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Ingram --Dark Stratocaster 1
Mi chael I ngr am About 1, 600 Words
EL231. 01 Topi cs i n CW: Wr i t i ng Horr or
Short Story 2 - - Rough Dr af t
March 6, 2013
Dar k St r at ocast er
by
Mi chael K. I ngr am
Red Buxt on' s pl ace was on the f ar west si de of t own. I t was
a t ower i ng Vi ct or i an i n need of a l i t t l e bi t of pai nt and el bow
gr ease, but wi t h a l i t t l e i magi nat i on i t was easy t o see how
spl endi d i t must have been a hundred year s ago.
I st ood on Red' s f r ont porch and pul l ed back t he anci ent
r i nger . I t crashed i nt o the bel l and l et l oose an echoed t hr ough
t he house. Red was r ecommended to me as a gui t ar t eacher by a
cl assmate. Supposedl y, t he guy was as good of a bl ues gui t ar i st
as t her e was i n t he count y I was anxi ous t o f i nd out . I ' d been
i t chi ng t o pl ay gui t ar f or year s, and I was hopi ng t hat t hi s was
t he man t o t r ansmi t t hose ski l l s t o me.
Comment [1]: Beth Soblesky:Wording?
Comment [2]: Beth Soblesky:Assuming you used "transmit" purposelyseemed weird when reading.
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Ingram --Dark Stratocaster 2
I hear d someone shuf f l i ng t o the door . I t cr acked open and
a f ace peeked out .
"You must be Wi l l . " He sai d. "I ' m Red, come on i n. "
Red was much ol der t han I t hought he woul d be. I f you t ol d
me he was a hundr ed, I ' d have bel i eved i t . For an i nst ant , I
wonder ed i f he woul d even be abl e t o act ual l y pl ay, wi t h hi s ol d
gnar l ed hands. The cl ear pl ast i c t ube t hat f ed oxygen i nt o hi s
nose onl y made hi m l ook f eebl e.
Red l ed me down a hal l way t oward t he back of t he house. The
wal l s were l i ned wi t h bl ack and whi t e phot ogr aphs of musi ci ans
wi t h gui t ars. I n many of t hem, Red was pl ayi ng i n t he
backgr ound. I r ecogni zed El vi s, Ray Char l es, and Bob Dyl an. I
t hi nk one of t hem mi ght have been Muddy Waters. At t he end of
t he hal l , st ood an anci ent pi ct ur e of a gr uf f l ooki ng man
st andi ng on the por ch of a shant y wi t h a banj o i n hi s hand. I t
was so ol d, i t woul dn' t have surpr i sed me i f he was a sl ave.
"My gr eat - gr anddad. " Red t ouched t he pi ct ure wi t hout
l ooki ng as he passed. He wal ked i nto hi s musi c st udi o and pi cked
up a beaut i f ul bl ack St r at ocast er . I t ' s enabl ed sur f ace was dar k
as ni ght .
Red i nvi t ed me to si t .
"Musi c" Red tapped hi s f oot and ri pped of f a short bl ues
r i f f " i s al l about soul . "
I nodded.
Comment [3]: Beth Soblesky:dialogue tag. maybe consider changingorder to stay away from he said/she saidintroduces himself as Red in the next seso you really don't need "he said" It's imhe is already the one speaking.
Comment [4]: Beth Soblesky:
Awesome imagery
Comment [5]: Beth Soblesky:I love this paragraph. Don't change it! (jopinion) It brought a sense of realism to scene/place and even the current time.
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Ingram --Dark Stratocaster 3
"That goes doubl e f or bl ues. " Red brushed hi s f i ngers down
over t he st r i ngs agai n. "Ei t her you got i t , or you don' t . "
"I ' ve got i t . " I wasn' t sur e i f i t was tr ue or not , but I
want ed t o sound conf i dant .
Red began t o pl ay. "We' l l see about t hat . " He di dn' t si ng,
but hi s deep, r aspy voi ce danced rhyt hmi cal l y over t he tune. "I
don' t want money to t each you. I don' t have much t i me to spend
i t anyhow. "
I cocked my head to the si de.
"I ' m dyi ng, boy. " He cont i nued t o pl ay. "Al l I want i s t o
f i nd someone wi t h soul t hat I can pass t he gi f t t o. But f i r st , I
need t o know i f you have i t . Now l et me see those hands. "
He st udi ed my hands f or a moment . "You mi ght do. "
We st art ed of f wi t h t he basi cs.
He watched me, not as a t eacher , more l i ke a t al ent scout
or a head hunt er. I don' t know what he was l ooki ng f or , but I
was l ooki ng f or somet hi ng i n hi m as wel l . Hi s gi f t was
undeni abl e, and I knew t hen and t her e that I want ed i t .
When I saw hi s ol d, cr aggy f i nger s whi r l over t he str i ngs,
I want i ng not hi ng more than to see my own f i ngers wr ap around
t he neck of t he beaut i f ul gui t ar .
***
Ever y Sunday, we had a sessi on. I was l ear ni ng, but I admi tI wasn' t so much t r yi ng to get bet t er as I was t o show hi m t hat
I had soul . I was st art i ng to wonder i f he thought he was
wast i ng hi s t i me wi t h me.
Comment [6]: Beth Soblesky:Like the dialogue here.. well done.
Comment [7]: Beth Soblesky:Wording?
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Ingram --Dark Stratocaster 4
Wi t h ever y l esson, Red began to l ook worse and worse. The
ci r cl es under hi s eyes began t o darken and sag. I t was cl ear
t hat he di dn' t have much l onger .
I t was l ate i n t he eveni ng when he cal l ed me.
"Pl ease come over r i ght away. " Hi s voi ce sounded much
weaker t han i t had j ust a f ew days bef ore.
Even t hough i t wasn' t our nor mal pr act i ce day, I hur r i ed
over t o hi s house. I kept t hi nki ng that Red woul d di e bef or e he
coul d pass hi s ski l l s t o me.
The ol d bel l on hi s door t ol l ed and Red shambl ed t o t he
door .
"I l ook l i ke shi t , I know. " Evi dent l y, he coul d see t hat I
not i ced.
"No. . . " I t r ai l ed of f .
I nsi de, most of t he l i ght s wer e of f . I ' d never been i n
Red' s house af t er dar k. Somethi ng about t hese ol d houses had a
speci al power af t er dar k. Li ke t he shadows came al i ve i n the
shal l ow angl es of sunset and l ampl i ght .
We wal ked back t o hi s s t udi o and sat down.
Red pi cked up hi s St r at ocast er . The soul was st i l l t her e,
but t he f l esh was weak. He di dn' t even t r y t o st r um a chord.
"I ' m not sur e I got t i l l next Sunday l ef t , so I had t o move some
t hi ngs up. "
I st ar ed at hi m bl ankl y. "Move what up?"
Comment [8]: Beth Soblesky:Love this!
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"You l i ke t hi s ol d gi r l ?" He per ched t he gui t ar back i nt o
t he st and and nodded t oward i t .
"Yeah, i t ' s beaut i f ul . " I wasn' t so sur e wher e t hi s was
goi ng.
"I l ef t i t t o you i n t he wi l l . " Red l ooked me i n t he eyes.
"Al l of t hi s. I don' t have any f ami l y, so you get i t al l . "
"I coul dn' t . . . " I t r i ed t o hi de t he smi l e. I l i ked Red and
al l , but t o get al l of t hi s was t oo much. I coul dn' t have
scri pt ed i t any bet t er .
"Now don' t you f uss about i t . " He coughed. "I t ' s ei t her you
or i t goes t o goodwi l l or some such t hi ng. "
Red began t o cough harder. He doubl ed over, t r yi ng t o cl ear
hi s l ungs. I put my hand on hi s shoul der , knowi ng that I had to
move up the t i mi ng of my pl an.
I put my hand over hi s f orehead and dr opped to one knee. I
began t he chant . Ever wor d. Ever y syl l abl e. I n ol d Pal i , j ust
l i ke my mast er t aught me so many year s ago.
Gr ant me st r ength. Gr ant me power . Gr ant me wi sdom. Fr om
your mi nd t o mi ne.
Red was not payi ng at t ent i on. He was f ocused on hi s need
f or ai r .
For a moment , I f el t al most gui l t y. Red was a ni ce, ki ndl y
ol d man. He t r i ed t o teach me gui t ar . He asked f or no pay. He
even wi l l ed hi s est at e t o me.
Comment [9]: Beth Soblesky:The plot here seems to move a little too Maybe more description on relationshipbetween the teacher and student to lendcredibility for the logic behind him leavinthings to his student. Even though he dhave family it just feels a little unbelievab
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Gr ant me st r ength. Gr ant me power . Gr ant me wi sdom. Fr om
your mi nd t o mi ne.
I t di dn' t matt er t hough. He woul dn' t need t o pl ay gui t ar
where he was goi ng, why shoul d he mi nd i f I t ake i t .
Red f i nal l y l ooked up at me. Hi s f ace was i cy. For a
moment , i t al most seemed l i ke he knew what was goi ng on. I f he
was af r ai d, i t di dn' t show.
Even i f he' d want ed t o st op i t , i t was t oo l at e.
Gr ant me st r ength. Gr ant me power . Gr ant me wi sdom. Fr om
your mi nd t o mi ne.
I f el l back. My mi nd expl oded. Whi t e l i ght overt ook me.
That i s what i s supposed t o happen.
I woke up f eel i ng cl oudy. Not hi ng wr ong wi t h t hat . I t ' s
t ot al l y nor mal t o f eel t hat way. I ' ve r obbed men of t hei r
t hought s bef ore and woken up t hr ee bl ocks away. I t ' s no easy
t ask t r yi ng t o i nt egr at e a pi ece of anot her man' s soul i nt o your
own. A bi t of di sor i ent at i on i sn' t st r ange.
I hear d t he di st i nct sound of bl ues gui t ar and I smi l ed. I
st i l l coul dn' t f eel my f i nger s, but I coul d see them. I wat ched
as t hey danced up and down the f r ets, hi t t i ng every note wi t h
bl i steri ng preci si on.
I t r i ed t o t ap my f oot , but I s t i l l coul dn' t f eel i t . I
coul dn' t f eel much of anythi ng. My at t empt s at si ngi ng r esul t ed
i n a pai ned gr oan.
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Ingram --Dark Stratocaster 7
"Whaa t he. . . ?" I managed.
I watched my f i ngers r est on t he neck of t hat bl ack
St r atocast er. I t was somet hi ng t hat I ' d wai t ed so l ong t o see,
but somethi ng was wr ong. My vi si on became cl ear er and I r eal i zed
t hat I was not l ooki ng down at my hands, but watchi ng themf r om
acr oss t he r oom.
I hear d mysel f l aughi ng. "Damn st ubby f i nger s. " I hear d my
voi ce l ament . I t was my hands pl ayi ng the gui t ar, but I wasn' t
i n i t .
"How are ya f eel i n?" I heard Red' s words come out of my
mout h. "Pret t y good, I hope. You' d been a good ki d bef ore you
t r i ed t o r i p my soul out , so I di dn' t want you t o go out i n
pai n. "
"Uhhh. . . " Was al l I coul d get out .
"On, now don' t go st r ai ni n your sel f . " Red put down the
gui t ar . "J ust t ake i t easy. I t ook enough of t hose pi l l s t o ki l l
a hor se. No use f i ght i n i t . "
Red wal ked over t he t abl e besi de me and pi cked up a scr ap
of paper . "I ' m i n t oo much pai n. " He r ead. "I can' t t ake i t
anymore. I t ' s my t i me to move on. Make sur e al l my st uf f goes t o
t hat ni ce young man Wi l l Mi l usky. "
He t ossed t he note on the f l oor and pul l ed my cel l phone
out of my pocket . I t t ook hi m some t i me t o f i gure out how t o
di al 911. He di d a f i ne j ob f ei gni ng sur pr i se.
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My head was swi mmi ng by t hen. I t was a st r uggl e t o keep my
eyes open.
"Ther e you go ol d man, j ust r el ax" He sai d, t ossi ng t he
cel l phone to the ground. "You see what you di d wr ong, don' t
you? I t ' s al l about pi cki ng your t ar get s. Even a pi ss- ant l i t t l e
soul st eal er l i ke you shoul d know bet t er . You got best ed by a
much ol der , and much bet t er war l ock. "
Red pi cked t he gui t ar up and began t o pl ay sof t l y.
Beaut i f ul musi c f i l l ed t he room. "Yeah, you' ve got some st umpy
f i nger s f or sur e. " He sai d. "But , I ' ve got t o gi ve i t t o you,
you' ve got soul . "
The wor l d grew di m. I began t o cough.
- -
Comment [10]: Beth Soblesky:Great twist at the end.
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Ingram --Dark Stratocaster 1
Michael Ingram 3,472 Words
EL231.01 Topics in CW: Writing Horror
Short Story 2 -- Final Draft
March 19, 2013
Dark Stratocaster
by
Michael K. Ingram
Red Buxton's place was nestled on the side of a steep
west side hill. From his porch you could look down into the
gorge and see the rust rotted husks of mills and forges and
warehouses that lie dead along the river's edge. This is where
the robber barons and captains of industry once stood, looking
down on the mechanized empires they had forged below.
Years went by and profits got tight, so their sons and
grandsons closed the factories, and when the factories closed,
those with the means to flee, did so. No sense lingering in a
dead town just because you'd killed it.
So the stately late Victorians of the hill that had once
been the crown jewel of a prosperous industrial town were one
by one contaminated by the rusty malaise of neglect that
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eventually swallowed the whole town.
Welcome to rust-belt hell.
Judged against most of the houses in the district, Red's
place was in splendid condition. It was by no means
contemporary, though he'd clearly put more effort into
maintenance than most of the sad old folks of the
neighborhood. The dumps on either side seemed to have melted,
withered under an onslaught of rain and time, but Red's place
seemed to hide a hidden grandeur beneath the skin. It begged
to be released by a younger man's hands.
The icy touch of early spring rain stung my neck, and I
was glad enough to stand beneath Mr. Buxton's overhang. I eyed
the ancient mechanical ringer on his door. Part of me wanted
to leave, to forget the whole thing, but I'd already set the
plan in motion and I wasn't about to back out now. Deep
inside, I could feel the rhythm reach out to me. If I was
patient, I'd soon enough get my hands on that beautiful prize
that lived within these walls.
The hammer pulled back easily and smashed into the bell.
It bellowed a low moan that ran through the house and back,
like a lone musician playing to an empty music hall.
My hands pressed down to the bottoms of my coat pockets.
My body trembled from the cold. As my feet shuffled around the
porch, my eyes flickered mindlessly along, following the web
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of cracks in the old cement backward, as if they had a
beginning somewhere in the house.
It was Brian who'd found Red for me. Brian had been a
great teacher and friend for years. He knew how much I loved
music, and set me up with this prime mark as something of a
gift for my loyalty.
"He's an old man" Brian had told me three weeks before,
"just stay patient and stick with the plan, and everything
should be easy."
I did some research of my own. It seemed that Red Buxton
was something of an underground legend in the music business.
He never really put much effort into commercial success,
though he'd been a studio musician for some of the most
successful blues inspired bands of the 20th century.
I tapped my toes as the amorphous shape of a man
coagulated behind the frosted glass of the door and grew
larger and larger until I could hear footsteps over the old
wooden floor. The door cracked open. A pair of tired looking
brown eyes peaked out.
"Yeah?"
"Mr. Buxton? I'm Will. Brian's friend?"
His eyes swept across me. I wondered what he was looking
for.
The door slammed.
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For a moment, I stood there in stunned silence. I held my
breath. For a moment, I was a failure before I'd even got
started.
I exhaled to the sound of the chain sliding open.
The door popped open, and I saw Red walking away. He said
nothing, only beckoned me over his shoulder without a glance.
I scurried inside and closed the door behind me. Red was
already gone.
My throat tightened. I looked around. The house suddenly
felt like a labyrinth of hardwood. Hallways pushed out in
every direction, bedecked in antiques and knick knacks from an
older time. The high, arched ceilings rose up from the foyer.
The walls faded until they terminated in shadow somewhere near
where the ceiling must have been.
I was about to relent and call out when something on the
floor caught my eye. A long, translucent tube flowed into the
room to my right and plugged into a small, humming machine
sitting in the corner. My eyes traced a path in the other
direction, and I followed it down one of the unknown hallways.
Red was there, shuffling slowly toward the back of the
house. The tube ran up his back and wrapped around his neck.
He didn't look back, but he must have heard me coming. "Get
lost, son?"
I stared at the fleshy wrinkles on the back of Red's
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spotted brown head. I mouthed a response, but no words came
out. If he was angry that I didn't respond, he didn't show it.
He just led me slowly, inexorably forward.
He ducked into a parlor near the back of the house and
sat down and waved his hand for me to sit. This was his music
room. Instruments hung up neatly or sat propped against the
wall. Mostly, it was filled with guitars.
Beside Red sat a guitar that piqued my interest. I
recognized it from some of the pictures I'd seen of him
online. A black 1957 Fender Stratocaster. It was magnificent.
I couldn't take my eyes off of it. It's unblemished surface
rippled in the pale light that penetrated the rainclouds and
poured in through the window.
Red broke the silence, "So, what are ya here for?"
"Well, I'm friends with Brian and-"
"Yeah, you said that at the door. What are you here for?"
"Well. I could pay you if you'd-"
"I'm on a deadline here, boy. Now, hurry up and tell me
what you want. Don't tell me who your friend is, or how much
you can pay. Tell me what the hell you want."
Red furrowed his heavy brow and adjusted the oxygen tube
that fed into his nostrils. His deep brown skin was trenched
with wrinkles, but somehow it was the oxygen made him look
feeble. He looked to be on a tether, held in geriatric stasis
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by the machine-god in the living room.
"I want to play guitar" I blurted out.
"You might be in luck then, young man." Red flashed a
smile. "I've been known play a few licks. You're covered
there, but why should I teach you?"
"Well, I can pay-"
"Enough with the money, boy. I don't care about money.
I'm old as shit and I don't have time to spend it anyways."
Red leaned back in his chair. "What I'm looking for is someone
who's got what it takes. I don't want to waste my time here."
"I won't waste your time, sir."
Red's fleshy jowls melted into a frown. "Don't call me
sir, and don't call me mister, neither. Call me Red."
"Yes, sir- I mean, Red."
"Are you ready to bust your butt, kid?"
I nodded.
"I mean this, boy. This isn't going to work if you don't
open up your heart to the music. If you don't, this is all
just a waste of my time, and I don't like having my time
wasted."
"I've always wanted to play guitar. I will do whatever it
takes to play like you do."
Red smiled back as he leaned over and wrapped his old,
gnarled fingers around the neck of the black Stratocaster. He
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tossed it over his head with practiced ease and placed his
fingers along the frets. Without a trace of effort, a heavenly
blues riff erupted from the amplifier that sat next to him.
"Music" Red tapped his foot and ripped off a short blues
riff "is all about soul."
I nodded. I might not know how to play guitar, but I'd
learned quite a bit about soul.
"That goes double for blues." His deep, raspy voice
danced rhythmically over the tune.
I watched his fingers work the strings with an almost
superhuman precision. I watched his hands on that beautiful
guitar, giddy at the prospect of one day seeing my own hands
on wrapped around that perfect neck.
"Soul" The fingers of his left hand twisted and tapped
and pulled on the frets. "You either got it, or you don't."
His right hand brushed so lightly across the strings that
it looked like he was just waving to the strings. "It's that
simple."
"I've got it." I wasn't sure if it was true or not, but I
tried my best to sound confident.
Red began to play. "We'll see about that."
He finished his tune and placed the guitar back onto the
stand. "Now, let me see those hands."
His hands were icy as they felt mine. His fingers were
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covered in callus though the rest of his skin was as thin as
tissue paper.
He bounced his head back and forth for a moment. "Fingers
are a bit stumpy."
His eyes closed as his hands smothered mine. I hoped he
could tell that I had soul, but I could definitely feel his.
It was strong. My fingers tingled, perhaps it was the magic,
though it might well have been the anticipation of what was to
come.
His eyes opened and looked into mine. "Yeah. Yeah, you
might do."
I smiled and stared tight back at him. You might do too,
old man.
Everything was going perfectly.
***
Every Wednesday, after my classes, I'd trudge up the hill
toward Red's house. On Sundays, we worked together from
morning until early afternoon. Pretty much any time that I
wasn't sleeping, studying or in school I spent with Red
Buxton. My fingers bled, but I enjoyed every minute of it.
With every lesson, Red seemed less gruff and more
grandfatherly. After three months, Red and I had become close.
Maybe we were friends, but it seemed like maybe Red saw me as
the grandson he never had. He certainly treated me that way.
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Brian always told me that was half of the job. When the
mark likes you, and wanted to give you things, it was that
much easier to take what you wanted. With luck, I'd barely
have to work my magic on the old man, he'd give me what I
wanted on a silver platter.
The lessons were coming along well, though I was still a
novice. I enjoyed playing, though I knew the real haul was
still to come. Red was kind, but clearly growing impatient. He
didn't seem to mind when I crossed up my fingers on a chord,
but he began telling me with increasing agitation that I had
to open up my soul, that without it there was no point.
"The soul guides the hands" He'd say when he showed me
how to play. "When you've got it, it guides your hands without
your mind getting in the way."
By the end of that third month, Red was looking terrible.
The shadows beneath his eyes grew deeper and his energy faded
away quickly.
He never really talked about it, but he did tell me he
was glad that he'd met me. He said that without me, he was
afraid that his gift would go to waste. It was clear that he
didn't have all that long left, and we both knew it. My window
of opportunity was closing and I knew if I didn't move soon,
I'd risk losing the chance to get what I'd gone to all this
trouble for.
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***
It was two in the morning when Red called me. He said I
should come over right away, he had some things he needed to
say to me and that time was short.
I threw on my jeans and started ran out the door. I
wasn't sure what this was about, but I was scared that Red
would up and die before I could finish the job. I decided that
tonight was going to be the night to make my move. He trusted
me enough. Now I had to trust myself.
The old bell on Red's door tolled through the house. Red
shambled slowly to the door and let me in.
"C'mon, Will." He beckoned me in. "I need to sit down."
Inside, most of the lights were off. I'd never been in
Red's house after dark. Something about these old houses had a
special power after dark. Like the shadows came alive when the
shallow light of the moon gushed through the open windows.
We sat down in his music room. A hospital style bed had
been brought in.
"Stairs were getting too hard." He growled. "Hospice
brought it in."
"Hospice?" I feigned shock.
"Will, you are a bad liar." Red chuckled. "You know I
look like shit, and I know you know I look like shit. The end
is near, my young friend."
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I smiled at the old man. "Well, I feel better knowing
that you know that I know. I'm glad we had this talk."
Red laughed out loud. I could hear the gunk slosh around
in his lungs. His laugh turned into a gag which turned into a
cough. Soon, he was down to one knees, working out the phlegm
that was impeding his breathing.
I stood there, not knowing what to do. I tried to put my
hand on his back, but he waved me off.
C'mon old man, not yet. Don't die yet.
After a few more chest rattling coughs, Red managed to
catch his breath again.
"Sorry about that" He said with little of his voice
intact. "That's why I wanted you to come. I was worried I
wouldn't make it till Sunday, so I had to move my plans up a
little bit."
"Move what up?"
Red picked up the black Stratocaster and looped the strap
over his shoulder. His knobby old fingers, that had looked so
fast and strong just a few months before were withered and
weak. He didn't even try to play a chord.
"You like this old girl?" He patted the sleek, black
guitar on his lap.
"Yeah, it's pretty amazing, Red." I smiled.
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Red smiled back. "It's yours. All this is yours. I drew
up a new will, and it's all going to you."
"What?" I was truly stunned. I tried my best to keep a
smile from cracking across my face. This was great news. I
hadn't come for all of this stuff, but it was a nice little
bonus.
"You know I don't have any family, but you seem like a
good kid. I'd just as soon give it to you as let it get picked
through in an estate sale."
Red began to breathe heavily. At first it seemed he was
trying to catch his breath, but it quickly escalated. Soon, he
had fallen to his knees. I heard his lungs begin to wheeze. I
knew this might be my last chance.
I kneeled in front of Red and placed my hands on his
shoulders. I pulled them into his neck and began to chant. He
seemed to focused on his own breathing issues to notice what I
was doing.
Grant me strength. Grant me power. Grant me wisdom. From
your mind to mine.
In old Pali, I repeated the chant, just like Brian had
taught me. Every syllable, every inflection must be correct. I
could feel Red's soul pulsate and flow through my fingers,
like cold water in a flowing stream. He had far more power
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than I could have anticipated.
Grant me strength. Grant me power. Grant me wisdom. From
your mind to mine.
I looked down at Red's face. If he knew what was
happening to him, he didn't show it. For a moment, I felt
guilty. He was a kindly old bluesman who had taught me for
free and even left me all of his worldly possessions. Now I
was reaching inside of him to take that most precious of
prizes: the soul of music.
Grant me strength. Grant me power. Grant me wisdom. From
your mind to mine.
I steeled myself against such thoughts. He was an old man
who was about to die anyway. Why shouldn't I take his skills?
He didn't need to play guitar where he was going and it was
only such a small piece of his soul. If anything, the drain
might let him die more quickly. It's probably a blessing that
I am here to ease him into the afterlife.
Grant me strength. Grant me power. Grant me wisdom. From
your mind to mine.
"Red" I said to him between chants.
He looked up at me with vacant eyes.
"I want you to know that my heart is open to the music."
Red's mouth twitched to a smile. His eyes came alive. I
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felt something stir inside him. "Good."
I looked upon his smiling face and my mind exploded. I
fell backward into unformed whiteness.
I woke up flat on my back. Every time I made a transfer,
I felt this way. The senses were always off, and perspective
was often skewed. Taking a piece of a man's soul is no easy
thing, and integrating it into your own is bound to leave
anyone a bit out of sorts.
I couldn't remember exactly where I was at first. My
peripheral vision was still hazy, and my thoughts were still
scrambled, but after a few minutes I remember where I was and
how I got there. I was lucky, sometimes it took hours to get
to that point.
The room filled with the cool breeze of blues guitar and
I smiled.
The soul guides the hands. You are right about that, Red.
I didn't remember picking up the guitar and couldn't even
feel my hands, but I could see them. They flitted across those
beautiful strings. This is what it had all been for. Getting
the house and the money had been a nice little bonus, but to
get my hands on that gorgeous black Stratocaster, with the
soul to play it, that was my payoff.
I smiled to myself, reveling in the sight of my own hands
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on that magnificent guitar and the heavenly sounds that it
made.
As the fog in my mind began to fade away, I realized that
something was wrong. Those were my hands, but...
My vision became clearer and I realized that I was not
looking down at my hands playing the guitar, but staring at
them from across the room.
"Whaa the...?" I choked out.
"How are ya feelin?" I heard. It was my voice, but I
hadn't said it. It came from the man holding the Stratocaster.
He looked like the man I saw in the mirror every morning.
I tried to scream. It came out as a growl.
"Oh now, don't go strainin yourself." Red said with my
voice. "Just take it easy. I took enough of those pain pills
to kill a horse. No use fightin it."
He pulled a folded note from his pocket and held it out
for me to read.
Will, I can't go on like this. I'm in too much
pain. I'm sorry. Thank you for everything.
-Red Buxton
He chuckled to himself. "Written by my own hand. Pretty
nice plan, eh?"
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I tried again to scream. This time it was barely a
gargle.
"Now, I really want to thank you, Will. You are truly a
lifesaver. Twenty damn years I'd been trying to find a decent
student, every one of them failed me. I'm tellin you boy, this
is the closest I've ever cut it. Nine hundred years, and it
almost washed down the drain."
My head was swimming by then. It was a struggle to keep
my eyes open.
"There you go old man, just relax" He began to play
again. "By the way, your friend Brian is an idiot. He sent you
in here to rob me, but he didn't do his homework. Piss-ant
little soul stealers shouldn't play around with true bonafide
warlocks. It don't usually work out too well for them. If it
makes you feel any better, I'm gonna go pay him a visit. That
old boy just cost you your life, and it don't seem fair. So
don't you worry, now that I'm young and spry again, I've got
all sorts of powers back that I'm just itching to try out
again."
The tempo of the music slowed. It was a sad tune.
The world grew dim and my eyes began to slip shut.
"It's gonna take some getting used to, playing with these
stumpy little fingers of yours." Red stared down at my stolen
hands. "But I've got to hand it to you, you've got soul."
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