The woods weren’t quiet. Not completely.
Music drifted between the trees. It was a piano song trickling through the quiet somewhere nearby. The sun filtered through the bare branches, dousing the world in lonely magic. The piano played a ghost song, haunting and strained; unbearably sad, but beautiful.
“You guys have a lot of pianos in the woods?” she asked. Her laugh was breathy, uneasy, because joking about the ghost song was easier than trying to wrap her head around it. It was the kind of thing her dads would investigate on TV. But Brandon and Alejo weren’t here now. Whatever this was, it was real.
“I know where it’s coming from,” Ashley said. She moved toward the cabin. She was too casual about all of it, like it was normal to dive headfirst into the paranormal. Because that was what the piano in the woods had to be—paranormal. As far as Logan could tell, no one lived out here. Aside from the crumbling cabin, the woods were empty.
Logan moved in front of her, hands raised to slow her down. “You want to go toward the ghost piano?”
“It’s not a ghost piano.” Ashley scooted around her. “But get your, uh … stuff ready. I don’t know who’d be playing it.”
Logan froze. “Wait, what stuff?”
“Like from the show. The thing that finds ghosts.”
Logan blinked.
“You’re supposed to be the ghost hunter,” Ashley snapped.
“Why would I have gear on me? We didn’t even stop at the motel.”
“I thought you guys just carried that stuff with you.” Ashley grimaced. “You don’t have anything on you?”
“I don’t even know if the stuff my dads use is real.” Logan laughed. “Besides, I was only on the show one time. I barely know how to use it.”
Ashley rolled her eyes. A warm breeze sifted through the junipers and the sunlight through the branches was thick as gold. The piano music continued, soft and sweet and lilting on the wind. Ashley looked at Logan, then turned toward the cabin. Logan’s heart skipped a beat. There was something familiar about it, just like there was something familiar about the trees. It was just beyond her reach, a hair fainter than memory.
“It’s coming from in here,” Ashley said. Her voice was so soft it sounded like she was in a trance. “I’ll show you.”
They hiked to the front of the building. Cabin was a generous word. The structure was completely broken down, wooden planks that once stood upright now bent as though the sky had pressed its palm to the roof and slanted the whole thing. The windows were smashed, fractals of broken glass sticking jagged from the rotten frames. Pillows of moss coated the corners of the roof.
“Do you smell that?” Ashley asked.
Logan closed her eyes. There was a distinct smell coming from the cabin, like spiced cider and wood smoke. It was a smell she remembered, though she couldn’t place it. It conjured up memories of laughter she couldn’t quite hear. She tasted blackberries on her tongue. The bones of a memory were scattered before her, but she couldn’t bring them to life. It was suffocating, this familiarity.
“You’ve been here before?” Logan asked.
“Yeah…” Ashley trailed off. “We come here sometimes to hang out. I’ve never been here during the day, though. It’s … different.”
They made their way to the front door. The piano music continued, following them all the way to the rotting front porch. When Ashley pressed the door open, the music stopped, replaced by the groan of old wood under their feet. The inside of the cabin looked less surreal than the outside; the floor was littered with beer cans, spent cigarettes, and dusty footprints. The walls were etched with names. A ratty gray sofa was pressed into the corner of the main room, and beside it, a dirt-stained cloth covered what Logan assumed was a piano. She didn’t need to uncover it to know it hadn’t been played in years. She’d have been surprised if it could still make music at all.