michael ingram's "dark stratocaster": rough & final drafts

7/28/2019 Michael Ingram's "Dark Stratocaster": Rough & Final Drafts

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Ingram --Dark Stratocaster 1

Mi chael I ngr am About 1, 600 Words

EL231. 01 Topi cs i n CW: Wr i t i ng Horr or

Short Story 2 - - Rough Dr af t

March 6, 2013

Dar k St r at ocast er

by

Mi chael K. I ngr am

Red Buxt on' s pl ace was on the f ar west si de of t own. I t was

a t ower i ng Vi ct or i an i n need of a l i t t l e bi t of pai nt and el bow

gr ease, but wi t h a l i t t l e i magi nat i on i t was easy t o see how

spl endi d i t must have been a hundred year s ago.

I st ood on Red' s f r ont porch and pul l ed back t he anci ent

r i nger . I t crashed i nt o the bel l and l et l oose an echoed t hr ough

t he house. Red was r ecommended to me as a gui t ar t eacher by a

cl assmate. Supposedl y, t he guy was as good of a bl ues gui t ar i st

as t her e was i n t he count y I was anxi ous t o f i nd out . I ' d been

i t chi ng t o pl ay gui t ar f or year s, and I was hopi ng t hat t hi s was

t he man t o t r ansmi t t hose ski l l s t o me.

Comment [1]: Beth Soblesky:Wording?

Comment [2]: Beth Soblesky:Assuming you used "transmit" purposelyseemed weird when reading.


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I hear d someone shuf f l i ng t o the door . I t cr acked open and

a f ace peeked out .

"You must be Wi l l . " He sai d. "I ' m Red, come on i n. "

Red was much ol der t han I t hought he woul d be. I f you t ol d

me he was a hundr ed, I ' d have bel i eved i t . For an i nst ant , I

wonder ed i f he woul d even be abl e t o act ual l y pl ay, wi t h hi s ol d

gnar l ed hands. The cl ear pl ast i c t ube t hat f ed oxygen i nt o hi s

nose onl y made hi m l ook f eebl e.

Red l ed me down a hal l way t oward t he back of t he house. The

wal l s were l i ned wi t h bl ack and whi t e phot ogr aphs of musi ci ans

wi t h gui t ars. I n many of t hem, Red was pl ayi ng i n t he

backgr ound. I r ecogni zed El vi s, Ray Char l es, and Bob Dyl an. I

t hi nk one of t hem mi ght have been Muddy Waters. At t he end of

t he hal l , st ood an anci ent pi ct ur e of a gr uf f l ooki ng man

st andi ng on the por ch of a shant y wi t h a banj o i n hi s hand. I t

was so ol d, i t woul dn' t have surpr i sed me i f he was a sl ave.

"My gr eat - gr anddad. " Red t ouched t he pi ct ure wi t hout

l ooki ng as he passed. He wal ked i nto hi s musi c st udi o and pi cked

up a beaut i f ul bl ack St r at ocast er . I t ' s enabl ed sur f ace was dar k

as ni ght .

Red i nvi t ed me to si t .

"Musi c" Red tapped hi s f oot and ri pped of f a short bl ues

r i f f " i s al l about soul . "

I nodded.

Comment [3]: Beth Soblesky:dialogue tag. maybe consider changingorder to stay away from he said/she saidintroduces himself as Red in the next seso you really don't need "he said" It's imhe is already the one speaking.

Comment [4]: Beth Soblesky:

Awesome imagery

Comment [5]: Beth Soblesky:I love this paragraph. Don't change it! (jopinion) It brought a sense of realism to scene/place and even the current time.


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"That goes doubl e f or bl ues. " Red brushed hi s f i ngers down

over t he st r i ngs agai n. "Ei t her you got i t , or you don' t . "

"I ' ve got i t . " I wasn' t sur e i f i t was tr ue or not , but I

want ed t o sound conf i dant .

Red began t o pl ay. "We' l l see about t hat . " He di dn' t si ng,

but hi s deep, r aspy voi ce danced rhyt hmi cal l y over t he tune. "I

don' t want money to t each you. I don' t have much t i me to spend

i t anyhow. "

I cocked my head to the si de.

"I ' m dyi ng, boy. " He cont i nued t o pl ay. "Al l I want i s t o

f i nd someone wi t h soul t hat I can pass t he gi f t t o. But f i r st , I

need t o know i f you have i t . Now l et me see those hands. "

He st udi ed my hands f or a moment . "You mi ght do. "

We st art ed of f wi t h t he basi cs.

He watched me, not as a t eacher , more l i ke a t al ent scout

or a head hunt er. I don' t know what he was l ooki ng f or , but I

was l ooki ng f or somet hi ng i n hi m as wel l . Hi s gi f t was

undeni abl e, and I knew t hen and t her e that I want ed i t .

When I saw hi s ol d, cr aggy f i nger s whi r l over t he str i ngs,

I want i ng not hi ng more than to see my own f i ngers wr ap around

t he neck of t he beaut i f ul gui t ar .

***

Ever y Sunday, we had a sessi on. I was l ear ni ng, but I admi tI wasn' t so much t r yi ng to get bet t er as I was t o show hi m t hat

I had soul . I was st art i ng to wonder i f he thought he was

wast i ng hi s t i me wi t h me.

Comment [6]: Beth Soblesky:Like the dialogue here.. well done.

Comment [7]: Beth Soblesky:Wording?


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Wi t h ever y l esson, Red began to l ook worse and worse. The

ci r cl es under hi s eyes began t o darken and sag. I t was cl ear

t hat he di dn' t have much l onger .

I t was l ate i n t he eveni ng when he cal l ed me.

"Pl ease come over r i ght away. " Hi s voi ce sounded much

weaker t han i t had j ust a f ew days bef ore.

Even t hough i t wasn' t our nor mal pr act i ce day, I hur r i ed

over t o hi s house. I kept t hi nki ng that Red woul d di e bef or e he

coul d pass hi s ski l l s t o me.

The ol d bel l on hi s door t ol l ed and Red shambl ed t o t he

door .

"I l ook l i ke shi t , I know. " Evi dent l y, he coul d see t hat I

not i ced.

"No. . . " I t r ai l ed of f .

I nsi de, most of t he l i ght s wer e of f . I ' d never been i n

Red' s house af t er dar k. Somethi ng about t hese ol d houses had a

speci al power af t er dar k. Li ke t he shadows came al i ve i n the

shal l ow angl es of sunset and l ampl i ght .

We wal ked back t o hi s s t udi o and sat down.

Red pi cked up hi s St r at ocast er . The soul was st i l l t her e,

but t he f l esh was weak. He di dn' t even t r y t o st r um a chord.

"I ' m not sur e I got t i l l next Sunday l ef t , so I had t o move some

t hi ngs up. "

I st ar ed at hi m bl ankl y. "Move what up?"

Comment [8]: Beth Soblesky:Love this!


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"You l i ke t hi s ol d gi r l ?" He per ched t he gui t ar back i nt o

t he st and and nodded t oward i t .

"Yeah, i t ' s beaut i f ul . " I wasn' t so sur e wher e t hi s was

goi ng.

"I l ef t i t t o you i n t he wi l l . " Red l ooked me i n t he eyes.

"Al l of t hi s. I don' t have any f ami l y, so you get i t al l . "

"I coul dn' t . . . " I t r i ed t o hi de t he smi l e. I l i ked Red and

al l , but t o get al l of t hi s was t oo much. I coul dn' t have

scri pt ed i t any bet t er .

"Now don' t you f uss about i t . " He coughed. "I t ' s ei t her you

or i t goes t o goodwi l l or some such t hi ng. "

Red began t o cough harder. He doubl ed over, t r yi ng t o cl ear

hi s l ungs. I put my hand on hi s shoul der , knowi ng that I had to

move up the t i mi ng of my pl an.

I put my hand over hi s f orehead and dr opped to one knee. I

began t he chant . Ever wor d. Ever y syl l abl e. I n ol d Pal i , j ust

l i ke my mast er t aught me so many year s ago.

Gr ant me st r ength. Gr ant me power . Gr ant me wi sdom. Fr om

your mi nd t o mi ne.

Red was not payi ng at t ent i on. He was f ocused on hi s need

f or ai r .

For a moment , I f el t al most gui l t y. Red was a ni ce, ki ndl y

ol d man. He t r i ed t o teach me gui t ar . He asked f or no pay. He

even wi l l ed hi s est at e t o me.

Comment [9]: Beth Soblesky:The plot here seems to move a little too Maybe more description on relationshipbetween the teacher and student to lendcredibility for the logic behind him leavinthings to his student. Even though he dhave family it just feels a little unbelievab


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I t di dn' t matt er t hough. He woul dn' t need t o pl ay gui t ar

where he was goi ng, why shoul d he mi nd i f I t ake i t .

Red f i nal l y l ooked up at me. Hi s f ace was i cy. For a

moment , i t al most seemed l i ke he knew what was goi ng on. I f he

was af r ai d, i t di dn' t show.

Even i f he' d want ed t o st op i t , i t was t oo l at e.



I f el l back. My mi nd expl oded. Whi t e l i ght overt ook me.

That i s what i s supposed t o happen.

I woke up f eel i ng cl oudy. Not hi ng wr ong wi t h t hat . I t ' s

t ot al l y nor mal t o f eel t hat way. I ' ve r obbed men of t hei r

t hought s bef ore and woken up t hr ee bl ocks away. I t ' s no easy

t ask t r yi ng t o i nt egr at e a pi ece of anot her man' s soul i nt o your

own. A bi t of di sor i ent at i on i sn' t st r ange.

I hear d t he di st i nct sound of bl ues gui t ar and I smi l ed. I

st i l l coul dn' t f eel my f i nger s, but I coul d see them. I wat ched

as t hey danced up and down the f r ets, hi t t i ng every note wi t h

bl i steri ng preci si on.

I t r i ed t o t ap my f oot , but I s t i l l coul dn' t f eel i t . I

coul dn' t f eel much of anythi ng. My at t empt s at si ngi ng r esul t ed

i n a pai ned gr oan.


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"Whaa t he. . . ?" I managed.

I watched my f i ngers r est on t he neck of t hat bl ack

St r atocast er. I t was somet hi ng t hat I ' d wai t ed so l ong t o see,

but somethi ng was wr ong. My vi si on became cl ear er and I r eal i zed

t hat I was not l ooki ng down at my hands, but watchi ng themf r om

acr oss t he r oom.

I hear d mysel f l aughi ng. "Damn st ubby f i nger s. " I hear d my

voi ce l ament . I t was my hands pl ayi ng the gui t ar, but I wasn' t

i n i t .

"How are ya f eel i n?" I heard Red' s words come out of my

mout h. "Pret t y good, I hope. You' d been a good ki d bef ore you

t r i ed t o r i p my soul out , so I di dn' t want you t o go out i n

pai n. "

"Uhhh. . . " Was al l I coul d get out .

"On, now don' t go st r ai ni n your sel f . " Red put down the

gui t ar . "J ust t ake i t easy. I t ook enough of t hose pi l l s t o ki l l

a hor se. No use f i ght i n i t . "

Red wal ked over t he t abl e besi de me and pi cked up a scr ap

of paper . "I ' m i n t oo much pai n. " He r ead. "I can' t t ake i t

anymore. I t ' s my t i me to move on. Make sur e al l my st uf f goes t o

t hat ni ce young man Wi l l Mi l usky. "

He t ossed t he note on the f l oor and pul l ed my cel l phone

out of my pocket . I t t ook hi m some t i me t o f i gure out how t o

di al 911. He di d a f i ne j ob f ei gni ng sur pr i se.


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My head was swi mmi ng by t hen. I t was a st r uggl e t o keep my

eyes open.

"Ther e you go ol d man, j ust r el ax" He sai d, t ossi ng t he

cel l phone to the ground. "You see what you di d wr ong, don' t

you? I t ' s al l about pi cki ng your t ar get s. Even a pi ss- ant l i t t l e

soul st eal er l i ke you shoul d know bet t er . You got best ed by a

much ol der , and much bet t er war l ock. "

Red pi cked t he gui t ar up and began t o pl ay sof t l y.

Beaut i f ul musi c f i l l ed t he room. "Yeah, you' ve got some st umpy

f i nger s f or sur e. " He sai d. "But , I ' ve got t o gi ve i t t o you,

you' ve got soul . "

The wor l d grew di m. I began t o cough.

- -

Comment [10]: Beth Soblesky:Great twist at the end.


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Michael Ingram 3,472 Words

EL231.01 Topics in CW: Writing Horror

Short Story 2 -- Final Draft

March 19, 2013

Dark Stratocaster

by

Michael K. Ingram

Red Buxton's place was nestled on the side of a steep

west side hill. From his porch you could look down into the

gorge and see the rust rotted husks of mills and forges and

warehouses that lie dead along the river's edge. This is where

the robber barons and captains of industry once stood, looking

down on the mechanized empires they had forged below.

Years went by and profits got tight, so their sons and

grandsons closed the factories, and when the factories closed,

those with the means to flee, did so. No sense lingering in a

dead town just because you'd killed it.

So the stately late Victorians of the hill that had once

been the crown jewel of a prosperous industrial town were one

by one contaminated by the rusty malaise of neglect that


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eventually swallowed the whole town.

Welcome to rust-belt hell.

Judged against most of the houses in the district, Red's

place was in splendid condition. It was by no means

contemporary, though he'd clearly put more effort into

maintenance than most of the sad old folks of the

neighborhood. The dumps on either side seemed to have melted,

withered under an onslaught of rain and time, but Red's place

seemed to hide a hidden grandeur beneath the skin. It begged

to be released by a younger man's hands.

The icy touch of early spring rain stung my neck, and I

was glad enough to stand beneath Mr. Buxton's overhang. I eyed

the ancient mechanical ringer on his door. Part of me wanted

to leave, to forget the whole thing, but I'd already set the

plan in motion and I wasn't about to back out now. Deep

inside, I could feel the rhythm reach out to me. If I was

patient, I'd soon enough get my hands on that beautiful prize

that lived within these walls.

The hammer pulled back easily and smashed into the bell.

It bellowed a low moan that ran through the house and back,

like a lone musician playing to an empty music hall.

My hands pressed down to the bottoms of my coat pockets.

My body trembled from the cold. As my feet shuffled around the

porch, my eyes flickered mindlessly along, following the web


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of cracks in the old cement backward, as if they had a

beginning somewhere in the house.

It was Brian who'd found Red for me. Brian had been a

great teacher and friend for years. He knew how much I loved

music, and set me up with this prime mark as something of a

gift for my loyalty.

"He's an old man" Brian had told me three weeks before,

"just stay patient and stick with the plan, and everything

should be easy."

I did some research of my own. It seemed that Red Buxton

was something of an underground legend in the music business.

He never really put much effort into commercial success,

though he'd been a studio musician for some of the most

successful blues inspired bands of the 20th century.

I tapped my toes as the amorphous shape of a man

coagulated behind the frosted glass of the door and grew

larger and larger until I could hear footsteps over the old

wooden floor. The door cracked open. A pair of tired looking

brown eyes peaked out.

"Yeah?"

"Mr. Buxton? I'm Will. Brian's friend?"

His eyes swept across me. I wondered what he was looking

for.

The door slammed.


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For a moment, I stood there in stunned silence. I held my

breath. For a moment, I was a failure before I'd even got

started.

I exhaled to the sound of the chain sliding open.

The door popped open, and I saw Red walking away. He said

nothing, only beckoned me over his shoulder without a glance.

I scurried inside and closed the door behind me. Red was

already gone.

My throat tightened. I looked around. The house suddenly

felt like a labyrinth of hardwood. Hallways pushed out in

every direction, bedecked in antiques and knick knacks from an

older time. The high, arched ceilings rose up from the foyer.

The walls faded until they terminated in shadow somewhere near

where the ceiling must have been.

I was about to relent and call out when something on the

floor caught my eye. A long, translucent tube flowed into the

room to my right and plugged into a small, humming machine

sitting in the corner. My eyes traced a path in the other

direction, and I followed it down one of the unknown hallways.

Red was there, shuffling slowly toward the back of the

house. The tube ran up his back and wrapped around his neck.

He didn't look back, but he must have heard me coming. "Get

lost, son?"

I stared at the fleshy wrinkles on the back of Red's


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spotted brown head. I mouthed a response, but no words came

out. If he was angry that I didn't respond, he didn't show it.

He just led me slowly, inexorably forward.

He ducked into a parlor near the back of the house and

sat down and waved his hand for me to sit. This was his music

room. Instruments hung up neatly or sat propped against the

wall. Mostly, it was filled with guitars.

Beside Red sat a guitar that piqued my interest. I

recognized it from some of the pictures I'd seen of him

online. A black 1957 Fender Stratocaster. It was magnificent.

I couldn't take my eyes off of it. It's unblemished surface

rippled in the pale light that penetrated the rainclouds and

poured in through the window.

Red broke the silence, "So, what are ya here for?"

"Well, I'm friends with Brian and-"

"Yeah, you said that at the door. What are you here for?"

"Well. I could pay you if you'd-"

"I'm on a deadline here, boy. Now, hurry up and tell me

what you want. Don't tell me who your friend is, or how much

you can pay. Tell me what the hell you want."

Red furrowed his heavy brow and adjusted the oxygen tube

that fed into his nostrils. His deep brown skin was trenched

with wrinkles, but somehow it was the oxygen made him look

feeble. He looked to be on a tether, held in geriatric stasis


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by the machine-god in the living room.

"I want to play guitar" I blurted out.

"You might be in luck then, young man." Red flashed a

smile. "I've been known play a few licks. You're covered

there, but why should I teach you?"

"Well, I can pay-"

"Enough with the money, boy. I don't care about money.

I'm old as shit and I don't have time to spend it anyways."

Red leaned back in his chair. "What I'm looking for is someone

who's got what it takes. I don't want to waste my time here."

"I won't waste your time, sir."

Red's fleshy jowls melted into a frown. "Don't call me

sir, and don't call me mister, neither. Call me Red."

"Yes, sir- I mean, Red."

"Are you ready to bust your butt, kid?"

I nodded.

"I mean this, boy. This isn't going to work if you don't

open up your heart to the music. If you don't, this is all

just a waste of my time, and I don't like having my time

wasted."

"I've always wanted to play guitar. I will do whatever it

takes to play like you do."

Red smiled back as he leaned over and wrapped his old,

gnarled fingers around the neck of the black Stratocaster. He


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tossed it over his head with practiced ease and placed his

fingers along the frets. Without a trace of effort, a heavenly

blues riff erupted from the amplifier that sat next to him.

"Music" Red tapped his foot and ripped off a short blues

riff "is all about soul."

I nodded. I might not know how to play guitar, but I'd

learned quite a bit about soul.

"That goes double for blues." His deep, raspy voice

danced rhythmically over the tune.

I watched his fingers work the strings with an almost

superhuman precision. I watched his hands on that beautiful

guitar, giddy at the prospect of one day seeing my own hands

on wrapped around that perfect neck.

"Soul" The fingers of his left hand twisted and tapped

and pulled on the frets. "You either got it, or you don't."

His right hand brushed so lightly across the strings that

it looked like he was just waving to the strings. "It's that

simple."

"I've got it." I wasn't sure if it was true or not, but I

tried my best to sound confident.

Red began to play. "We'll see about that."

He finished his tune and placed the guitar back onto the

stand. "Now, let me see those hands."

His hands were icy as they felt mine. His fingers were


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covered in callus though the rest of his skin was as thin as

tissue paper.

He bounced his head back and forth for a moment. "Fingers

are a bit stumpy."

His eyes closed as his hands smothered mine. I hoped he

could tell that I had soul, but I could definitely feel his.

It was strong. My fingers tingled, perhaps it was the magic,

though it might well have been the anticipation of what was to

come.

His eyes opened and looked into mine. "Yeah. Yeah, you

might do."

I smiled and stared tight back at him. You might do too,

old man.

Everything was going perfectly.

***

Every Wednesday, after my classes, I'd trudge up the hill

toward Red's house. On Sundays, we worked together from

morning until early afternoon. Pretty much any time that I

wasn't sleeping, studying or in school I spent with Red

Buxton. My fingers bled, but I enjoyed every minute of it.

With every lesson, Red seemed less gruff and more

grandfatherly. After three months, Red and I had become close.

Maybe we were friends, but it seemed like maybe Red saw me as

the grandson he never had. He certainly treated me that way.


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Brian always told me that was half of the job. When the

mark likes you, and wanted to give you things, it was that

much easier to take what you wanted. With luck, I'd barely

have to work my magic on the old man, he'd give me what I

wanted on a silver platter.

The lessons were coming along well, though I was still a

novice. I enjoyed playing, though I knew the real haul was

still to come. Red was kind, but clearly growing impatient. He

didn't seem to mind when I crossed up my fingers on a chord,

but he began telling me with increasing agitation that I had

to open up my soul, that without it there was no point.

"The soul guides the hands" He'd say when he showed me

how to play. "When you've got it, it guides your hands without

your mind getting in the way."

By the end of that third month, Red was looking terrible.

The shadows beneath his eyes grew deeper and his energy faded

away quickly.

He never really talked about it, but he did tell me he

was glad that he'd met me. He said that without me, he was

afraid that his gift would go to waste. It was clear that he

didn't have all that long left, and we both knew it. My window

of opportunity was closing and I knew if I didn't move soon,

I'd risk losing the chance to get what I'd gone to all this

trouble for.


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***

It was two in the morning when Red called me. He said I

should come over right away, he had some things he needed to

say to me and that time was short.

I threw on my jeans and started ran out the door. I

wasn't sure what this was about, but I was scared that Red

would up and die before I could finish the job. I decided that

tonight was going to be the night to make my move. He trusted

me enough. Now I had to trust myself.

The old bell on Red's door tolled through the house. Red

shambled slowly to the door and let me in.

"C'mon, Will." He beckoned me in. "I need to sit down."

Inside, most of the lights were off. I'd never been in

Red's house after dark. Something about these old houses had a

special power after dark. Like the shadows came alive when the

shallow light of the moon gushed through the open windows.

We sat down in his music room. A hospital style bed had

been brought in.

"Stairs were getting too hard." He growled. "Hospice

brought it in."

"Hospice?" I feigned shock.

"Will, you are a bad liar." Red chuckled. "You know I

look like shit, and I know you know I look like shit. The end

is near, my young friend."


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I smiled at the old man. "Well, I feel better knowing

that you know that I know. I'm glad we had this talk."

Red laughed out loud. I could hear the gunk slosh around

in his lungs. His laugh turned into a gag which turned into a

cough. Soon, he was down to one knees, working out the phlegm

that was impeding his breathing.

I stood there, not knowing what to do. I tried to put my

hand on his back, but he waved me off.

C'mon old man, not yet. Don't die yet.

After a few more chest rattling coughs, Red managed to

catch his breath again.

"Sorry about that" He said with little of his voice

intact. "That's why I wanted you to come. I was worried I

wouldn't make it till Sunday, so I had to move my plans up a

little bit."

"Move what up?"

Red picked up the black Stratocaster and looped the strap

over his shoulder. His knobby old fingers, that had looked so

fast and strong just a few months before were withered and

weak. He didn't even try to play a chord.

"You like this old girl?" He patted the sleek, black

guitar on his lap.

"Yeah, it's pretty amazing, Red." I smiled.


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Red smiled back. "It's yours. All this is yours. I drew

up a new will, and it's all going to you."

"What?" I was truly stunned. I tried my best to keep a

smile from cracking across my face. This was great news. I

hadn't come for all of this stuff, but it was a nice little

bonus.

"You know I don't have any family, but you seem like a

good kid. I'd just as soon give it to you as let it get picked

through in an estate sale."

Red began to breathe heavily. At first it seemed he was

trying to catch his breath, but it quickly escalated. Soon, he

had fallen to his knees. I heard his lungs begin to wheeze. I

knew this might be my last chance.

I kneeled in front of Red and placed my hands on his

shoulders. I pulled them into his neck and began to chant. He

seemed to focused on his own breathing issues to notice what I

was doing.

Grant me strength. Grant me power. Grant me wisdom. From

your mind to mine.

In old Pali, I repeated the chant, just like Brian had

taught me. Every syllable, every inflection must be correct. I

could feel Red's soul pulsate and flow through my fingers,

like cold water in a flowing stream. He had far more power


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than I could have anticipated.


your mind to mine.

I looked down at Red's face. If he knew what was

happening to him, he didn't show it. For a moment, I felt

guilty. He was a kindly old bluesman who had taught me for

free and even left me all of his worldly possessions. Now I

was reaching inside of him to take that most precious of

prizes: the soul of music.


your mind to mine.

I steeled myself against such thoughts. He was an old man

who was about to die anyway. Why shouldn't I take his skills?

He didn't need to play guitar where he was going and it was

only such a small piece of his soul. If anything, the drain

might let him die more quickly. It's probably a blessing that

I am here to ease him into the afterlife.


your mind to mine.

"Red" I said to him between chants.

He looked up at me with vacant eyes.

"I want you to know that my heart is open to the music."

Red's mouth twitched to a smile. His eyes came alive. I


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felt something stir inside him. "Good."

I looked upon his smiling face and my mind exploded. I

fell backward into unformed whiteness.

I woke up flat on my back. Every time I made a transfer,

I felt this way. The senses were always off, and perspective

was often skewed. Taking a piece of a man's soul is no easy

thing, and integrating it into your own is bound to leave

anyone a bit out of sorts.

I couldn't remember exactly where I was at first. My

peripheral vision was still hazy, and my thoughts were still

scrambled, but after a few minutes I remember where I was and

how I got there. I was lucky, sometimes it took hours to get

to that point.

The room filled with the cool breeze of blues guitar and

I smiled.

The soul guides the hands. You are right about that, Red.

I didn't remember picking up the guitar and couldn't even

feel my hands, but I could see them. They flitted across those

beautiful strings. This is what it had all been for. Getting

the house and the money had been a nice little bonus, but to

get my hands on that gorgeous black Stratocaster, with the

soul to play it, that was my payoff.

I smiled to myself, reveling in the sight of my own hands


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on that magnificent guitar and the heavenly sounds that it

made.

As the fog in my mind began to fade away, I realized that

something was wrong. Those were my hands, but...

My vision became clearer and I realized that I was not

looking down at my hands playing the guitar, but staring at

them from across the room.

"Whaa the...?" I choked out.

"How are ya feelin?" I heard. It was my voice, but I

hadn't said it. It came from the man holding the Stratocaster.

He looked like the man I saw in the mirror every morning.

I tried to scream. It came out as a growl.

"Oh now, don't go strainin yourself." Red said with my

voice. "Just take it easy. I took enough of those pain pills

to kill a horse. No use fightin it."

He pulled a folded note from his pocket and held it out

for me to read.

Will, I can't go on like this. I'm in too much

pain. I'm sorry. Thank you for everything.

-Red Buxton

He chuckled to himself. "Written by my own hand. Pretty

nice plan, eh?"


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I tried again to scream. This time it was barely a

gargle.

"Now, I really want to thank you, Will. You are truly a

lifesaver. Twenty damn years I'd been trying to find a decent

student, every one of them failed me. I'm tellin you boy, this

is the closest I've ever cut it. Nine hundred years, and it

almost washed down the drain."

My head was swimming by then. It was a struggle to keep

my eyes open.

"There you go old man, just relax" He began to play

again. "By the way, your friend Brian is an idiot. He sent you

in here to rob me, but he didn't do his homework. Piss-ant

little soul stealers shouldn't play around with true bonafide

warlocks. It don't usually work out too well for them. If it

makes you feel any better, I'm gonna go pay him a visit. That

old boy just cost you your life, and it don't seem fair. So

don't you worry, now that I'm young and spry again, I've got

all sorts of powers back that I'm just itching to try out

again."

The tempo of the music slowed. It was a sad tune.

The world grew dim and my eyes began to slip shut.

"It's gonna take some getting used to, playing with these

stumpy little fingers of yours." Red stared down at my stolen

hands. "But I've got to hand it to you, you've got soul."


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--

michael ingram's "dark stratocaster": rough & final drafts

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