Wicked Strings

Chapter 1

Devi Rai Singhania

The breeze felt bitter against my skin as I traversed the grey halls, which seemed to constrict around me with each flicker of the candle, strengthened by the breeze and the soft rain. The lightning, fracturing the sky, no longer caused my skin to prickle. Instead, it was the overwhelming fear that gripped me every Friday night, the fear of losing my way to my room, the fear that he might catch me and, this time, finish what he started.

My hand trembled slightly, and my heart beat gently against my chest with each step I took towards the stairs leading to the school's hall, adorned with chandeliers swaying in the breeze that often broke branches outside. Cordelia Academy was touted as the pinnacle of education for one's child. Many of us were expected to embrace the careers chosen by our parents. I, however, did not echo the same tune as the ghosts that many claimed roamed these halls.

Their screams, a haunting melody of agony, echoed as they wandered in their spectral form. The lights would flicker as I passed, and some believed it would drive one to madness, akin to the chilling sensation in one's veins. That emotion, clinging like a spectre at your feet, seemed poised to drag you into the abyss of its end. I rubbed my hands gently against my neck; no mark was left, only the lingering memory that clawed at the chords he had struck.

He was inside, waiting for me, wasn't he? Waiting to strike, to enclose me within a prison of his torment. It was unjust that he bore her grey eyes, the ones that reflected pain as they once gazed upon me. At the age of thirteen, her dark, elusive eyes, full of nightmares, met mine. The chords resonated in my mind, each one echoing the tremor of his scream that made my eyes swim with fear. The melody had changed; it was more mournful, almost tender—too tender for his embrace and for ears that had heard him play it year after year. Tomorrow was the school's most prestigious day, a day when another would be lost in the long line of profit they accrued. Each time, I feared it would be my last. The school did not choose which child would suffer an unfortunate accident.

They did. Their fierce and commanding voices drove the spectres away, almost as if they were performing an exorcism on the ghost they'd caught in their sights. Any lingering sensation on the skin felt like their gaze clawing at you, an echo of a death wish. A death wish that resonated like the hands on a piano, each note sliding down to a mournful low. It was a summons—calling all demons for a sacrifice or a desperate prayer to God. But to what end?

I am just a frightened little girl, struggling for breath beneath the weight of my mother's quivering body—her lifeless form collapsed alongside a woman whose madness eclipsed even my own. My mind follows the haunting melody of his vengeance, like a cobra entranced by a man's pungi. Yet the serpent plays its part, biding time before it strikes, an easy meal for those who feign the role of the victim ensnared by the charmer. A knife rests firmly in my hands, hidden against the small of my back. The ghosts seem to dance around me, their whispers taunting, almost calling me a queen.

I reach a door that evokes the grand entrance of a cathedral. Its strong, dark wood is rich with the scent of centuries-old devotion, a stark reminder of the purity of women tainted by the hands of men. Beyond it lies the hall of the school, an orchestra of haunting instruments, each waiting to unleash its melancholic serenade. 

The dimly lit halls seemed almost eager for the blood that would soon stain the floor, a gruesome testament to the wickedness that flowed through his hands as they caressed the sinister instruments once wielded by another who had dared to draw too close, inhaling the very air around him. The latter was always exempt from judgment; even the school said they should PAY for their transgressions.

As the door creaked open like a whispering breeze, he remained oblivious to the sound, his focus consumed as his fingers raced across the keys with unsettling precision. I cautiously peeked around the corner, and like a hunted animal, he felt my presence in the shadows. Instantly, the hair on the back of his neck bristled in alertness, heightening the tension in the air.