Happy Friday!  Spring is officially here now that the baseball season is underway!  Even though the temperatures are below normal and some snow is expected to fall this weekend, warmer temps will be here soon and it will back to cutting the grass and working in the yard.  But for this weekend just keep warm!  This week, I have a strange tale that I wish to submit for your perusal.

Enjoy!

STRANGE MUSIC!

In the middle of the night, Bob was awakened from a deep sleep by an odd and unfamiliar noise.  He shook the fogginess from his head and wondered. What was that  noise? Why, it sounded like strange music was coming from somewhere inside his house. But that was impossible! He knew that he was all alone.

He paused and strained to hear – there it was again, it seemed to be coming from right outside the bedroom door. It was definitely music, something that he had heard before, but yet he just could not put his finger, or in this case his ear, on it.  One thing was certain, it wasn’t coming from his stereo or his phone; he knew there wasn’t anything remotely like it in his CD collection or among his downloads.  Bob was an oldies rock kind of guy and this was definitely not oldies rock.

He was caught off guard again when suddenly, there was an outburst of laughter almost as if a big party was taking place downstairs.  He could hear muffled voices and hoots
echoing off the walls as the volume increased.

He began to feel panicky and clutched the sheets tightly in fear, pulling them up over his head in a vain attempt to try to block out the noise that was now rolling through the empty house.  He thought to himself that maybe this was a dream, just a figment of his imagination or some indigestion manifesting itself in some odd way.  If he could just wake up, this would all be over. 

He had almost convinced himself of this when to his astonishment the bedroom door flew open, the door knob hitting the wall with an emphatic thud!

He nearly jumped out his skin as he shook violently under the sheets.  His heart was pounding to the point that he thought he might just leap out of his chest.

“Who’s there?” he asked muttered.  But there was no answer as the music grew louder and the racket continued unabated from below.  Now he thought he was going mad or perhaps on the verge of a nervous breakdown.  He was absolutely positive that house was empty and that he was its only occupant.  Yet, the music continued rowing louder and more distinct: um-pum-pum, um-pum-pum. UM-PUM-PUM, UM-PUM-PUM!

Almost petrified with fear, he managed to inched his way out of bed, trembling as he moved toward the now open door. As he crossed the floor, laughter erupted.  He
whipped his head from side to side looking for any sign of someone else in the house with him.

Now, he know that wafting up from downstairs was the sound of accordions and drums blasting an incessant beat into his terrified brain as he continue to slowly edge his way down the hallway.

He saw nothing. No lights, no flickering shadows. Now, he knew that he had to be
losing his mind. That annoying beat, repetitious and boring. That oddly familiar beat with the accent on the last half. Most unusual!

He felt his way to the top of the stairs.  He dared not turn on any lights for fear he might see something he really didn’t want to confront.  He peered into the darkness. Still as death, he thought, and quickly wiped that unfortunate choice of metaphor from
his mind.

Now he had made his way quietly down the stairs.  He reached for the switch. He could not stand being in the dark literally and figuratively any longer.  As his fingers searched, something cold and slimy clamped itself over his hand. He reeled back in horror as something laughed in his ear.

Then something glowing flashed in front of his face and flew up the stairs. A cold, thin tendril wrapped around his ankles and slithered up his leg. He was cemented to the floor. His eyes were wide with terror as the laughter and the music reached ear-splitting
levels.

Now it finally dawned on him. Of course. He had been so stupid. He realized that he should have stayed in bed, maybe then he would have had a chance. But now it was too late. A scream erupted from his tortured lips as he slipped to the floor.

Um-pum-pum, um-pum-pum. UM-PUM-PUM! UM-PUM-PM! That beat again! It was pounding mercilessly into his very soul. He watched in dread fascination as one of his feet began to jerk back and forth uncontrollably in time to the music. They were inside his body now.

It took every ounce of strength he had left to feebly form one word and force it from his lips……“Polka-geist!”

Thought for the Week

The purpose of life is a life of purpose. ~Robert Byrne

http://www.quotegarden.com