The Wishing Well

Chapter 7

No, it said suddenly, and she fought biting disappointment. This isn't real. I don't know what it is, but it isn't real.

Olivia frowned.

Breakfast, it said, and she heard its eagerness. Time for breakfast. Close document. Go eat.

“Close document?” Olivia repeated incredulously, a frown on her face. “What are you talking about? I'm not at my computer.”

Yes, I am. I was. Please go away.

“No, you go away!” Olivia retorted, feeling a fresh round of tears at her eyes. “Jerk!”

Mom's going to ask what's wrong with me. The voice cursed softly, then fell mostly silent, except for the occasional side comment to itself. Olivia was confused, because she couldn't hear what it was talking about. She piped in with something of her own when this happened; if it was in her head, she had every right to it.

Olivia finished her orange juice and went to her room, straight to the electric keyboard, eager to find solace in it. For the first time, she didn't care that it was not a real piano. She found a book of complicated classical music, and played for literally two hours. The voice continued with its narration, but not as much; it almost seemed to stop and listen.

Then her fingers began to ache, and her back felt stiff. She had homework that needed to be done, but knew stopping meant hearing it again. Instead, she found a piece she never played before and focused her attention on it—slowly at first, then again.

Olivia finished and stared at the keys, listening. Nothing. She began to hit middle C rhythmically, and it sounded like the clock in the living room. Tick-tock...Tick-tock.

Ding.

Ding.

Ding.

Olivia still heard nothing, but knew it wouldn't be that easy to get rid of it. It would take time. Whatever madness had come over her, she would fight till it was gone. It would take days—weeks—years. Today wasn't going to be the only day.

She grabbed her favorite leather notebook with musical notes on the cover, and decided to write a song. To hell with homework, this was her sanity on the line and math wouldn't help with that. It would have to be a song with words. Olivia would work on the sheet music separately. She toyed with some keys, trying to find a tune that that didn't resemble any of her favorite songs. Soon she composed a slow, rather depressing melody. It matched her mood. Forte was fine. Humming softly, she played it over and over again. The silence that followed when she dared stop was taunting.

“Is it gone?” Olivia wondered, a frown on her face. “Could it finally have left?”

No, was the simple reply. No, it wasn't gone.

So she played some more, doubting she would ever get off this piano. Someone would have to drag her away—Mom would get home and realize she lost her mind. She would pry Olivia off the bench, and maybe try to make her feel better. Olivia was sure homemade cookies would heal it...or at least the cookie dough...

Then, the doorbell rang. “Visitors!” Olivia said aloud. Should she let them in? What if it started happening again? She would be talking to herself in front of the unsuspecting, kindhearted neighbor.

Olivia got up and stretched, but her back remained stiff and achy. Then she glanced out the window. It was Averil. Would she be able to help? “I'll ask about her mom,” she decided. “I'll try to act normal.” She put on a neutral face and practiced in front of the mirror, until the doorbell to rang again.