The Ghost Pianist's Encore

My neighbors hated my piano practice, so I bought a condo in a ghost complex.

I'm the only living person in the whole building – play whatever I want, as loud as I want!

One day, during an especially intense session, a voice boomed out, "For crying out loud, the fourth measure is wrong, wrong, WRONG!"

I was creeped out, but intrigued. "Hey, maestro, care to give a pointer?"

01

I practiced piano like it was my job – twelve hours a day. Everywhere I lived, people complained. The realtor told me about this place out in the suburbs; dirt-cheap rent, good management, and best of all, nobody living there to complain.

At first, I thought “nobody living there” was a joke. But when I moved in, it was disturbingly quiet. Empty parking garage, not a soul on the sidewalk. The security guard gave me the kind of look you'd give an alien. It wasn’t until delivery drivers refused to come here that I knew something was off.

I asked the guard, "I thought all the units were sold? Nobody moved in?"

He blew out a smoke ring, all chill. "Oh, they moved in. Every single one."

“You’re kidding, right? I haven’t seen a single person.”

The guard chuckled. "Well, ghosts don't cast shadows."

I jumped. "What do you mean?"

He said, “Not trying to scare you, but the owners bought these places for urns, not people. You and me are the only two live ones.”

A columbarium condo?

After a second of being freaked out, I was thrilled. No more noise complaints! I could play as loud as I wanted. The thought of all those urns having their quiet slumber to my music made me grin.

The guard must have thought I was nuts, ‘cause he rolled his eyes. “Suit yourself. But if you need anything, call the office.”

02

What could I need besides some serious practice time? I wanted to play in the orchestra at the Kennedy Center – had wanted that since I was a little kid. I worked my tail off for it, but my teacher always said, "Ava, you're good, but you're missing that spark."

That “spark” was impossible to define.

My teacher kept saying, “Listen to how Liam O’Connell played. It’s got fire, passion – like he’s putting his whole life into the music.”

Of course, I'd heard his stuff countless times. But he was Liam O’Connell – a once-in-a-generation prodigy, former lead at the Center, sold-out global tours. He was a legend.

Tragically, he crashed and burned young. He battled depression, and not long after leaving the stage, he jumped off a hotel rooftop. 26 years old.

The Kennedy Center had a hole in their heart now, so they were looking for new talent. The audition piece? O’Connell's signature song, “Overture of Dreams.”

Knowing I wouldn't get complaints, I cranked the stereo to max, listening to O’Connell and then pounding out the music, again and again. Time flew. It was dark, it was late. I was the only light in the whole complex. Only my window carried the sound of life.

I was lost in the music, then BAM – the voice bellowed, “That is so annoying! The fourth measure is wrong, wrong,...