1
There was once a young man, handsome and gifted with a talent for music that lived so long ago that few people even remember him. It was such that with his memory lost so too was his music, and the violin he played so long ago was left to collect dust, sealed away and forgotten, until when chance came it was found once more.
2
Alexis Delacroix was born into an aristocratic family that had fallen into ruin. His father Pierre gambled away their entire fortune, leaving Alexis and his mother in utter poverty.
However if one saw them one would not think of them as poor. They still had their splendid mansion and their belongings, but the money they once had, had all but disappeared. The mansion was falling into decay. The cost of maintaining such an estate became too burdensome, but despite this the Delacroix’s remained, in their lonely abode, letting the mansion wither and decay, oblivious to the ravages of time.
The end of their fortune came when Pierre hanged himself from the rafters in the upstairs attic. Unable to pay back the loan shark he had borrowed from, Pierre chose death rather than face the consequences of being unable to pay off his debts.
Marie, Alexis’ mother knew her husband was a gambler but had no idea how bad it was until she found him hanging from the rafters. She screamed, of course, running through the house, and it took the rest of the day for the doctors to calm her. Once she was calm and the sedative had worn off, she had a clarity of mind and a sharpness to it that led her to her husband’s study, there she found his suicide note, left in the right hand drawer.
Once she became aware of his reasons for killing himself, her grief turned to rage and then finally hate.
Alexis was too young to understand what had happened. He was only two at the time and the only child, Pierre and Marie had.
There they were with barely enough to live off of, and for that reason Marie had to grovel to her parents for their assistance. Begrudgingly, they did so, but they never failed to remind her that they never did approve of her union with the Delacroix heir. The implicit view of her parent’s was that she and her son were better off with Pierre six feet under the ground, nourishing worms and maggots.
So it was that Marie and Alexis lived in their lonely ancient manor, where Alexis was surrounded by the relics of his ancestors, a constant reminder of what their family once had. If it hadn’t been for the fact that the house was long bought and paid for, they would have without a doubt lost it. Living off of a stipend from her parents, Marie would always grieve for the glory that could have been hers, and with her son and the occasional servants as company, she wasted away, always bitter about the fact that her husband like a viper stole her youth and her vitality, making it so that she would never be happy again. His suicide sealed her fate. Not that she would have been better off with him alive, far from it, she still would’ve been miserable and would’ve tortured him with her misery until his death, whether by natural causes or otherwise. Marie was an unbearable woman, cold, condescending, with a fierce and terrifying temper.
It was in this climate that Alexis turned to music to ease his loneliness.
Despite Marie’s flaws, she had the ability to see what her son was interested in and did all she could to nurture his love of music. She came to live vicariously through him and insisted that he cultivate his skills. Somewhere in her mind she came to think that he could be the means by which she would return to the glorious life she once had. But that would never be, by the time Alexis reached young adulthood Marie succumbed to tuberculosis and died.
Alexis already a sensitive and emotional young man became bereft with grief. Withdrawn and isolated, he barely left his house and his only company was his maid Clara.
Day after day he remained in the Delacroix mansion, because he was far too bitter to make any effort to enter the outside world. He felt that any efforts he was to make would be futile, and so he made no effort to connect with other people or make any attachments.
His only care for the world was playing the violin. It was this he thought that would make him immortal, it was this that he thought would allow him to conquer the ephemeral nature of life. If his music made him famous, if he were to become a legend then he could live beyond the ages and be a name that would never be forgotten.
But, he had one problem. His talent was mediocre. Time after time, he tried to enter conservatory after conservatory only to be rejected. He had a poor sense of his talent, due to his mother, who was a poor judge of his talent. Her taste crude and her bias extreme, she steered her son onto a course that would only lead to his disappointment and more than likely despair. It was her own fault and by the time he began to realize his own mediocrity, she was already dead.
Sometimes, it’s hard to hate the dead, especially when it’s one’s parent.
He almost gave up, and then he had a breakthrough.
3
His house was like a museum, a monument to the past. A monolith to the faded nobility that was the Delacroix family, no sound, creak, or whisper of a draft went unheard and it was one of those sounds, a creak from the basement that sent Alexis from his study and into the catacombs below the mansion.
At first he wondered if it was Clara and he called out her name. There was no answer. He left to assume it was something else or simply his imagination. But his curiosity remained. He stepped down the stone stairs that led to the lower levels of the house with caution. The steps were covered in dust and cobwebs. He had a lantern with him, lighting his way. It cast eerie shadows along the walls and floor, titillating his mind into imagining that all sorts of weird beings and creatures were surrounding him, wraiths, monsters, and other beings that reside in the underworld of the earth and the subconscious.
But as he went further into the basement all he found were boxes and crates of discarded belongings. Portraits lined the walls, and several chipped and broken vases were to be found. However, one box caught his eye. It was a case for a violin. It sat upon a treasure chest that clearly was at least a hundred years old. He could tell from the look of the decayed and withered wood that was the chest, and by the gold rusty hinges that locked it shut. The box that contained the violin was as old as well. Scuffed and covered in dust it had been there for a long time, perhaps even for centuries.
Alexis opened the violin case and inside he found it. It was surprisingly shiny for something found among such a pile of rubbish. He wondered to whom it could have belonged to. There were no Delacroix musicians other than he. He wondered if his mother bought it years before her death and forgot to give it to him. But the idea was unlikely. His mother was too attentive to details, and never forgot anything, even in the darkest days of her illness, her mind was sharper than ever. Far too sharp, he thought, for the pain she felt at her death was unrelenting and ruthless in its discomfort, and its savagery.
He took out the violin and held it. The bow was strong. It felt new. So too did the violin as if it had never been played. The newness of it, despite the ancient box in which it was contained could only be called magical, for it should have been impossible for it to be in such perfect condition. Alexis thought it was too good to be true, but he couldn’t resist it. Something about the instrument urged him to play it. He couldn’t say no to it. And so he did play it. He played a short piece and when he did so, he saw things, things he had never seen before.
He saw the heavens above. Inky skies that were painted black save for the stars that bedazzled the canvas that it was surrounded him. A golden sun burned brightly. Ribbons and crimson silk danced around him. He knew he was somewhere where no ordinary human had ever been before. This was the place where the muses reside, where only geniuses such as Mozart and Beethoven ever dared to enter. It was a sacred place where only the worthy was permitted to be, and he had just crossed the threshold.
It was exciting and terrifying, two contradictory emotions entangled at the same moment and time. He had the sense as it was happening that this moment was a fixed entry in his life, that all that happened before and after was totally irrelevant and that nothing would matter after this. All that did matter was this event and so it ever would be, for as long as he lived.
He stopped playing, his energy spent.
“It plays well, doesn’t it?” a voice asked behind him.
He turned to see a man, a few years older than he. The man was dressed like Alexis, white shirt, tailcoats, and a cravat. His suit was black, his hair perfect and dark, his eyes a sparkling blue. He was extraordinarily handsome. Alexis was drawn to this man, not repulsed, as he should have been to see a stranger in his house. He was allured by him and welcomed it.
“Who are you?” Alexis asked.
“I am what resides in that violin,” the man said pointing at it.
“And what is that?” Alexis inquired.
“I am a ghost.”
This was confusing to Alexis because the man looked to be made of flesh and blood. “How can that be?” Alexis asked.
“I know it’s all very unusual, everyone who uses the violin and sees me reacts much the same way. Although none have ever played such beautiful music.”
“What is your name?”
“Byron,” the ghost replied. “You have released me from my prison and I am yours to command.
“What can you do for me?”
“Anything you want,” Byron replied. He sat down by Alexis.
“How do I know you really are a ghost? Can anyone else see you?”
“Call for the housekeeper,” Byron suggested.
Alexis did and Clara finally heard him. She came hurrying down the stairs. Although she was older, she was not quite elderly, and was still very spry for her age. A flight of stairs was no challenge for her. Her grey hair kept in a bun; she wore a maid’s outfit. Her skin was like a warn canvas, and she had a nose like a hawk’s. With her large spectacles she looked like an emaciated owl that had been plucked and overcooked for far too long.
“Master Alexis!” she gasped. “I’ve looked all over for you.”
Alexis purposefully said nothing about the ghost sitting beside him. Clara clearly didn’t see him. She said nothing about the man sitting beside her master. Alexis knew her well enough to know that had Clara seen Byron she would have said something, and probably would have at least asked if the guest wanted something to make his visit more comfortable.
“Is there anything you want sir?” she asked.
“Can I have my tea an hour later than usual.”
“Of course,” she answered. “Is that all?”
“Yes it is, Clara. Thank you.”
She nodded, slightly perturbed that she had found Alexis here of all places.
“Now do you believe me?” Byron asked after she was gone.
“I do.”
“Good, because there are benefits to having me as a companion.”
“And they are?”
“I will make your music into something extraordinary. When you play my violin, I will play through you. I’ll make you into a famous musician the kind that people will talk about for centuries. Isn’t that what you want?”
“How would you know that?”
“Only a person with such a wish could have awoken me.”
“But you’re dead,” Alexis was still confused by all of this.
“Yes, in every sense of the word. My body is in a grave where it has since turned into bones and dust. Does that bother you?”
“A bit,” Alexis answered.
“I suppose it can’t be helped,” Byron went on. “My soul is bound to the violin that you played and when you did so you brought me into the mortal plane. So here I am and that’s just the end of it. You have me whether you like it or not.”
“I can’t just get rid of you?”
“You could, but do you want to?”
Alexis paused and thought about it. “No, I don’t.”
“Good. I would rather be by your side. I miss being among the mortals. Limbo is no fun.”
“You can really make me into a great musician?” Alexis asked.
“I can.”
“Would I owe you anything in return?”
“Nothing only your company.”
“Then I accept your company,” Alexis said, sealing their bond.
4
Byron was true to his word. As Alexis continued to play the violin under his tutelage, he noticed his playing improve, so much so, that it could be said that what was played was beautiful or possibly even perfect. No longer the mediocre artist that he once was, Alexis’ talent became something formidable.
As he practiced he found that he wanted to do nothing else, but play the violin all the time. It was such that he would neglect to eat or sleep, only until Clara insisted that he do so would he relent. And during this time Alexis’ awe for the music and Byron increased. He fell in love with Byron and the song that they played. For it gave voice to all the emotions he felt in his short life. And it was a song he never wanted to end. It became such that he finally had the courage to perform for other people, and it eventually led to a performance before a packed concert hall.
He could see Byron standing beside him on the stage and they played a duet that to the audience sounded as if it were coming Alexis alone. He got a standing ovation. The first he ever had in his life. As a result, his name became legendary throughout the land, leading him to perform before the King and his court.
The glory that once belonged to the Delacroix family returned. But it was not to last. It was never to last, but the union between Byron and Alexis would last. Together forever, for all eternity, so long as there was a sun in the sky or a moon fixed within the arms of the night, they would endure.
5
Alexis’ companionship with Byron became romantic. Over the course of their relationship his feelings for Byron blossomed like a passionate rose, one that would never wilt with the petals always remaining fixed to its stem, withstanding death.
When he played his violin, Alexis went somewhere beyond everyday reality and in his dreams he went to these places with Byron. Places that could have been real and in the same sense they were not. The line between the two blurred and in the folds of this illusion that could have been real, Alexis never wanted to leave.
He went to grottoes with Byron, he viewed majestic mountains, swam in cool rivers, partook of lush vineyards, and he never wanted to leave for he belonged to Byron.
He was claimed and Byron would not let go. They joined each other in spirit, but also in flesh, when Byron made love to Alexis. Until this point Alexis had no sexual experience whatsoever and didn’t know if this too was real. But Byron awoke all of his senses, crafting an erotic experience that felt all too physical to not be real.
6
One day Byron commanded Alexis to send Clara away for a month. He did as he was instructed and told her to take a vacation and that she deserved it. At first she was reluctant, but then agreed, deciding to see visit her daughter who she rarely saw.
After she left, Alexis immediately went to the parlor. Under a grand chandelier and among exquisite vases with blossoming flowers of all kinds and vibrant colors, he played his violin seated next to Byron who played the piano. The notes of his keys perfectly attuned to Alexis’ playing.
Alexis saw the sun set and rise. Planets in the night sky circled around him. The ocean engulfed him. He traveled through time and memory. He saw the rise of civilizations. And he saw their fall. He saw the beginning of the world. He saw the end. And with utmost certainty he came to realize that none of it was an illusion, that all of it was real. That the dream he thought he was dreaming was in actuality the truth, one that transcended everything, in such a way that it made anything else but the dream, meaningless. There was no life and death in this place. There was no good or evil. There was only the coincidence of opposites. And he wished he didn’t ever have to wake from this dream.
He never did.
Byron asked him if that is what he wanted.
He told him yes.
So then, Byron made his wish come true.
7
When Clara returned to the mansion it was eerily quiet. She called out her master’s name. She heard no response. She entered the parlor. She saw Alexis, he appeared to be asleep on the piano. A stench reeked in the parlor, the scent of the flowers barely covering it.
The flowers were wilting. No one had watered them since the time she left. As she stepped closer to Alexis she was frightened, sensing that something horrible had happened.
It did. Alexis was dead. He had to have been dead for at least a few days, long enough for the first stages of decomposition to set in. She shrieked, when she got close enough to tell. Flies buzzed around him. He was holding his violin. His grip so tight on the bow that there was dried blood on his hand. It looked as if he had played himself to death.
The truth was that he did.
The coroners report showed that he died from a combination of dehydration and starvation. It looked to everyone that from the moment Clara left the mansion, he never left the parlor, and played his violin non-stop, until he fell over dead. No one could explain how or why he did this. His death became the subject of intense speculation and rumor. When it was all said and done, it seemed that this was the price he had paid to become an immortal artist and it was a heavy price indeed.
What they didn’t know was that he had been claimed.
8
A century has passed since Alexis’ death and today the Delacroix mansion still stands. Owned by the historical society tours are given and people who live in the town, at least those that come close to the property claim to hear the sounds of a violin playing from inside the mansion, usually coming from the parlor, the very room in which, Alexis died.
Everytime someone walks in to find the source of the sounds, the playing stops. Some people have sworn to see two apparitions, one of Alexis, the other of a tall young man. No one knows who this other ghost is.
But even so, the music that is heard is always hauntingly beautiful. People have tried to record it, but to no avail, the song can never be heard on any recording device. The song that plays in that house cannot be mimicked anywhere else, and never will, for it belongs to Alexis and Byron, the Delacroix ghosts, and to them alone.