The bar was empty, as usual. Midnight was the time I thrived, but so did other life in the small town. There was the night life that I enjoyed; it was the men of the town and my fellow store owners. But then there was the life that I didn’t enjoy so much, the one that haunted the old road.

The Singing Specter of Forsaken Road. She gave me the chills.

The town consisted of seven buildings and two main roads that branched out into the houses. The main buildings were the city hall, two restaurants, my bar, the school, library, and grocery store/gas station. The two roads were Highway Sixty Four and Grandeur Street. The highway cut straight through town. Grandeur went south and cut across the west to east main road. The highway ran east to west from the plains to the mountains.

So as I was cleaning the glasses, I watched a figure walk across the highway and enter the bar. It was my old friend and Italian restaurant owner, Ashton Skarsson. When he opened the door, all I heard was silence. Maybe the specter had taken a day off?

“Hey, Arestino.” He grunted and took a seat against the wood bar. I passed him a glass. Our town of Gold Ridge was normally quiet at this time of night. Well, it was always quiet. There was only a totally of about a hundred residents. We were small and nestled in foothills of the Rocky Mountains.

“Hey. You’ve been up for quite a while.” I responded and took a sip of my own shot. Our small bar was on the very outskirts of town towards the west. Just a half mile down the road was a road that branched off of the highway. I could almost see if from here.

The pavement was cracked and unused. The few cars that passed through here usually avoided it. The road is a scenic route to the west side of the state, but adds a thirty minute increase to the time of driving. The view at the top of the mountains is usually worth it. Before today, we used to recommend the road to travelers

Now, we warn them against it.

It was all because of the specter. Although a few residents dismissed it as just coyote howls or the occasional wolf cry, many of use chose to believe the tale of the Singing Specter. What other entertainment did we have?

“Heard her, yet?” I asked Ashton. My friend shook his head. It’s been a few days since the ghost that lived in the deserted church had sung her usual tunes. Unlike typical rumors, she didn’t wail or cry. Our spirit sang to us. She sang recent tunes, as well. It wasn’t some old country song from a hundred years ago, but songs you might hear on the radio.

The piano always accompanied her mournful voice.

“Have you gone out recently?” Ash asked. I shook my head. A few weeks ago, I went out during the day. At night, I was too afraid to inspect. I had talked to most people in the town and they were just as fearful. If no one went soon, one of the teens from the small high school we had might just decide to search.

As we sat in the silence under the dim lights, the voice picked up and sang over the fields. The open space outside of town allowed for any voice to travel over large distances if someone wasn’t just regularly talking.

Ashton and I booked it out of the front doors into the abyssal night. The lights of town were extinguished and our lonesome building stood against the highway. Both of us stood with toes barely touching the pavement.

The only nearest buildings were the Italian restaurant that Ash owned and the houses against the tree line of the mountain. Since our little town was located at the edge of the forest where it met the large plains, a few houses were tucked into the trees. Ash’s house was among them.

The singing continued as we walked cautiously down to the old fork in the road. Ash kept his phone light out on the cracked pavement as we stopped. The twist to the left was where the voice was coming from. Piano keys were faint in accompaniment. Just a grey outline against black, the old church stood cracked and abandoned. Part of the roof was gone and some of the wall was collapsed so that the voice could echo better.

“Do you want to get closer?” Ash asked curiously, but I saw the terror in his eyes. People always heard of the ghost, but no one wanted to be near her. In fact, many of the locals hated to go anywhere near the church. What was left of the empty building was an old piano that the specter played on. The keys were cracked and worn, but somehow, the touch of the spirit made them spring to life.

“No!” Whispered back in fear.

“I stand on the ash of all I’ve ever known, memories of a broken heart…” The voice called out forlornly. It was a bittersweet sound that echoed a past of pain and longing. The Wednesday night sat stale, only broken by the chords of the old keys. Tomorrow would be school for the kids and more work for me.

“We should get back.” Ash muttered. It was already creepy enough out here all alone in the middle of the fields with the trees a mile to the west and the church closer than it should be.

“The ghost will be back on Friday night.” I muttered and turned with my friend. She always sang, without fail, on the nights of Sunday, Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday. Tuesday and Thursday were her only days that she was silent.

So as the final notes were disappearing in the faint echo, our feet carried us quickly back to the bar. My heart trembled from the beautiful, sweet melodies.

Notes

Hey everyone! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of the new story! You might have seen me around the story pages from the novels of Dear Austin, Shattered, Fight By My Side, etc....It's a bit of change in pace for me, but it should be enjoyable despite the change!

So this is my new story and I hope you like it!

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Thanks, and stay beautiful!