The Odd Family's Book of Bedtime Stories

The Red Piano

Her piano had fifty two white keys and twenty six black keys. It was one hundred and ten centimeters in height and about one hundred and fifty five centimeters wide. Vera knew everything about her piano, from the top to the bottom. She knew every single string and sound. She even knew the types of wood it was made from. It wasn't brand new either. The piano was old and worn but it was all her parents could afford and it was hers.

Vera didn't even like playing the piano very much but she was good at it. It wasn't her choice either. When they had realized their daughter had a natural talent for playing the piano, Vera's parents had immediately gone out and found her one. Their family was poor and they hoped that Vera's natural talent would help her get into a good school. They hoped that it would be her ticket out of poverty. So they made Vera practice every single day, sometimes for hours.

When her piano broke down one day, her parents were devastated. Vera didn't mind so much because she was glad for the break but she hated seeing her parents so sad. They didn't have enough money for another piano. They didn't know how to fix it or if it even could be fixed. So Vera had gone to local repair men who she thought could fix it and asked for help. She knew her parents would never ask for anything for free. But no one would do it.

Then one day, a strange man showed up at their home. He said that he repaired pianos and other instruments professionally. He also claimed that he had been walking by and heard Vera playing. He agreed she had natural talent and that it would be a shame to waste it. He wanted to repair Vera's piano for free and even offered to come back and check on the tuning regularly, so long as Vera kept playing.

With that, the man was left alone, as he requested, to repair the piano. It was a strange request- to be alone with the piano, but they had nothing to steal so they left him to it. It took some time and a lot of noise but when he was finished, it played more beautifully than it ever had before. Vera's mother cried with joy at the sound of it. Immediately, Vera was asked to start practicing again.

It had been so long since she had played that her fingers cramped up and it hurt to touch the keys. Her parents wouldn't hear of it and told her if that was the case then she needed to play more. So Vera played more. She played as often as she could, playing through the pain and ignoring it. She knew she was getting better, and more skilled.

Each week, the piano man came. Vera's parents let him in and he spent an hour in the room with the piano. Then he'd come back out, smiling and pleased with himself. Vera couldn't tell a difference in the sound of the piano each time he came although her parents claimed that they could.

One day, Vera got curious. It was an odd request to be left alone with the piano. While her parents left the room and shut the doors to go have tea, Vera snuck outside. She slipped along the wall of her home and into the bushes as quietly as she could until she came to the window where she could peer in. The man was in the room but not snooping around like she had thought. He had lifted the lid of the piano and was rummaging around inside of it. At first, Vera was ashamed that she had doubted and snooped.

Then she watched as the man lifted up several small jars from inside the piano and held them up to the light to examine them. He sat one on her bench and then put the others in his bag before replacing them with brand new, empty jars. Vera was even more confused when he picked up the last jar and took several long drinks from it.

After he had left and she was certain he was gone, Vera went to the piano herself. When she really looked around she could find the tiny jars hidden in different places. They seemed to be attached to the piano itself, with long tubes that went under the keys themselves. Then, to her horror, Vera pushed on a key and that was when she saw it. The smallest needles she had ever seen had been placed within the keys. So each time she pushed a key, it pricked her finger.

It had been her own blood the man was drinking.