A Piper's Song: The Pied Piper Tales

by C. K. Johnson

  His shoes thudding heavily on the back steps did not bode well for me.

  My heart raced, as if it could flee the coming storm. I wasn’t one of those girls who cried at every little thing. I messed up and I had to face the consequences. I was a piper; we dealt with things.

  Father halted the moment he came through the door and sniffed the air as if lingering traces of my love song had followed me home. I was sure that if I took a selfie at that moment I could upload it on-line next to the word “guilty.”

  “Please tell me I am mistaken. Please tell me you didn’t,” he said in a voice far different from his usual gruff self.

  I did a double take. How should I react to this pleading tone and silence? Father didn’t plead, he barked. Why didn’t the fury and anger I saw in his eyes come through in his tone? The silence chilled me.

  “I’m sorry, Daddy. I didn’t realize I’d done it until it was too late. Honestly, I don’t know how it happened,” I whispered.

  He shook his head as if to wake himself up. Did he think if he shook it enough, it would all go away? No amount of shaking would change today for good or ill. Even as I faced the music, the thrill of using my first song burned through my veins. It enticed me to try again!

  The uncomfortable silence grew deeper the longer he stood there. “So, you’ve finally come into the family gift. I had rather hoped, with you being so old, that it skipped you. I suppose that’s a wish done and gone.”

  I sighed and stared at him, speechless. He paused, as if he hadn’t meant to say that aloud. A cold mask descended on his face stripping it of all emotions. “So, who was it? A boy at school?” he asked.

  McKennan, my oldest brother, walked in, stopped, took one look at my father’s red face, and backed out the door.

  “Yes,” I said. I left the comfort of Kelly’s side and stood before my father to take the punishment head on.

  “When you cast it, how did it make you feel?” he asked. His fingers curled near his heart as if he were reaching for something that wasn’t there. My brow wrinkled in confusion. How did he know? Maybe this meant my slip-up would be treated as a lesson. Perhaps I would be lucky enough to make Mark forget about me and leave.

  I sorted through my thoughts and settled on the closest description I could put into words. It was like devouring fine chocolate. My mouth watered just thinking about it. Even now, in the face of my father’s anger, I wanted to feel the sensation again. Really? My father cleared his throat, jerking me from my musings. This was not the time to daydream.

  “Good,” I said. The word escaped as if on the crest of a sigh.

  “And when you called it back, how did that feel?” he asked, stepping closer. His voice sounded so understanding that I hoped he’d show me mercy.

  His words sunk like a stone in my heart. Blood drained from my face and my hands began to shake. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. How could I have been so stupid twice in one day? I was so intent on getting away that I forgot to take my call back. Ugh, this was not going to be pretty. Father guessed at what I had done, or hadn’t done.

  “Foolish child. What is the boy’s name, and where does he live? We must fix this before any more damage is done. Now!” he ordered.

  I thrust my hands into my pockets. “Mark. He lives in town,” I whispered. The hair on my arms rose as I thought about what I might have done to him. I replayed the scene from earlier in my mind. The tug on his ear only blocked the cycle, not end it. Poor Mark.

  I imagined him obsessing about me all day, not studying, playing, eating or anything. Just drawing pictures of me on his desk. Now, so many hours later, who’s to say what kind of mental state he might be in?

  “What if I can’t? What if it’s too—?” My heart skittered at the possibility.

  “You have to. You cast it and you must remove it. The longer it’s on, the greater the consequences. We are going. Now!” He dragged me outside. I stumbled along behind him as we headed for our beat-up truck.

  “Start the truck, McKennan,” Father ordered. He tossed the keys to my brother, who had been skulking outside, without losing a step.

  The truck sputtered to life as I stepped on the foot rail. Something felt off; I could feel it deep inside. My nerves sang out with an energy that sent goose bumps down my arms.

  “Get in the truck, Kyra, or so help me,” roared father, but I wasn’t paying attention to him anymore. I should have been scared. In fact, I should have been terrified at his tone, but father became nothing more than an annoyance—like a mosquito buzzing around me, distracting me, from a bigger problem—“He’s coming.”

  “He’s coming,” I said again, putting my finger on the feeling. It was my song. I could feel him coming near like a fisherman reeling in his catch. I could feel the line twitching.

  My father smashed his fist into the truck. The bang ripped me out of my focused state.

  “Get in the truck,” he growled, shoving me in from behind. McKennan hit the gas pedal the moment the cab door slammed. The truck elicited an awful screeching sound as it jerked forward.

  “Stop the truck, McKennan. Father, listen to me! Mark’s coming. I’m certain of it.”

  “Are you sure? You are betting his life on this,” Father rumbled back.

  “Yes,” I said, drooping down in my seat as McKennan put the truck back in park.

  Father’s eyes narrowed and he glanced at me. I knew his meaning. If I were wrong, any time spent here would be that much worse for Mark. If a piper’s song drives a human to insanity, there is nothing he won’t do to obtain the object of his obsession, including dying.

  The truck headlights spilled into the field casting menacing shadows and illuminating the darkness.

  We waited.

  McKennan’s face appeared oddly calm, though his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel gave his thoughts away.

  Please let me be right.

  “Maybe…” I started, about to admit defeat, when I heard Mark.

  His voice lifted up and drifted toward us, carried over the distance on the evening breeze.

  “Kyra, I am so sorry. What did I do? Why did you leave me? Was it Ben? Did he hurt you? I’ll make sure he never hurts you again!” The wild desperation in his voice sounded out—a sharp staccato in the solitary night.

  His voice wavered like a confused little boy. Yet, his rising anger crashed against me. I could feel his boyish innocence giving way to violence.

  McKennan jumped out of the cab, retrieved a hammer from the back, and positioned himself in front of us. His shoulders were set like a boxer waiting to throw a punch. In the daylight, he was a tree of a man. In the dark, he transformed into a warrior. His shadow magnified his stature and a beam of light behind him drenched his face in darkness.

  “The boy will die. Do you want that?” Father hissed.

  “No,” I replied hoarsely. I slid out the door McKennan exited from and glanced back. Father buried his face in his shaking hands. “Father?” I whispered. A new layer of dread descended on my racing heart.

  He raised his head. “Go, fix what you have done. He’s a bigger danger to others than to you.”

  I met his gaze and froze. Cold black fear stared back at me stinging at my frazzled nerves like an off-key note. He wasn’t frightened of Mark; he was afraid of me.

  I turned away and squared my shoulders. The only thing to do was to make this right.

  Time stopped.

  The tall prairie grass started to sway giving away Mark’s location in the distance across the field. He needed to get close enough to hear, but not too close to acquire the object he desired—me.

  Behind us, I was somewhat aware that another truck roared down our dirt road at breakneck speed. I couldn’t afford to break my focus. Father would have to deal with whoever was coming.

  Brakes squealed as the driver stopped just short of smashing into the back of our truck. The cab’s overhead light flipped on as the door swung open, illuminating Ben.

  What was Ben doin
g here?

  “Kyra, listen. You guys need to get inside your house! I don’t know how to explain it, but Mark’s been acting, well, crazy. All he could talk about today was you. By the time he left school, it got weird. Something’s wrong with him. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s on something. You need to get away.”

  I briefly contemplated following Ben’s advice. I could pretend Mark was on something and feign ignorance. I wasn’t responsible.

  “Ben, we’re, I mean I’m, going to fix this.” At the end of the night, Father would probably cast a memory song, erasing this conversation from Ben’s mind so why lie.

  Ben rested his hands on my shoulders. “Kyra, I really don’t think you understand. I’ve never seen him like this,” he said. He shuddered as he touched me, shocked by the music rippling across my skin. His eyes widened but he didn’t let go.

  Instead, he planted his feet. “I’m trying to protect you,” he said in a steady, low-pitched voice. “This is for your own good.” Before I could react, he threw me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

  I struggled against his iron hold. My fist stung as I smacked his shoulder again and again, but he didn’t stop.

  I needed to stop him. I could not have Mark’s death on my conscience. The link between Mark and myself grew taut as the distance increased.

  “Ben, put me down. I need to do something. It won’t take more than a minute. Then I promise I’ll go in the house without arguing,” I said, my voice hitching.

  He listened and gently set me down. He steadied me, making sure my feet were firmly on the ground before taking his hand from mine.

  Where was all of this coming from? No time for that.

  “One minute.”

  A strong breeze whipped through the grass wildly and obscured Mark’s position. I rolled my shoulders back and sort of wished I was holding a hammer too.

  McKennan stepped up beside me and nodded.

  The stories I learned at my father’s knee were coming back to haunt me. Even his toned-down version gave me nightmares for most of my childhood. Soon, the nightmarish creature that haunted those dreams would come bursting out of the field in the form of Mark. A creature that had spawned the first draugar stories so long ago. A creature I had created. I brought it back to life, to my great shame.

  Ready or not, I released the notes as lightly as my untrained power would allow me. If I applied too much, the fraying song I cast earlier would break. My voice grew louder as an instinct older than me took over. It felt odd, as if a part of me had been waiting all this time for me to flip a switch. Stranger still, now that I had, I wanted to leave it on.

  I finally felt whole.

  The space around me thrummed with the energy carried on the song. It hit the wind and blew a new thread of connection towards Mark.

  A painfully sweet feeling came, and I couldn’t stop the smile that spread across my face. The power I’d bottled up inside broke free. It both captivated and sent chills through me at the same time.

  I was a piper.

  My bloodlines resonated with song, filling me up, waiting to carry out all that I desired.

  Mark stumbled out of the field, grabbing his head and moaning. “I don’t understand. Please!” he choked out. He hunched over and staggered toward my brother.

  He could still speak—a good sign, I thought.

  McKennan dropped the hammer on the ground and caught Mark. He whispered in Mark’s ear, but all I could catch were a couple of notes.

  “Please don’t leave me. I didn’t realize—I had no idea how amazing—Now that I know you exist, I can’t let you go,” Mark said, pitching forward and trying to sidestep McKennan.

  The deep anguish in his voice changed as he spoke. I watched memories, and maybe a bit of his soul, spring back to him. I frowned when the fragments coming back settled in a slightly different order than they had left.

  Yeah, I could see that stuff.

  He reminded me of a style of painting I had seen once on a class field trip to a museum where the painter used hundreds of little dots of pure color to capture his subjects. From a distance, Mark looked right, but if anyone stepped closer, the tiny spots did not quite interlock. I closed my eyes, determined I wouldn’t give into tears. It would do no good. When all the pieces settled in as best they could, Mark gave up and fell against my brother, too tired to stand.

  The family’s first rule rang in my ears: Do not use music outside the house.

  I let the song drift off to its conclusion and started to feel like myself again. The process was an unexpected struggle. The power left me willingly but came back under control reluctantly. It took a while to rein in my desire to sing more. It wanted to be free, to exercise its power over more than Mark.

  Eventually, the roller coaster of sensations calmed down and I diminished into my simple self. I had not realized that I closed my eyes, but when my eyelids fluttered open, Ben stood by my side, holding my hand.

  I grinned.

  His eyes were wide. Was it shock, wonderment, or maybe a touch of fear that caused his reaction? All three, and many more, ran through my mind. But he’s still holding on. The thought flitted around my head and gave me hope for a thrilling instant until a wash of dread squashed it. Remember what happened to Mark.

  Ben’s eyes followed mine, moving towards glanced at McKennan, who propped up Mark with an arm slung over his shoulders, and at my father, who still sat in the truck. It took another awkwardly silent moment before Ben asked, “What just happened?”

  “I can’t tell you.” I watched Father. He might be losing it right now but if I told Ben everything in front of him, Ben would be lucky to walk away with just a memory wipe.

  “Best get your friend home,” McKennan said, shoving Mark at Ben.

  Mark stumbled forward and almost fell. McKennan grabbed his shirt collar and steadied him again.

  I glared at McKennan.

  What are you doing?

  McKennan nodded at Ben and it hit me. McKennan was forcing Ben to pick between questioning me and helping Mark.

  Ben opened his mouth as if he meant to say something, and McKennan released Mark’s collar. Ben lunged for Mark and caught him.

  “We’ll talk later.”

  I grabbed Mark on the opposite side and helped Ben get him into his truck.

  “Your voice is pretty,” Mark mumbled at me from the front seat.

  Despite the fact he sounded smashed, I could feel the blood rush to my face. “You should see me with a pipe,” I quipped, my wry humor sneaking in at the most inappropriate times.

  You’re supposed to be getting rid of them, not flirting. He probably thinks you’re a freak anyway. I glanced toward father, but he had yet to move.

  “So what exactly happened just now?” Ben asked, again.

  “You’re right. She’s hot,” Mark blurted.

  “Pretend you didn’t hear that,” Ben said.

  I watched the red creep up his face. I could have been mean and asked Mark exactly what Ben had said. Given Mark’s state, he would tell me.

  “You’ll probably forget he said anything by tomorrow anyway,” I said, turning toward the house.

  “What do you mean forget?” Ben asked.

  “Ben said he wants to—” started Mark, but the rest of his sentence was cut off when Ben slammed the door.

  Our own truck door shut and I shuddered.

  “Go,” I said not daring to look back.

  Ben began to protest but then peered past me. Whatever he saw made him stop. He shook his head, rounded the truck, jumped in the cab and drove away.

  With the immediate danger gone, I tried to focus on the small spot of joy today. I wasn’t the odd one out in the family anymore—the one descendant of the pied piper who couldn’t pipe. Even the younger ones had stirred long before this.

  It had been hard after Conner, my younger brother, first released his song. My mom had to convince my father we still needed to go to school. Now, after what happened to Mark,
I had failed my family. Father would make sure we were home schooled for the rest of our lives.

  It was weird to think the power I had wanted so badly this morning had changed me into something I now feared. I wasn’t even sure I could control it. Yet the thrill of the song had not left me and the fear could not completely dismiss my desire for it. With the immediate problem dealt with, there was only one thing to do. I turned to Father. I had to pay the piper myself.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Kicked Out

  A LOOSE SPRING STABBED INTO ME as I plopped down on the couch. I crossed my arms over my stomach and waited for whatever punishment my father decreed equal to my offense.

  The thin walls between the next room and me did little to insulate his heated shouting, followed by my mom’s soft murmur. Their argument continued for some time before they fell silent and entered the living room. Mom’s hands were pale white from wringing them together for so long. Father folded his arms. His face was bright red. Here we go, I thought.

  My father, a disciplinarian who didn’t believe his children were paying attention unless we maintained eye contact, pointedly stared out the window as he spoke. I cringed, fearing what this new development meant.

  Despite the fact he looked elsewhere, I couldn’t help watching his face, hoping his expression would give away what his eyes could not. The lines on his weathered face seemed deeper tonight. His voice strained. “I thought I could handle the training on my own. You were supposed to be weak as a kitten.”

  He paused. His head drooped and he looked at his outstretched hands as if weighing his thoughts. He breathed deeply in and turned to catch my gaze. “Kyra, what I saw tonight showed no weakness. It was cold and cruel.”

  If words could kill, father had just signed my death warrant. Instead of the hollow disappointing pit that I expected in my stomach, I was surprised with a growing anger. It built inside me like water pushing against a dam, and I wasn’t sure how long I could hold it back. I felt the blood drain from my face. I was willing to own up to my mistake but he hadn’t accused any of my brothers and sisters of being dangerous to the rest of the family. Why would he single me out like this?