Chapter 3

"Do birds ever get in the rafters?"

We were sitting outside the Eckstein Kaffee and bakery, finishing off the last sips of coffee. I had thought it over a little, ok a lot, and late last night I'd figured out an explanation. If birds could get into the church, the feather I'd found and the shadow wings I had seen would have a definite, non-threatening origin.

"Birds? Not that I've heard. There was this one time a squirrel got in and built a nest in the wall behind the alter. It took them forever to catch the little bugger. Traps, bait, nothing could catch it. But then the scratching stopped, no one found a body and no one missed him. Must have gotten annoyed by my playing and moved out" Goyle laughed. I grinned and nodded.

"Why do you ask?"

I shifted on the metal chair. "Oh, I've just though I heard wings or something. Maybe Mr. Squirrel's back and actually likes my playing." I tried to laugh but Goyle had a strange look on his face.

"What?"

"Well well, maybe you've drawn out our shadowy friend." Goyle said, attempting a mysterious air.

"Your what?"

"Not mine, the Cathedrals, it's haunted. Or that's the story anyway."

"Haunted, as in, ghosts?"

"Well, not really. They say it's more like a phantom, you know, more solid, I guess. I didn't see him or I really don't believe in him, but some of the past music directors have had strange things happen."

I cocked an eyebrow, very interested but trying to hide it. "Strange?"

Goyle shrugged, "Yeah if you believe in that type of stuff."

"Like, what type of stuff?"

"Oh, music missing, lights shutting off which no explanation, noises, also with no explanation, creepy feelings of being watched." Goyle wiggled his fingers at me. "You know, the typical ghost slash haunting stuff."

I nodded, an old cathedral was bound to have stories of hauntings. But none of those sounded like my experience with the feather,

"Oh, now that I think about it, one of the really old stories from one of the first directors in like the 60's used to say he'd sit and hear someone humming along when he'd play, especially while he was playing Franck. But Franck is my favorite and I played him all up and down but never heard anything close to humming, so believe in the phantom if you want to."

Shortly after that we said our goodbyes. I thanked Goyle for the coffee and we separated, each going to our own afternoon business.

The choir rehearsal was less about music and more about welcoming me as the new music director. I can't say I didn't expect as much. I was given arm loads of baked goods and phone numbers with the instructions to call if I needed anything whatsoever-on-the-face-of-the-earth. The choir practice room was equipped with a decent upright piano and a small electric organ that paled in comparison to the grandeur of the one in the loft, but it sufficed for rough practices. The group was primarily older but there were a few less seasoned faces and since they'd been singing together for the better part of 3 decades, they blended somewhat well. I did have some work to do with them on timing and pitches, but that was basic choir issues. By the end of the practice, I felt I had a good grasp of the talent in the choir and began planning what to start working on for the upcoming liturgical season.

It was sometime past 7:00 pm when I locked the practice room door, arms burdened with goodies and as always, books. I tromped up the loft stairs and deposited the haul on a chair.

I stood for a moment, thinking back over my day.

Thinking back to what Goyle had told me…

Thoughtfully, I turned to the shelves along the side wall and pulled one of the blue bound books from its place. I sat on the organ bench a flipped though the book until I found the piece I hadn't played in a while, not since my first years in music school.

I pulled the proper stops out, set my registrations, took a deep breath, and began.

I'm not sure what I was expecting. I'm not sure exactly what I was thinking, but I played the familiar piece without holding back. I dissolved into the melody, flowed over the staff and became the notes on the page, then let them rise over me and show me how to swim in the sound. Just right, just enough, no, now more expression, ah, and now less. Yes, yes that's…perfect.

With the final notes echoing in the cathedral, I allowed myself to come back into the room, back into reality. And as I did, I felt vaguely the presence of another. Felt that something or someone else was also stirring in the chilly air. I slowly swiveled on my bench and looked all around me. Of course, no one was there. I could be imagining it all, thinking I feel the presence because it's what Goyle and I discussed only just that morning. But I smiled. If there was a phantom, at least they had good taste in music.

I left a tin of peanut butter cookies on the chair when I departed for the evening.

Just in case.

When I opened the door to my small apartment, something was wrong.

The apartment building was one of those old factory houses that'd been given a face lift and refrigerators and been rubber stamped decent for human occupation. Moving over the ocean made house hunting hard to say the least. I had rented this address purely for its proximity to the cathedral and because it came furnished. I wasn't exactly impressed when I'd started moving in and discovered that, although crisp on the outside, it was put together rather cheaply. I was already planning on looking for another place soon and because of that, I really hadn't bothered unpacking.

Which is why I noticed so distinctly the difference in my apartment.

A few of the boxes had been opened. Ones I knew I hadn't because they only contained kitchen items and extra bedding. I froze. The door had been locked. The windows facing the street didn't open (another hit against this apartment) and my alarm system was still set. It was beeping at me now. I wondered if I should let it sound and bring the cops down in all their might, but I typed the number in and turned it to the "home" setting. I walked through the apartment, flipping on all the lights as I went, armed with a small can of pepper spray from my purse. Closets, showers, under beds and behind curtains turned out nothing.

No one was there. And nothing else was out of place.

I breathed again, collapsing on the couch.

The sudden sense of violation of space hit me. The thought of someone entering my space, the closest thing I had to a home in this country, was distinctly disturbing. And that someone coming unknown and uninvited…it left the space dirty somehow, tainted by bad will.

I wanted to call someone, to hear a human voice that could remind me I was alright. But the depressing truth was there wasn't anyone for me to call. Family and friends where too far away and I didn't know anyone here well enough to call at this hour. Loneliness slithered into my chest.

I dragged the blanket off the back of the sofa and curled into a tight ball, wrapping deeper in on myself. Eventually, when the worst had pasted, I fell asleep there, with all the lights on in the apartment.