The Phantom Sonata Chapter 1

My piano practice was getting me evicted from every apartment complex in the city, so I did something drastic. I bought a "Ghost Condo."

It’s a dirt-cheap unit in a high-end building on the outskirts of town where wealthy families stash their ancestors' ashes to avoid buying expensive cemetery plots.

The whole building is dead silent. Literally. I’m the only living resident. I can bang on the keys however I want.

One night, I was deep in the zone, shredding through a piece, when a roar exploded from the empty air behind me:

"You suck! The fourth measure is wrong, wrong, WRONG!"

I froze, the hair on my arms standing up.

"Uh... Care to demonstrate, Master Ghost?"

* * *

I practice twelve hours a day. No landlord could tolerate me.

Then a realtor told me about "The Spire." It’s a high-rise out in the sticks. Rent was pennies, amenities were top-tier, and the neighbors? They were all in urns.

At first, I thought "no living neighbors" was a sales pitch. But when I moved in, the silence was heavy. The garage was empty. The hallways echoed.

The security guard looked at me like I was an alien. Even DoorDash drivers refused to deliver to the lobby.

I asked the guard, "Hey, I thought these units were sold out. Why haven't I seen a single soul?"

The guard blew a smoke ring, looking bored. "They're all full."

"You're joking. I haven't seen a ghost of a person."

"Ghosts don't cast shadows, kid."

I shivered. "Excuse me?"

"I'm not trying to scare you," he said. "But the owners bought these units to store cremated remains. It's cheaper than a mausoleum plot. You and I? We're the only things with a pulse in here."

Ghost Condos.

I thought about it for a second and grinned.

Perfect. No noise complaints. I could play until my fingers bled.

"If you get scared, call the front desk," the guard muttered, thinking I was crazy.