The Devil's Interval

“You got any plans for the next couple days?” 

Emma forced a smile. “Not really, just gotta crack down on this solo a bit more. Can’t be dragging on the next performance, you know?” 

“Emma, you did great today. Make sure to get some rest, okay?” The violinist said, “Have a good one, I’ll see you next week.”

Emma threw her hand up in a wave to the concertmaster before turning back to her cello. 

Clack, clack, clack. She finished snapping the clips together on her case before heaving it upright. She quickly swept her sheet music into a folder, which was then deposited into her backpack. She should probably try to practice for at least half an hour when she gets back to her apartment.

Emma rested her cheek on the top of her cello case for just a moment of peace and quiet. 

“Barber you kinda piss me off,” she muttered under her breath. “If I had a time machine, I swear I’d never allow you to have access to a pen and paper.” 

Emma closed her eyes for a moment before jumping at the sound of her ringtone echoing throughout the empty practice room. She blinked the blur out of her eyes, squinting at the name. “Shit.” 

The cellist pitched her voice up a few octaves while swiping to answer. “Hey, what’s up, Mia?” 

“Where are you? It’s almost midnight; I thought your concert ended at ten? Are you on your way back yet?” 

Emma sighed and shrugged on her coat. “Actually, yeah I’m just leaving practice. Dr. Peters decided to give the audience a lecture on the history of concert etiquette so that delayed us a bit and apparently I took my solo too fast so I got lectured on that after the concert as well.” 

With her backpack on and cello case in her hand, Emma began to make her way out of the concert hall. It was as eerily silent as a graveyard. The cellist was sure that if she tried hard enough she could imagine ghosts sitting in the empty seats just waiting for a waltz across the stage. 

Isn’t there a folk tale about concert halls being haunted?

Emma brushed her thoughts away. She had always had a vivid, creative imagination. Probably why she decided to pursue the arts. 

“Ah Emms I’m sorry. You were playing the, uh, song about your twenty-second opp or something?” 

“Close enough.” She cleared her throat. “Actually, it’s Cello Concerto in A Minor, Op. 22.” She said in an over-the-top posh British accent. Mia’s giggle over the phone made Emma smirk with satisfaction. It wouldn’t be long until she was back in the apartment with a mug of hot tea in her hands, listening to the rain pelt the streets of Kyoto. 

“I got the box of Halloween decorations out, so I figured we could put them up tomorrow and watch a scary movie or something,” Mia said. 

Strange, Emma couldn’t remember where she had put her decorations after moving in. The thought passed immediately with the promise of a movie.

Emma laughed. “We could always watch Whiplash. That’s a pretty scary movie.”

“No way,” Mia said. “That movie is terrible for your perfectionism.”

“Nah, it's inspirational.”

“Right.” 

Emma paused for a moment and right as she was about to press against the crash bars to let herself out the back door, a low whistle drifted from somewhere behind the stage.

Thump, thump, thump. Her heart started racing. Her skin broke out into goosebumps. The hair on the back of her neck stood up as her body went into fight or flight. Mia’s chattering faded into the background as Emma’s focus turned into tunnel vision at the sound that slowly started to crescendo 

behind her.

Wooooooooh.

Emma’s brain tried to rationalize the sound, but it wasn’t air through a vent, and it wasn’t a soprano having a late-night practice session. The progression curved in an unnatural way that no living thing could replicate. It was almost like a wounded animal howl, but more crisp.

Emma wasn’t sure how long she froze for. The sound was the eeriest thing she had ever heard. It was a whistling sound, emerging from the halls behind the stage. Right then, the night lights flickered, giving the empty concert hall a haunted feel. 

Do those lights always do that? 

The heating came alive with a low hum, sending a piece of loose sheet music flipping across the stage dramatically, coming to rest against the ornate organ. 

Okay, that’s totally normal. 

Thump thump thump. Her heart kept pounding away. 

“Emma? Emma?” Mia’s urgent voice cut through the haze of fear. 

“Uh...yeah?” 

“You okay? You went completely silent for a couple seconds.” 

Right then, the whistle stopped, as abrupt as a light switch flipping off. 

“Um. Yeah I’m fine.” Emma wasted no time pushing her way out the door and into the streets of Kyoto. Mid-October had done its number on the city, courteously leaving puddles of water and limp leaves littering the sidewalk. It was more than a bit of a nuisance while carrying a solid cello case. 

“You sure you’re okay?” Mia prompted. 

Emma sniffed and gripped her phone tighter. The streets were bizarrely empty for this time in the city. “Yeah, I just heard this weird whistling sound. Probably someone messing around on their flute or the organ or something,” Emma said, knowing full well neither of those instruments could produce that timbre she had heard. 

“Kinda late for a practice session,” Mia quipped. Emma just hummed in acknowledgement, suddenly very interested in peering into every alleyway she passed. Her eyes drifted down to the sidewalk to avoid a puddle. A soaked sock wasn’t something she felt like adding onto her list of troubles. 

She flinched as a taxi sped by her, headlights disappearing down the road. It was the first vehicle she had seen since stepping outside the concert hall. 

“Mia, is there some sort of event going on in Tokyo or something? The streets are so empty right now.” 

“Not that I know of. You got lucky! Less traffic to dodge.” 

Emma swallowed hard. “Right.” She clutched her case a little tighter as she passed below a broken streetlamp. 

“I’ll let you go cause I’m gonna heat up some water on the stove for tea, alright? I’ll see you soon though, Emms.” 

Don’t hang up, don’t hang up 

“Sounds good. See you in a bit.”

Emma hung up and stared at the dark screen. For a moment she couldn’t remember if she had called Mia, or if Mia had called her. It didn’t really matter, so she tucked her phone into her pocket, finally being able to pull her other mitten on her hand. 

Then,

Thump, thump, thump.

It was like her body predicted the sound before it even came. 

Goosebumps and shallow breaths. 

Then, 

Whoooooooooh. 

Emma whipped her head in all directions, trying to find the source. 

What the hell. 

The streets were as empty as before, with the only sound being the whistle. The vibrations made it feel like she was standing too close to a speaker at a concert.

It’s a C and F#. 

Emma hit her temple. “Take a day off,” She cursed. Although it barely took any effort for her mind to identify the notes in the tritone. 

She sped up, no longer caring about splashing through a few puddles. 

She just wanted to get home. Home to her apartment that was safe. Home so she could have tea and practice just a bit more before sleeping. There was one particularly difficult section of double stops that needed some polishing. Mia wouldn’t like her practicing so late, but Mia also couldn’t control everything Emma did. 

Mia should back off sometimes. She can be so nagging. 

Woo- 

The whistle stopped. Thank goodness.

She couldn’t help but think back to a folk tale her grandma used to tell her. 

“Make sure to never whistle at night, Emma. If something whistles back, don’t answer.” 

As a child, Emma had laughed, but when she got older, she began to abide by the old stories. Musicians were notoriously superstitious people after all. 

A horn blaring brought her out of her reverie. 

A and C. 

“Shut up.” 

Emma began flicking a clasp on her cello case back and forth as she walked. Passing by a music store made her wonder if she was in need of a new block of rosin. 

I’ll do that tomorrow. Unless Mia ties me down and forces me to watch Black Swan. 

She continued down the road, knowing her route so well she could probably maneuver it while blindfolded. A silhouette of another person emerged from the darkness, heading towards her. They were holding an object as well, so tenderly that Emma immediately knew their occupation. As they drew closer, Emma saw it was a man holding a viola case. They locked eyes and nodded as they passed by each other. 

It didn’t go unnoticed by her that the man was the only person she had seen on her entire walk back. 

Just a fellow musician on his way back to the echo chamber of his apartment. Maybe he’s part of a quartet looking for a cellist. I should’ve asked him. It would be nice to play chamber music again.

Emma glanced back, but the violist had disappeared. 

“Fast walker. It’s not like someone would steal a viola of all instruments,” She chuckled to herself. 

A street sign told her she was nearly home. 

Good. 

Mia would probably have the kettle on. 

Thump thump thump. 

“No, damn it.” 

Whoooooooooh

There it was again. The whistle. It sounded closer this time. Emma refused to turn around and instead began walking faster. 

The whistle grew louder.

She broke into a jog.

The whistle grew closer.

She started running. 

Emma sprinted down the wet streets as fast as she could in her boots, cello case thudding against her thigh. 

I just have to get home. Home to safety. Home to Mia. 

She rounded a corner, and to her relief was the familiar building where her apartment sat. The whistle grew in intensity as she dodged garbage that was strewn on the ground. She took the familiar, rickety wooden steps two at a time until she reached her floor. Emma yanked off her mitten and fumbled with her keys as she unlocked the door and swung it open. She didn’t hesitate to lunge inside and slam the door behind her. The moment she did, the whistle quieted into a low hum. Now it was just a nagging sound she felt near the back of her skull. 

She stood in the silence for a moment before blindly walking to the corner of the living room and setting her cello case down next to her music stand.

It was dark in her apartment. 

It was a bit too cold as well. 

Emma took a few steps into the living room and flicked a lamp on. It buzzed for a moment, teasing her with its light before settling down. 

The aforementioned box of Halloween decorations was nowhere to be found. 

“Mia?” She called out into the apartment. 

The only response was her voice echoing back to her. 

Thump, thump, thump. 

Emma turned to the kitchen and saw a single mug sitting out on the countertop. It was a quarter full of cold coffee from the morning. 

She turned to the stove.

Where was the kettle? Mia had promised tea. 

Thump, thump, thump. 

Panic started to bloom in her chest. 

“Mia?!” She called again. 

The silence was deafening. 

Emma’s breathing started to pick up along with her heart rate. She whipped out her phone and navigated to her call history. 

“It’s fine, it’s fine. I’ll just call her.” 

She pressed on the history and froze. 

October 20-27 outgoing calls: three

October 20-27 incoming calls: zero

Emma’s fingers began to tremble as she pressed on her outgoing call history.

October 20, 9:27am :Dr Peters.

October 25, 3:14pm: Angela (concertmaster)

October 27, 11:04am: Angela (concertmaster)

Emma slowly lowered her phone as the realization flooded her. She slowly scanned her apartment. 

A ratty, stained brown couch. A coffee table with no T.V. Not a single framed picture in sight. A living room littered with sheet music and a music stand. 

Emma’s breaths grew shallow. 

This isn’t possible. I need to play. I’ll calm down if I play.

Then, 

Whoooooooooooh. 

Emma froze and turned to where the whistle slowly grew from. 

Her eyes and ears turned to the dark corner where she practiced. As if in a trance, Emma took another step into the darkness towards her cello. For the first time that night, the pounding of her heart began to slow. With reverence, she unlocked her case and set up her instrument.

Somewhere in the apartment, the whistle lingered.

Emma began to play.