Chapter One

The practice room closes at ten p.m. It's ten o' one. And yet, she is still there. Hurling her hideously shrill voice till its piercing vibrato rattles the pictures hanging on the wall in my bedroom. Her fingers still pound and the keys, their sharp tones carry through the cold, cement laundry room like an echo in a cave. I toss and turn, aching, longing for the sleep that will not come. Like a phantom her voice rings out in the distance, yet it seems so close. One note higher, then another. She is well above high B flat now. Sudden silence. What has halted her melodious wailing? Now all I here is the ticking of the clock. Suddenly I hear the echoes of footsteps in the distance. They seem to be moving in time with the clock. My breath quickens and my heart begins to race. The darkness seems to be suppressing me. I can barely see my hand in front of me as I search for the chain to the antique lamp on my bedside table. I find it and yank it as hard as I can. In unison with the click of the light, the footsteps come to an abrupt halt. The room is flooded with light, and I find myself alone. Suddenly the singing begins again. My eyelids become heavy, and my head falls back against the pillow. The song is now a lullaby to my ears, the indication that I am not alone and without protection in the austere place. And yet, as I turn out the light, I feel as though someone is watching me, waiting for me.