Satan's Symphony

Fiction By Kassady // 6/1/2013

The smell of cigarette smoke fills the air, hanging in thick white clouds, reflecting the bright moon above. The smoke curls and swirls in the air, rising and falling like the mist above a lake. The eerie smoke isn’t the only thing that fills the streets, and hangs in the air; the sound of music echoes around the empty alleyway, and occupies every crevice of every crooked, abandoned building.
The music hums and moans, but does not come from above, in any empty shop, or darkened third floor suite, but from below; below the cobblestone street, as if coming from the fiery pits of hell.
Rumbling mournfully, the Base reverberates and bounces off the decaying walls, making the cobblestones vibrate and hum.
Drums beat in a soft low and melancholy tone, thump thump... thump... thump...
The cymbals tingle duly, just comprehensible through the layer of stone and earth.
Bummmm... Bummm..... mmm.... Bummm.... Bummm...mmmm... Hums the base and then stops.
All is silent.
A horn blares out in a screech, screaming in protest at the silence which has fallen over. The eerie sound of the horn in it’s high note echoes around above ground.
As if on cue, all the instruments jump into life.
Rumbling, thudding, crashing, singing.
The base thrums lively, Bum, bum, bum... bum, bum, bum, bum.
The trumpets and horns lead, wailing and blaring wildly.
A violin sings and screams, mixing with the other instruments, barely recognizable.
The saxophone’s call, rings out above the rest, rising and sinking with the trumpets.
A strumbola strums in harmony with the guitar, quick and energetic.
The drums beat irregularly, cymbals crashing.
All play together, harmonizing, yet wild and free. The sound crashes like lightening, booming like thunder, flooding the streets with a cacophony like rain flooding a river. The cobblestones don’t just hum, they pound and beat, they bounce with energy.
Click... Click... Click... The discordant sound, of the Officer’s metal soled shoes, is just audible above the music. Methodic and off-tempo, against the rhythm from below.
The tall, straight-backed man prowls up and down, stepping into the darkened rooms of the ghostly buildings, inspecting every corner and every floor.
Lifting dusty mats off the floors. Tapping walls.
The officer determinedly searches; searching for the hidden doorway. He growls and strolls with stiff step, fighting against the desire to hum along.
“(1)Sortez, sortez de jouer diable,” sings out the officer, his balladic tone running against the tune from below. “(2)J'entends ta mélodie malade, entourant mon cœur. Vous ne me ferez pas avoir, vous ne me ferez pas avoir, je marche avec Dieu, je marche avec le Seigneur. Sortez, sortez de jouer diable, au nom du Seigneur, au nom de Dieu.”


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