By the age of twelve, Angus Tutter had experienced more of the unusual than most would in a lifetime. Angus and his uncle Benjamin lived off the grid in a spacious motorhome, investigating the paranormal, chasing rumors, and gathering eyewitness accounts. Uncle Benjamin studied them all, from UFOs to ghosts, trekking through the remotest of landscapes, Angus always by his side.
They had been squatching deep in the cool rainforest of British Columbia when Uncle Benjamin unexpectedly announced an expedition for the buried treasure of Oak Island. An endless parade of adventurers had preceded them, upending the island while questing for fabled riches, only to be stopped by flooding, cave-ins, death, broken machinery, and simply running out of money. Uncle Benjamin, never one to be deterred, had acquired unique information through shortwave radio and slyly hinted at a newly discovered treasure map. They packed the motorhome and set off on the 10-day trip.
Oak Island was a short jaunt from Angus’s grandparents’ home in Lunenburg, Nova Scotia, on the rocky coast of Eastern Canada. He hadn’t seen his grandparents in a very long while. Once they heard about the upcoming treasure hunt, they insisted that Angus stay with them. Gramma and Grandpa were determined to build a meaningful family relationship and wanted Angus to experience the sort of everyday things most kids did as a matter of routine.
For the first time, Angus did not accompany his uncle on an expedition. Instead, he delighted in good home cooking, sleeping in a big bed, using seemingly endless hot water for showers, and flushing toilets into a sewer.
The rambling old house was vast compared to his motorhome, and Angus loved exploring. Cabinets, trunks, and unused rooms held innumerable antique devices, ancient books, and bizarre articles of clothing. A galvanized metal laundry chute extended from each floor to the basement. While he resisted the urge to climb in himself, it was great fun to insert objects and listen to them clatter into the depths.
There arrived an opportunity to venture into the attic during the first week. Uncle Benjamin was investigating Oak Island, and his grandparents were grocery shopping, so even if the attic was a place not to go, it was an excellent time not to get caught.
Angus loaded his old red backpack with essentials: an EMF detector, string, toilet paper, an unremarkable woolen blanket, chalk, earplugs, a flashlight, and tinfoil. While not as overcautious as his uncle, Angus had a healthy respect for the paranormal, more than could be said for most kids his age.
He climbed to the third floor and glanced at a tall mirror in the hallway. Angus’s left eye was pale, silvery-blue, and the right, deep brown. He hunched his thin shoulders in distaste and pulled curly, dark bangs over the blue side. His shaggy hair was long in front, specially cut for this purpose.
Angus’s fingers unconsciously tapped on the sides of his legs. The patterns always seemed meaningful, yet even he could not decipher the code. Most people just thought he was a little odd and had a nervous tick, but deep down, Angus knew his fingers had a mind of their own and suspected they were trying to tell him something.
Angus paused before a narrow door at the far end of the hall, knocked three times, just to be careful, and turned the knob. He ascended the steep, dusty stairs, carefully skipping the second, and entered a lofty attic.
The musty odors of mouse droppings and rotting wood were faint but noticeable. Angus pulled the flashlight from his red backpack and surveyed his surroundings. Bookshelves lined the walls, and a stack of boxes and dusty furniture occupied the space immediately before him. He squatted to lift the lid of a box labeled ‘school’ and the scent of old books filled his nostrils. He selected the top volume from a collection of high school yearbooks, 'Class of 2002', and began to read, running his finger slowly along each line, sounding out the words:
‘Grade nine wouldn't have been the same without you.’
- Brittany.
‘Keep up that piano playing. You have fingers of fire!’
- J Bishop.
‘BFF forever’
- Armenia.
‘One of these days, you'll be the famous rockstar Tianna Tutter!’
- Lizzy B.
Angus’s eyes widened; it was his mother's. He flipped to the pages of class photographs and scanned for Tianna Tutter. She was not hard to find as her striking features and dark skin set her apart; she was beautiful. He gently closed the yearbook, replaced it, and opened another box full of young women's clothing and an old digital watch. This is all my mom's stuff!
Angus was told that a storm washed his mother overboard in a horrific boating accident many years earlier. He had been too young to remember her, and Uncle Benjamin, devastated by the loss of his sister, avoided the subject. She was a stranger to him, but Angus still felt sad when he saw her things.
Beyond the pile of boxes, haloed by dim light from grimy dormer windows, a massive form drew his attention. Angus gently pulled the yellowed sheet away and, as the dust settled, beheld a glorious, pearly-white grand piano.
He regarded the piano as one would a beautiful yet dangerous wild animal. Angus had never touched a musical instrument.
One of Uncle Benjamin's more bizarre theories was that music could manipulate people's thoughts and influence them to do terrible things. Angus was never allowed anywhere near music, especially instruments. Being a twelve-year-old boy, though, that which was forbidden inspired burning curiosity.
I'll just touch it, not play it.
Angus ran his index finger across the slick, lacquered surface. The finish had scuffs and scratches, but the markings gave it personality. He moved to the side, lifted the lid, and saw a prop slide into place to hold it open. Angus thoughtfully studied the array of pegs, wires, and fuzzy hammers, then reached for a loose piece of felt that had fallen to the bottom. It scrabbled away.
A mouse.
Angus jolted up and cracked his head on the piano lid. For a moment, his vision darkened, and spots twinkled painfully.
"Fudge knuckles!" Angus cried and rubbed the sore spot. Feeling dizzy, he made his way to the end of the piano bench. "Stupid mouse!" he grumbled.
Angus turned to face forward with a deep breath and carefully opened the keyboard lid. He counted eighty-eight black and white keys.
If I just do a random test, that's not actually playing it, thought Angus.
He considered the row of ebony and ivory, deciding to tap the leftmost key. It produced a deep, thunderous rumble. The same action created a tinkling, high-pitched sound at the opposite end, almost like the ping of metal hitting metal. Then, by pressing a key in the middle, he started understanding how it worked.
The more to the left, the lower the sound; the more to the right, the higher the sound, Angus thought. What an intelligent design.
Despite his uncle’s warnings, nothing dreadful happened, so he continued to explore the instrument.
Angus was perplexed by the arrangement of black keys. They seemed to be in groups of three and then pairs, but he could see no practical purpose. The other thing that stumped him was the pedals. There were three by his feet, and he toed them individually. They made a muffled clunking sound but didn't seem to do anything else.
Angus noticed three of the keys had faint x's scratched into them. He played the marked keys from left to right.
A black key, skipping four,
another black key, then skip two,
and finally, a white key.
"Hello? How may I help you?" A ghost-like head shimmered into the air and hovered above the piano. "Oh my… you are new… Yet your resonance is very familiar, like an old friend’s. The name is Tuner. Pleased to meet you."
"WHAT THE?" Angus shrieked. He flung himself backward, tipping over the piano bench, crashing to the floor, and smacking his head on the same tender spot as just minutes before.
"Double fudge knuckles!" moaned Angus as he rubbed the swelling lump, tears filling his eyes.
"Oh dear," said Tuner, "That looked like it hurt. I am sorry to have startled you so badly."
"This cannot be real!" whispered Angus, shakily reaching for his backpack and pulling out the EMF detector. It buzzed and beeped when aimed at the apparition. "You are a ghost. I see a ghost!"
"Oh, I am quite real, I promise," said Tuner. "Not a ghost, although I am occasionally mistaken for one. You are interacting with a holographic representation of my head; it is like your television but much more advanced. The projection does cause electromagnetic fluctuation. I assume that is what your little machine is picking up."
Angus scooted backward on his bottom, putting more distance between himself and the piano, his fingers frantically tapping against the floor in panic. Tuner looked almost human but just not quite, with a long, thin face and a mouth that moved in a way that reminded Angus of a marionette.
Tuner peered around in a jerky, almost robotic way. "I sense you are afraid. Do not worry; I am perfectly harmless. Now, if you do not mind, I am curious, by what name should I call you?"
"Ah...Ang… Angus," he couldn't believe he was speaking to a see-through head. "Who...um... what exactly are you?"
"Hello, Angus," said Tuner, "Good to meet you. I am the operator. I will help you contact anyone who resonates with Thrum. You played the three notes, and I am here to be of service. Basic science, my friend."
"Resonates with Thrum?" echoed Angus.
"You do not know of Thrum?" said Tuner, "You cannot say you do not know of Thrum. Your resonance pattern is so strong; it is inconceivable that you do not know of Thrum. Even touching an Instrument would send a message to the Sages, and an invitation would have been issued within days."
"I've never touched an instrument," said Angus. "My uncle doesn't let me near them."
"How bizarre," Tuner looked down at the piano. "Pedals! How wonderful to see you. It has been what, almost twelve years, and why are you in an attic?"
"Petals? Who’s Petals?" asked Angus.
"Pedals is this piano." replied Tuner, "You played her keys and did not even know her name? Not a good first impression, my friend. Pedals is Tianna Tutter's piano."
"That's my mom's name!" exclaimed Angus. "Did you know her?"
"Yes, of course, I knew Tianna! She was famous, a rockstar!"
"You must be thinking of someone else," Angus shook his head, "My mother wasn’t any kind of star."
"I am fairly sure I am correct," said Tuner, "we could do a deep resonance scan for confirmation.”
“Do a what kind of scan?”
“A deep resonance scan,” Tuner confirmed, “just a simple scan, like an ultrasound, but again, far more advanced. It will verify who you are.”
Ten keys lit with a soft glow. Angus looked at the talking head suspiciously and asked, “Will it hurt?”
“Not a bit, just a pleasant tingle. If you would be so kind as to rest your fingers on the glowing keys, we will solve this mystery once and for all.”
Angus hesitantly stood and positioned his trembling fingers on the keys. There was mild warmth, and a subtle hum vibrated through his body. It was rather relaxing.
“Uh oh," Tuner jerked with an expression of alarm. “I should not have done that.”
Angus snapped to attention. "Done what?" he asked worriedly.
“A deep scan over an unsecured connection,” said Tuner, “Clavis will be unhappy with me. I was correct; you are Tianna Tutter’s child, but you are also much more.”
Tuner regained his composure.
"Now I understand why your uncle wanted you to avoid instruments. I must not say anything more; they can easily monitor piano communications.”
“Who would want to listen in on us?” asked Angus.
“Some unpleasant characters who are twisted badly out-of-tune,” said Tuner, “might be keenly interested in you.”
“Why would they be interested in me?” Only Gramma, Grandpa, and Uncle Benjamin ever took notice of Angus.
“I simply must not speak more of this,” Tuner’s head twitched, “You must visit the city of Benthos, and everything will be explained."
"I've never heard of that city," Angus frowned. "Where is it? Iceland?"
"No, Benthos is not in any country," said Tuner, "It is an extraordinary city of music that I know you will find most thrilling. Here is a ticket. Please follow the instructions to the letter."
A slip of paper materialized on the piano.
"I'm afraid my uncle won't let me go," Angus eyed the ticket, "but thanks anyway."
"I strongly suggest you reconsider. At least think about it. I hope to see you in person soon," Tuner faded away.
"OK… I’ll see what I can do," Curiosity finally won over, and Angus reached for the ticket. It could have been adrenaline, or it could have been the bumps on his head. Still, whatever it was, his vision darkened again, and Angus crumpled to the floor.
A gentle waft of air blew the ticket down to settle deep beneath the bookshelves.