🌙 Chapter Eight: Broken Music
That night, the four friends crept back toward the Carillon, flashlights bobbing in the darkness.
Kyle whispered, “My dad’s at the State Capitol all week—he’s trying to convince the state to fund the tower repairs. If we could prove the auto-player is broken, maybe he’ll get the money faster.”
Rita nodded. “Let’s find the player mechanism. We’ll take pictures and show them to your dad.”
Inside the tower, the air smelled like dust and old stories. The winding staircase groaned under their feet as they climbed. At the top, the bell chamber loomed—silent and eerie.
Lane shivered. “I don’t like it up here.”
Georgia swung her flashlight around. It landed on a strange contraption: a rusted, gear-filled box mounted to the wall, its wires snaking across the floor. A faded label read:
AUTO-PLAY SYSTEM – DO NOT OPERATE MANUALLY
Kyle leaned in, inspecting the wires. “Looks like someone tried to fix it... and gave up.”
Rita ran her fingers over the dusty control panel. The buttons were cracked, the lights dead. She found a switch labeled ‘Start’ and pressed it.
Nothing.
Then...
BANG!
A loud metallic clunk echoed through the chamber. The kids jumped, hearts racing.
“It’s jammed!” Lane yelped, peering at a jammed gear.
“Or maybe...” Georgia’s voice trailed off as she pointed to a scrap of paper wedged in the gears. Rita carefully tugged it free.
It was old—yellowed, with faded ink.
A music sheet.
“Is this... one of Mr. Halloway’s songs?” Rita whispered.
Kyle’s face went pale. “My dad said Mr. Halloway was working on a new piece when he got sick. He never finished it.”
Georgia’s brow furrowed. “So... the auto-player’s broken, the song was never played, and now we’ve got a ghost who won’t leave until he hears it?”
Rita’s mind raced. “If we can fix the player or find another way to finish the song, maybe we can help Mr. Halloway rest... and save the tower before the Foundation cuts it off for good.”
Lane tapped Kyle’s shoulder. “What if your dad doesn’t get the funding in time?”
Kyle’s eyes darkened. “Then... the Carillon goes silent forever.”
The bells above them swayed slightly in the night breeze, and a soft, almost imperceptible chime floated down the staircase—just one single note, like the ghost of a song that wanted to be heard.
Rita folded the music sheet gently. “We’ll find a way,” she whispered. “We have to.”
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