I couldn’t believe my eyes as I watched him pick up the guitar. His long, slender fingers ran along the strings, and a beautiful melody filled the air. I knew those fingers – they were cold and lifeless now, but I could still remember how they felt on mine.
He had been dead for months now, but here he was, playing music like he had never left. The sound was haunting, and it sent shivers down my spine. But I couldn’t look away. He played with such passion and intensity, as if his life depended on it.
The other people in the room were all staring at him too, some with looks of horror on their faces while others seemed to be in awe. No one dared to interrupt him though, not even when his fingers started to bleed from strumming so hard.
Eventually he finished playing and put the guitar back down on its stand. There was an intense silence in the room as everyone stared at him – including me. I wanted to speak to him, ask him why he’d come back after all this time, but no words would form in my mouth.
He just looked at me with those cold eyes and then walked out of the room… leaving me feeling more haunted than ever before.
