me. It sounded feminine and child-like.
“Thank you Alex, for playing with me.” Lily said. “I finally got to finish my concert.” Then she came closer, and I felt her cold lips caress my cheek.
“Please, someday, will you play with me again?” she asked.
“I will.” I answered. Lily smiled, and then she vanished. I never saw her again.
I sighed. Remembering the intricate details about my first official investigation made me shiver. But it also reminded me of my promise. After the service ended, I walked over to the piano. Reginald stepped over, a smile on his face.
“So, Mr. Grimm, are you going to play for us?” he asked.
“Not exactly.” I whispered. Then I began. I started with a few bars of “Ode to Joy,” just to get my hands warmed up. I had not practiced in a while, so I hoped that Lily would accept what I had to offer. After “Ode to Joy” I went straight into my signature piece, “Canon in D.” As I played, I heard soft strains of viola music resounding from behind me, and I knew, then and there, that Lily was listening. So I smiled, closed my eyes, and together, Lily and I played our song, our melody, our one and only piece of truly haunted music.

Publication Date: 01-11-2013

All Rights Reserved

Dedication:
I would like to dedicate this edition of The Alex Grimm Adventures to my orchestra teacher, Mrs. Millen. Without her, I would have never learned how much fun it is to be a cellist, or that Alex Grimm could play piano! I also want to dedicate this book to Greensleeves, Little Boy Blue, and Old Red. You three are the best cellos a girl could have.