You turn left, towards the source of the sound. In the faint light coming from behind you, you can see a door. You push it open and cautiously peer inside. This room has a light too, hanging from the ceiling, but you can tell that it is old and weary, as the brightness seems to dim more ever second
The music is coming from an ivory piano in the centre of the room (which now looks to you like a music room: papers blown over the hardwood floor, a few unused metal stands in the corner and an open cupboard full of xylophones, metranomes and other object that you can’t recognize in the poor light). It’s a sad and slow tune, giving the room an air of longing. Longing for a person, longing for a much needed clean-up, or longing for an affectionate touch? You do not know. But you do know that the music is almost drawing you in closer.
That’s when you notice that there is no-one playing the piano; it seems to be making the tune by itself. This scares you; your mind jumps to conclusions about the dark forces at work in this room.
Don’t be silly, you tell yourself, there are no such things as ghosts.
So, gathering confidence again, you look around the room, contemplating your next move.