And Music Is Her Name-Short Story

“Ok,” Iris said, plunking two glasses of red wine on the coffee table, “talk to me.”

She sat next him, tucked one knee under her and handed him one of the glasses.  

“What’s there to say?” Mike shrugged and drank half the wine in a single swallow. “My best friend killed himself and I’m such a good friend I didn’t  . . .” Mike’s voice cracked, he struggled a moment to speak then finished off the wine instead. Iris refilled his glass.

“You didn’t know he was hurting,” she finished for him, pushing her curly hair off her face.

“I knew he wasn’t doing so hot after his stepdad died, but I never called. I texted but,” Mike shook his head. “I was a fucking dick.”

“Honey, he could have just as easily reached out to you, communication is a two-way street.”

That’s just it, he did!” Mike looked at Iris. “He texted me all the time. Called and left messages.”

Calls and messages that became increasingly odd and sporadic. Weirdness Mike had chalked up to Jared being high.

“It’s not like you were out drinking and partying and didn’t make time for him,” Iris said softly. “You almost flunked out.”

“I know but we had all these plans. Start a band, create a new kind of music. We played all through high school, Jared guitar, me the drums-”

“No shit?” Iris paused, glass halfway to her mouth. “I didn’t know you played.”

“Oh yeah. I was going to play drums and write lyrics. Jared was sure we’d be a hit. Then school got in the way and I didn’t have time.” Once he started college there hadn’t been time for dreams, or his best friend apparently.

“I completely gave up on it after freshman year, but not Jared. He was still working at it, still hustling.” Mike scoffed thinking of all the texts Jared had sent him about their ‘band’, his never-ending enthusiasm for something that didn’t exist.

“Hell, just a month ago he sent me a link to our website. Our website, like I had anything to do with it, and I never even checked it out.” His throat closed again. They sat in silence for a moment, Iris stoking the back of his neck.

“Well, let’s check it out now,” she said scooting forward to kneel in front of him, eyes shining bright. “There’s no fixing what happened, but we can appreciate what he left behind, right?”

Mike’s first thought was no, hell no. Too much pain lay down that road. But . . .

Maybe it was the wine, maybe his grief, but suddenly it was the best idea anyone had ever had.

“You’re right. Let’s do it.”

He grabbed his computer from his desk and returned to the loveseat. Iris snuggled against his side as he woke it up and logged into his email. He clicked on the link.

And Music Is Her Name dot com,” Iris asked with a raised eyebrow. “Nice looking website though.”

“Lyrics from his favorite song. Not sure it’s even legal but,” Mike shrugged, “what are they gonna do now?”

Iris clicked on the blog tab. “He sent you this a month ago?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Because the first blog post is dated two-thousand nineteen.”

“Weird. Maybe he didn’t think it was ready until now?” He clicked on the oldest post, they read the entry silently.

Hello, I love You

May 23, 2019

Welcome, welcome! I’m Jared and thank you for checking out And Music Is Her Name. This is going to be all about mine and my buddy Mike’s journey as we become a famous band of the above entitled name. I play the guitar and sing lead. Mike is on drums and coming up with some badass lyrics for our own music. We’ll share the ups and down of trying to make it in the music industry, as well as links to some awesome jam sessions, like the one below. Let me know what you think in the comments section.

The link took them to a video of Jared, in what Mike recognized as his parent’s garage. He sat on a stool in front of a camera, nothing but a plain white wall behind him and guitar on his lap.  When the first chords of Southern Cross sounded, Mike put down the computer and paced circles around the studio.

Iris listened intently and sipped wine. When the final chord ended, Mike reluctantly returned to the couch.

“Man, he was good,” Iris said.

“Music was like breathing for him, he couldn’t not do it, you know? I worked my ass off to learn the drums and walked away like it was nothing. Jared couldn’t.”

They read a few more posts, all named after songs: Can’t You See, House of the Rising Sun, As Long as You Follow, all in the same vein as the first. Thank you for checking us out-it was always us-never me or I-and then a link to Jared playing a song. As they read though, the tone of the posts became increasingly grim, drifting from enthusiasm to frustration in a matter of months. A new layer of shame coated him thinking about Jared’s lonely struggle.

Mike couldn’t hold back tears when Jared played Purple Heather, Mike’s all-time favorite Van Morrison song. It took another glass of wine, and half an hour before he was able to continue. Full night had settled outside, bringing with it the promised storm. The uncovered windows were mirrors against the dark.

The Sad Café

September 9th, 2019

None of this matters. NOTHING I do here matters because no one is paying attention. Not even my mom and stepdad have checked out our website, how’s that for a kick in the face? This world, this fucking world. Everyone is so self-centered, so self-important. No one watches the videos, no one reads the posts. I am nothing in this world, less than nothing. I don’t exist. What would it take to get people to notice? To pull their noses out of goddamned Facebook and Instagram to see some true fucking art? Met this girl at a bar, Hollie, told her about the website, has she checked it out yet? No. Told me she just hasn’t had time. Yet she had time to posted selfies every day last week. I was good enough to friend on Facebook but not good enough to check out my work? This fucking world.

Video: Jared in the garage again. Behind him now was a huge black and white poster of what Mike thought to be a raven sitting on a branch of a desolate tree. The raven’s one visible eye skewed toward the camera, spying over Jared’s shoulder. For some reason, the poster made the hair on Mike’s arms spring to attention. This time Jared played a haunting version of Baby I’m A Star that was as incredible as it was weird.  

“Wow.” Iris looked at him with wide eyes.

Mike didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t known this Jared.

One of These Nights

October 12th, 2019

I killed her. Hollie. It was an accident, I swear. We were down by the river, having a drink. I told her I’d like her to be in one of my videos. She laughed. Said she’d do me a favor. Said I was lucky to get her because she has so many Instagram followers. What a bitch! She’s never created a fucking thing in her life! Unless you count selfies. What the fuck would she know about art? I lost it, only for a second but it was enough. I pushed her, that was all. But man, she went down hard! Hit her head on a rock and I knew. There was no coming back from that. I rolled her body into the river. Don’t believe me? Check out the news, it’s all right there. They think she’s only missing. All anyone needs to do to solve this is check out my website. I don’t think I have to worry about that, though. I’m sorry. I am. It was a fucking accident.

Video: No garage this time. It was outside and night, the video was grainy but Mike could clearly see something cylindrical and heavy looking lying on the ground, wrapped and cinched like sausage links. Then a foot came into view, gave the object a vicious shove and it rolled down an embankment follow by a faint splash.

Iris shot to her feet, wine sloshing over her hand, spilling unnoticed to the floor.

“No way. No fucking way,” she said pacing in front of the coffee table, free hand pressed to her mouth between words. “No.”

“It’s not real, Iris. I’ll admit, it’s creepy as hell,” Mike shook his head at a loss to explain what Jared could have been thinking. “It’s just a stupid attempt to draw attention to the website. It’s not real.”

“Bullshit!” She set her wine down and started tapping furiously on her phone. “About a year ago, she went missing. I know you’ve been busy with school and you don’t have Facebook but you have to remember this. It was all over the place.” She made a sound of triumph and held her phone out to him. It showed a picture of a pretty, blonde girl under the heading of ‘Missing’. The girl’s name was Hollie Wilkinson. She’d never returned home after a night out with friends, however, none of her friends claim to have been out with her that night.

“He must have seen the news and then written the blog post.” This was his best friend since high school they were talking about, no way could he murder someone.

“Look at the post Mike. He first wrote about her in September of two-thousand nineteen, she didn’t disappear until a month later!”

“Hollie’s not an uncommon name and he didn’t mention a last name, it’s a coincidence, Iris. It has to be.” They stared at each other. “Let’s read some more. I bet he admits it was just a joke. A really, really bad joke. Or maybe . . .” Mike couldn’t finish the sentence.

Start Me Up

January 8th, 2020

For a while I waited for the police to show up. I mean, I confessed! It’s out there for the world to see. It’s been three months now and nothing! Man, it’s kind of crazy when I think about it. But I’ll tell you this, I’ve been writing music like nobody’s business! Music and lyrics. Mike is going to be impressed when he hears what I’ve been producing. It’s almost like what I did, killing Hollie, took the cork out of me and the music can flow now. There’s freedom in knowing I confessed and nobody cares. The guilt is off my shoulders and I’m free to create. Now, if only my stepdad would get off my back about getting a real job. Busting my back all day at Les Schwab and writing music at night isn’t good enough for Walter, not when his real son is a doctor. He’ll change his tune-ha, ha, get it!-once we land a record deal.

Their eyes met. A crawling feeling coated Mike’s stomach like he’d swallowed a bowl full of ants.

“It’s real. It’s all real,” Iris said, her voice an unsettling mix of awe and horror. “Keep going.”

Video: Again, Jared in front of the camera. His blonde hair, long and lank, covered half his face. Even sitting Mike could tell his clothing hung on him. There was a pause before he started playing where he stared directly into the camera lens. Directly at him, Mike knew. The ants in his stomach turned to fire. The stare only lasted a second before Jared began plucking the cords to Lonesome Loser. His expression remained flat even as he sang. Odder even than the performance, the raven was facing fullly forward, both eyes visible. Mike was pretty fucking certain that hadn’t been the case in the last video.

“Did you see-?” Iris asked when the video when to black.

“No. Yeah. I think so.”

Cecilia

February 23rd, 2020

It went away. The music. I can’t write anymore, can hardly play. Been up nights trying to make it work. Make something work. I play until my fingers crack and it won’t come to me. Am I being punished? Lost my fucking job, too. It’s not my fault, it’s the music. I haven’t been sleeping. At least now I’ve got more time to play. If I could play that is. I don’t get it. I was cranking ‘em out. Five songs for our album. Five! And now, it’s all dried up. If only Walter would quit riding my ass! I can’t think with him yapping in my ear about college and careers and BULLFUCKINGSHIT!!! I can’t create with all that junk in my head. Now I know that’s why I had to quit school. It was interfering. I can’t let Mike down. Just five more. Five more songs and he’ll see. It wasn’t a pipe dream, it was real. Just five more.

Video: A hollowed out looking Jared. His vintage Metallica t-shirt was torn at the shoulder and showed a ghastly white strip of flesh. He wasted no time plunging in an eerily accurate rendition of Riders on the Storm. Behind him, the raven was crouched now, as if getting ready to spring.

“Can’t be,” Mike whispered.

Iris slopped more wine into their glasses with a shaky hand.  Mike clicked on the next post before Jared reached the first chorus.

Cat’s in the Cradle

May 2nd, 2020

I figured it out! I got the fucking secret! Oh man, I’ve been killing the music! It just needed something from me, that’s all. I just had to do my part. I’ve written fifteen new songs. We’ve got enough for two albums now. See it was my stepdad. He was the block. I got rid of him. I had to! All his talk about the real world and responsibility. He called me a loser. Said I’d never amount to shit hiding in the garage like a fucking troll. Said I didn’t have the guts to make it. He’d been drinking, a lot. Could barely talk but I’m the loser? Anyway, it didn’t take much to drown him in the pool and make it look like an accident. He’d been known to have a whoopsie or two. Remember when he ran over my cat? I had to take some time away for funeral services and shit but since that night, I’ve been writing non-stop. And it’s good shit, too!

Friends, Mike, if you’re out there reading this, if anyone is tuning in, here’s the secret: Art, any art, requires sacrifice. People have said it forever, I just didn’t understand what they meant. Hell, they probably didn’t understand what they meant! Now I do. You’ve got to do your part, that’s all. You’ve got to watch and listen and when the time is right, DO YOUR PART. 

Video: The camera was pointed at the surface of a pool, illuminated by soft white lights. It took a moment to realized they were looking at a pair of legs distorted by water, pallid feet playfully flapped in the pool. The camera swung up and left. It was night and the only thing visible was the glowing pool and the fading into dark pool deck. The view paused then slowly panned right until it reached the far side. There, backlit to only a silhouette was a floating black mass. The camera stayed there for a full minute before going black.

“Holy shit.” Mike stood, dumping the computer from his lap. Iris managed to grab it before it hit the floor. Mike was tempted to throw it out the window.

“Is it real?” Iris set the computer on the coffee table and stood. “Did his dad drown?”

“Yes. Holy shit, Iris. Holy. Shit.” Mike paced to the window and back, hands wrapped around his head. “My best friend is a killer. Was a killer.”

“We’ve got to tell someone about this.” She pressed her lips pressed into a thin line.

Mike walked over and pulled her into a hug. They stayed wrapped in each other until a loud thunk sounded outside. Iris jumped and scanned the room with wide eyes.

“It’s just the trees hitting the house. That wind is really whipping up.” Mike rubbed her arms and stepped back. The clock read 11:15. “It’s late. We’ll take it to the police tomorrow, ok?” 

Iris looked out the window though there was no way she could see anything on this moonless night. Mike saw her shiver and wrapped his arms around her again.

“We don’t have to read any more. We’ll make a pizza and-”

“No.” Iris shook her head. “I want to know. Need to know. Don’t you?”

Mike was tempted to lie, just to spare Iris but he could see the determination in her eyes. If he said no, she would probably do the same thing he planned to do once she’d fallen asleep: get up and read alone.

“Yeah. I really need to know who Jared was. This Jared. Because he’s not the same guy I called friend.”

Iris sat but didn’t move to touch the computer.

Mike joined her, dragging the computer onto his lap like it was something he’d just unearthed from the sewer. He supposed in a way that’s exactly what it was.

The Logical Song

August 8th, 2020

What’s the point of having all this music if I can’t get anybody to listen to it?  Has the world gone so to shit they have to be spoon fed what’s good by the fucking media? By the Top 20 Countdown? By fucked up shows on MTV and VH1? I can’t get anyone interested in free fucking music. And it’s good music, not like that garbage you see on YouTube. In fact, it’s great fucking music. I’ve got to get it out there, it’s not enough that I made it. I’ve got to get the world interested in it or it’s all for nothing. It doesn’t exist if no one listens to it. I don’t want to but I think I need to, don’t you? What would you sacrifice for your life’s work? To get the world to see it? Will the answer surprise you or do you know deep down how far you’ll go?

Video: Jared sat on a stool, no guitar in sight. He looked healthier than the last time they’d seen him, put on some weight, had on clean clothes. But his eyes . . .  his eyes were black holes in his pale face. He raised his hands up. In his right was a small paring knife. Without word or expression he wrapped his left hand around the blade and drew the knife down and away then dropped it. Seconds later a steady dribble of blood leaked from his raised fist, coating his pale blue shirt and jeans. The raven remained crouched but his wings were at half-mast now, his head tucked and level with them. His eyes were two onyx orbs resting on Jared’s head. The video went black.

There was no thinking anymore, Mike knew. The damn bird was moving. He wanted to believe they were different posters but the thudding of his pulse didn’t allow him the comfort of that lie.

Mother Freedom

December 12th, 2020

An agent signed us and it doesn’t even matter. Says we’ll be big. Big as the ‘Stones or the Beatles. Don’t matter. This . . .  this is beyond all that. I didn’t understand before but this existence is only part of it. I’m talking immortality here. I am holding eternity in the palm of my hand. Now that I see the picture, it’s obvious. I was ignorant, stupid really. There is so much beyond this world. The old Gods still exist. Music is air. You can drink beauty like wine. Time is moldable, no past or future. There’s just now.  

What I had to do . . . what I had to do to glean this information, to get a peek at the True World wasn’t nearly as hard as I thought it’d be. It was just a little one and there was hardly any blood. Went down like mother’s milk, ha! And the world unfurled in front of me. The sights I saw! The music I heard! Made my twenty-six years inconsequential. But it was only for a second. I only got to look for a second. This sacrifice was just a token. I must wait for the sign. I must wait. The music! It was so beautiful it hurt my eyes!

Video: Jared, emaciated and stiff, blood coated his face like a goatee. The raven’s talons were open and hovering above the branch, wings spread in flight.

A smirk tilted his lips and for the first time, Jared spoke, “Three one.”

Blackness.

Saliva flooded Mike’s mouth. He froze looking at the black screen but he was seeing Jared’s bloody face, hearing those whispered words, three-one. Three-fucking-one.

“He’s batshit crazy.” Iris breathed.

Mike nodded.

“Did you know? Before? That he was nuts? Did he ever . . .” Her voice, rising to a shriek faded to nothing. “Mike? Are you ok?”

“He said ‘three-one’.”

“Yeah. Does it mean something? Other than he’s batshit crazy.”

“Yeah.” Mike barked a laugh and turned his suddenly stiff neck to look at Iris. “It’s code for see you later. Something we came up with in junior high.”

A whimper escaped her. She tucked both feet on the couch. “This isn’t right. This . . . the poster-”

She reached over and clicked on the last post. The date on this one absent. Its absence chewed at Mike like a rat at a wooden coffin.

Kashmir

I opened a door. I thought someone would stop me. I thought . . . I thought I knew what I was doing. There’s no music there. There’s nothing there. Just endless days of nothing. I thought it was worth it, that there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do. I was wrong, so fucking wrong. I’m sorry. It’s too late for that. I’m sorry, I . . . fuck

Mike clicked on the link with a palsied hand. Black faded into the view of a wooden step ladder, a worn rope hung limply above it.

“Oh God.” Wine backed up into his throat.

The raven was bigger now, nearly blotting out the tree he once sat on. His wings spread edged to edge of the poster, like matching jagged rips. Jared walked from the left side of the frame. He was dressed again in ratty jeans and the torn Metallica shirt. He never looked at the camera. He climbed the steps casually, as if he were going upstairs to his room, slipped the noose over his and tightened it. Here, he paused for a moment, arms boneless at his sides. Then with a violent move, he kicked the ladder away. His legs flailed at nothing, his hands scrabbled at his neck, eyes bugging so far out of his face Mike was sure they’d pop out. He twisted and writhed like a trout on the line for a full minute before going limp. Wetness stained the front of his jeans. The camera went black for a second then came back on. The raven was gone. Only the white poster with the bare tree remained. And Jared. Jared remained, hanging heavy and still. The camera went black again.

Mike didn’t realize his hands were fisted in his hair until something banged against the windows. They both jumped.

“What the fuck was that?” Iris screeched.

“Just the storm!” Mike yelled, trying to talk over the whine coming out of her throat. “Just the damn-”

There was a strange sound, like the scrabbling of feet on glass. No, not feet. Talons. The sound of talons on glass. The lights went out.