I slept no more that night, nor did I move the day after. I sat in the corner of my room, staring at the harp. My body was tense as I watched the accursed thing, as if waiting for it to cause me harm. The moon faded into dawn and the harp glinted in the light of the newly awakened sun.
Every passing second the tension in my soul rose, the fear of it gripped me, preventing any thought of movement from translating into action. I was startled however, by a new emotion welling up within me, a strange thing I could not then nor could I now comprehend. The urge to play it.
I began to grow angry; the thing was taunting me, sat silently in the corner of the room, its malevolent beauty plucking the strings of my heart as I would pluck its own. My fear of it wouldn’t allow me to play it, however the desires within in me begged me to. My conflict started to spin into rage, perhaps my lack of sleep added to my irritation but I know that harp drove me half mad. I took the harp and in a frenzied rage hurled it out of the window.
My gaze followed the harp as it smashed through my bedroom window. It collided with the ground and with a great crash shattered into pieces. I sat back on the floor and stared blindly at the suns early morning rays illuminating the dust particles that had been rudely disturbed. The vibrations of the harps collision seemed to manifest in my head as a mocking laughter. I wept at its loss, despite the terror and conflict it had caused me, if only, just once, I could have taken the harp and played.
I wandered aimlessly in my apartment for the rest of the day, back and forth, back and forth. I felt as if I had just lost my first love, the vibrations resounded in my head all day, although my fatigue prevented me from caring. It was when I turned in for the night that something else utterly mad happened.
I had finally closed my eyes and tumbled into the world of dreams when there was a faint tapping at the cardboard I had placed over the shattered window, I rose drearily from my bed. I moved through the darkness of my apartment without care or caution but I did not stumble. I threw the window open to hear the vibrations of the harp once more. The noise continued to sound like laughter, but it grew slowly louder.
I stumbled back from the door, my heart beating heavily. I had begun to panic as the noise grew louder, the hideous screeching laughter from the dream. There were more voices, they filled my head and forced my own thoughts out. I screamed aloud, the cacophonous pantheon of insane laughter forced me two my knees. I almost felt the hand that forced my head to look at the damp patch on the wall begin to stretch and expand. Pieces of plaster fell to the floor and a new form began to appear on the wall. As I watched in terror the shape turned into a leering visage and began to laugh with the other voices.
Soon the face then opened its mouth wide and, to my terror and surprise began to spit something out. I finally regained control of my senses and curled myself into a ball, my eyes shut tight as I wailed with uncontrollable fear. Suddenly the noise stopped, everything was silent. Slowly I uncurled myself and peaked at my room, the window was shut, nothing was disturbed, the damp patch was back to normal and the debris had gone. I breathed a sigh of relief and fell back to the floor. The next thing I saw is, what I believe, to be the final seal on the destruction of my sanity. The harp had returned, a golden vision of splendour that I could feel nothing but warmth and love for. It seemed to whisper at, faint at first, and then it grew louder. A cold sweat formed on my head but I did not panic, I tried to dismiss it but I couldn’t deny what it had said:
“It’s my birthday”