For days, a relentless downpour had smothered Royal, casting a gray pall over everything. Ethan felt it deeply, his own spirits as bleak as the weather. Unmotivated and melancholy, he spent hours staring out the window, mesmerized by the drumming rain. At night, he was captivated by the flashes of lightning and the resounding thunder, a natural light show that reminded him of fireworks. The wind, howling through the trees, played a somber melody that resonated with the turmoil in his soul. He sensed a profound imbalance, a deep wrongness he was powerless to correct.
His dreams became a shattered film reel of his past, forgotten childhood memories resurfacing to stir his emotions. He found himself missing his family, despite the distance he had so desperately sought. The sense of adventure that had fueled his arrival in Royal had vanished. His imagination, once a boundless well of happiness, ran dry. He had, in essence, closed the book on Royal and placed it back on the shelf. As Ethan retreated into himself, the town seemed to follow, slipping back into the bleakness of a ghost town. Despair descended like a heavy shroud, and hope dissolved entirely.
That evening, Ethan went about his routine, placing pails on the floor to catch the new leaks in the roof. The damaged windmill provided only intermittent electricity, forcing him to navigate the house by candlelight. The air was thick with the musty smell of mildew, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that the house was regressing to its derelict past. Shivering, he crawled into bed, pulling the blanket and bedspread tight against the cold as he drifted into a restless sleep.
In the dead of night, a hauntingly beautiful melody stirred him awake. The sound was distant yet deeply familiar—the waltz his grandfather had written. Ethan sat up, transfixed by the accordion’s music. Its melody calmed his racing heart, easing his anxiety. A single spirit slowly materialized in his room, a woman who looked at him with a kind smile that put Ethan instantly at ease. Soon, more spirits joined her. As they drew nearer, Ethan watched his bedroom transform. The walls were no longer peeling, but clean and freshly painted. The familiar, broken furniture was replaced with new pieces. Pictures now hung on the walls and knickknacks sat on the chest and dresser. The closet door, once jammed shut, now stood open, filled with hanging shirts and pants. Books were neatly stacked on the desk. The room was not just new, it was alive, and Ethan could feel the very life of the house surging through his body.
The woman drew near, gently stroking Ethan’s hair. “Never let anyone take your imagination away from you. Your imagination is our life. I love you, Ethan, more than you can possibly know. Let your imagination take you anywhere, anytime, any place. Looking forward to seeing…” Her words trailed off as a blinding light filled the room. Ethan shielded his eyes, and when he looked again, the spirits were gone. The room had returned to its dilapidated state, leaving him sitting in the darkness, the spirit’s words echoing in his mind.
Peggy sat alone in the apartment, the silence heavy now that Amy and Russel had left for class. At the kitchen table, a cup of tea grew cold as she stared at photos from the night Ethan’s grandfather had visited. That evening felt like a lifetime ago, a memory of pure happiness now clouded by sorrow. It had been a little over two weeks since his passing, and that grief, compounded by Ethan’s month-long disappearance, was weighing on her. Tears came easily, affecting her classes, her part-time job, and her relationships with her roommates. The apartment, much like Royal, had lost its light, shrouded in a similar gray despair.
That evening, a rainstorm plunged the apartment into darkness, and the three roommates gathered in the living room, their faces illuminated by a single candle and a flashlight. Peggy was quiet, her mind elsewhere. Her responses were clipped—a “yes” or a “that’s cool”—as Amy and Russel tried to keep a conversation going. When they finally went to bed, Peggy remained on the couch, staring out the window at the storm. Just as she did every night, she closed her eyes and prayed for Ethan to be safe, healthy, and happy. She prayed that he would find what he was looking for and, most of all, that he would return home. Her final prayer was a whisper, a plea for him never to forget how much she loved him. With a sigh, she blew out the candle, curled up, and fell into a fitful sleep.
In the middle of the night, a hauntingly beautiful melody stirred Peggy awake. The sound was distant, yet so familiar—the waltz Ethan’s grandfather had written. The music filled her mind and heart, easing the emptiness she felt without Ethan by her side. She closed her eyes, concentrating on the melody, and flashes of him began to fill her mind. She saw him leaving a house, walking past stores and shops. The images came fast, from multiple angles, the faces of the people passing him blurred or turned away. She watched as he walked through a park, where a gazebo stood in the distance, and she heard the same waltz playing over and over. People were dancing, and she could see Ethan, playing his violin, joined by other musicians whose instruments added to the enchanting accordion melody.
As a young woman began to sing, people started to crowd her view of the gazebo. She pushed forward, trying to get a clearer look, but she could only make out Ethan. Then she tripped and fell. She sat up, looking at what had caused her to stumble—a suitcase that looked just like Ethan’s grandfather’s accordion case. The accordion music softened, playing alone now. The images and the music slowly faded away. Peggy was left alone on the couch, staring into the dark apartment, the memory of the music and the vision of Ethan still vivid in her mind.
