Devil's Violin

Short story about the devil and the influence of his violin. The story is inspired by an old Norwegian folklore called "Fanitullen" which also is a musical piece.

Devil's Violin

He raised up from the sea. In his hand, he held a violin and a bow. It was early morning before the sun had risen and spread its flowery flames through the water. The young man did not wear any clothes, and as he walked down the beach along the border of the beach where the waves ended and started both at once, he raised his instrument and let out a sorrowful tune. It was such a tune, that if someone were to hear it, they would stop and wonder for the sound was like the first love that was never forgotten, like a sun unable to shine, and it was like the beginning of all things wonderful that must come to an end. The sounds of his music interwoven with the sound of the waves hitting the rocks and the sand making it sound like it came from the ocean itself. Like mermaids lifting their heads and singing of despair, for man is a cruel beast to all that is unnatural to him. The man kept walking and played his tune until he reached the end of the beach where the sea hit the foot of a mountain. As he looked up, he could see the outline of a figure looking back at him from a shelf on the giant rock. He smiled to himself and sat down on the sandy ground with his back to the stone. The violin resumed its former place against his cheek and he started a new tune. This one was equally alive as the previous one, yet somehow different. Where the previous one spoke of want and yearning, this one spoke of young hearts entwined and wonderful days of spring. The tune seemed to blend in with the wind, it seemed to coax the flowers out in bloom and seduce the first rays of the sun over the land. As the tune finished, he looked up and saw a blonde haired young woman with blue eyes staring intently at him with curiosity colouring her features. The dame was not particularly pretty, she was in fact, quite ordinary. 

"Oh, I would very much love to be able to play such wonders. Would you teach me?" She asked the man. Not quite noticing his nakedness. He shook his head before replying: "It is not an art that is mine to teach, nor can I take the credit for what she makes me play. For it is the violin, not I who is the master". The maiden shook her head and looked upon him with pleading eyes. "Oh, but I must try it then, for it is so beautiful and I should very much like to, just once". "I will give it to you, for a price" he said, the sun now fully risen, reflecting red in his eyes. "Oh, please, I will do anything for the violin". He looked at her for a long time. "Give me a lock of your hair and promise yourself to me by that. In three years I will come back to marry you". The young woman, barely 17, thought this sounded a bit old-fashioned, but nodded after some thought. She very much wanted the lovely instrument for herself and so cut off a lock of her hair and swore to marry the stranger after 3 years had passed. She took the violin home and brought the bow to the strings the minute she closed the door to her room. The sounds that came out did not seem to be in harmony with the world. It was as if she was speaking the language of the ravens with screeches and hoots, and it felt like she was bringing about the end of the world, with only the strokes of the bow. She put the violin and the bow down, terrified and hid it in a shelf. 

A few days passed before she picked up the instrument again, with the same result. This repeated itself several times for a few weeks and she began to speculate if maybe she had been tricked by the man on the beach. She went to her mother and asked her if she could take lessons on the instrument. Her mother raised her eyebrows wondering why her daughter showed cultural interest all of a sudden, when there had been none before. She tried to coax an explanation, but did not get one and proceeded to say that she could try a few sessions with a teacher before committing to a long-term study plan. The daughter whose name, by the way, was Anna agreed to this and in a few day's time, she found herself standing in a grand hall of the local cultural school.

 

The teacher was of old, strict discipline and kept her hair in a tight grey bun at the back of her head. It soon became clear that the violin would not play wondrous tunes for Anna. The teacher put the violin to her chin and produced a series of notes that sounded like a choir of miserable cleaning ladies. Yet, it did not sound horrifying as it did when Anna played it. The teacher handed her one of the teaching instruments and the student was able to falteringly master the scales put out before her. After a year, she could play the violin rather well, but the instrument that was traded for her hand remained in a drawer, collecting dust. One day, as she was cleaning, she opened the drawer and found the violin lying there like a temptress. She remembered the night she had been given it, and the soft beautiful tunes that were played. Then she remembered the croaking sounds she had made with it and quickly closed the drawer. How could something so pretty, make such an ugly sound? Time went, and when it had gone two years since she started the violin lessons, her teacher died. She did not find it a great sorrow, as the strict old tutor was replaced by a handsome man in his late twenties. How he looked like, I could not tell you, for Anna was never able to describe him in later years, but she was sure he was handsome. The new teacher took her playing to a whole new level and she learned to play with her heart.  After one particularly successful session, he asked her out for dinner, which she accepted. All thoughts of a promise to a stranger forgotten, or buried deep inside her consciousness. Over dinner they discussed their common passion for music. And she got her first offer to play at a minor concert for elderly in the local town. One concert became several, and without knowing how it had happened as the student became the master, she was in love. 

She had forgotten all about the promise made almost three years ago, until one day, he was outside her door knocking with a seashell in his hand. Her eyes turned round upon seeing him again as the memory hit her like a Landrover. He handed her the seashell and smiled a mischievous smile before entering the house without permission. Inside the shell was a pearl ring. She began to realise what was happening, and stormed after the obscene intruder. He was standing in the living room holding a photograph. A photograph of herself and her mentor. The stranger looked at her with ice in his eyes. "Is this the man you love?" She cast her eyes down and gave a curt nod. "Do you not remember the promise you made three years ago on this very date?" She looked up at him again and opened her mouth to speak, but before she could do so he interrupted her again. "I cannot make your choice for you, but if you do not come with me now, you will have to give me something of equal value. A promise was made." Anna stood with a gaping mouth, and did not quite not know what to say. "But, I...I don't have anything that..." "Bear me a child". She looked at him as if to check if he was serious. "Bear me a child, tell him it is his, or someone else's, I don't care, raise him and I shall not interfere until the child is 15. I will, of course send you a sum of money to provide for it". As he left, she tried to give the ring back. "Keep it. The child will want to have something from his real father". 

Anna's life for the next few months became a nightmare. She tried to get rid of the infant that she knew was inside of her. She tried herbs, ointments, physical damage, pills...whatever was there to try, she tried. The child was just too stubborn and would not go. When she could no longer hold it a secret, she went to the doctor for confirmation and went home to tell John, which was the name of her mentor. 

Time went, and the inevitable night of birth passed without complications. They decided to name him Cedric. However, it did not take long for the parents to figure out that something was strange about the boy. He would often sit for long hours staring at the ocean without moving a muscle. Other times, he would walk around talking to the walls as if there was someone there. 

One day in May, the boy who was then turned 8 wandered around in the house and stumbled upon a locked drawer which he had not seen before. Of course, as it is with little boys meeting obstacles, he found a way around it by simply finding the key, which was foolishly enough placed two feet away from the desk. He opened the drawer after twisting the key, and to his excitement found the violin his mother had traded him for. He had strictly been told by his parents not to touch their instruments, for they were sacred. "But...", he thought; "this one I have never been told not to touch", so he lifted up the violin to examine it. And found a bow was also there. Although both the curvy violin and the bow were dusty they were in a miraculously good shape. Although both his parents could play, he had not been given any lessons of the art, but he had seen his parents play. He found a curtain and brushed the dust off the violin and the bow before mimicking his parents when they played. As the bow met the strings, he released tune after tune, a melody that was of the fairy world. It was the fire on a log, the dew in the grass on a spring morning and all that came from the violin were like the very soul of the boy. Cedric knew he had found a treasure and did not put it back in the drawer, but brought it with him to hide it some place safe. 

As the days went by he continued to play the violin in the afternoon hours when neither parent was at home, and he was no longer at school. He discovered that seemed to play exactly what he was thinking and he came to care for the piece of wood. One afternoon as he was playing, his mother returned early and heard the sound from the violin. Cedric, being in his own little world of notes and sound did not hear her approaching. Anna stopped and listened in wonder at the tunes her son played from the violin. After standing and listening for a few minutes, she decided to silently retreat before Cedric noticed her. Her mind was in a turmoil. How was it that her son could play so well? She had heard of naturals, but this reminded her too much of...She came to a halt and all of a sudden noticed that someone was staring at her. "What are you doing here? You promised not to interfere until the boy was 15", her nostrils flared angrily as she spoke. "I am not - " he simply replied "- interfering by simply being here".  "Then why is he playing like that" she pointed in Cedric's direction where they could still hear the tunes playing. The man made a gesture with his arms, flinging them out to the side "the boy's got talent, like his father - be happy about that" he grinned at her. Anna felt all the fight in her disappear. He turned around to leave. "Wait", he stopped for a moment and looked back at her over his shoulder. "I never got your name...?" He gave her a half crooked smile and flung a name she could barely hear as he continued walking. "Eric". 

Anna caught John staring at a family photo taken a few months earlier. How she had been able to convince him that the child was his was beyond her. Where both she and John were blonde, blue-eyed, Cedric was black haired and grey-eyed like the very storm at the ocean. His skin was tanned where theirs were fair like a light summer breeze. She silently turned around and hugged her son telling him she loved him before kissing his forehead. After she had done so, she turned to walk towards her husband whispering that no matter what happened, she would always hold him dear and asked him not to hate her. 

The shape and body of Anna lay quiet and white as snow amongst the sheets. It looked like sleep had claimed her, and in a way it had. John felt the tears prickle behind his eyelids as he looked at the scene in front of him. He knelt in front of the bed, claiming her now cold hand. A small hand clasped his shaking shoulder. "It's OK, daddy, mommy's feeling better now." He looked at the boy who was his in everything but blood and pulled him closer. 

With Anna gone, John quickly dedicated his entire life to music. To his joy, he also noticed that his son could play and started tutoring him with wonder as the pieces he played were familiar, but the tune so different from anything else and it did not take long before his talent was noticed. 

The years went by and before he knew it, the boy had turned fifteen. He stood staring at the scenery in front of him from a hotel porch. The city was lit up by lights like a lit Christmas tree. He missed the nature by the sea. He hadn't seen that since his mother passed away as John did not want to go back. Cedric grabbed the railing and swung himself over it, wanting to escape for a little while, grabbing what ivy he could find on his way down to the ground to make the fall beareable. He started walking without any real aim around the city. Tall, brutalist buildings had become a familiar sight to him for the past few years. He looked at the people around him. Everything from beggars with trolleys to rich men in coats with cigars surrounded him. A cougar of a woman, fox pelt draping her shoulders and an impeccable red mouth started swinging her hips as she approached him. He felt his lips curve in a half-grin half-sneer. He could never make up his mind whether it was revolting or entertaining the way these elderly women flocked around younger men like vultures. "Hi honey, ever felt adventurous?" the woman showed off a pearly white smile, faker than the fur she was wearing. "Not that adventurous", he replied before continuing his trek around the city.

Cedric felt a prickling sensation in his neck, but when he turned around he could not notice anything unusual. He kept walking through the streets listening to the echo of his footsteps bouncing off the stone walls of the buildings as one set of shoes became two. He put his hands in his pockets and kept walking in silence with the stranger beside him. They did not need to speak in the quiet of the night. Cedric came to a halt and turned to face the stranger. Like a mirror was placed in front of him, he saw the truth for what it was. "Do you want your violin back?" he asked the other. Eric smiled before he replied; "You keep it- it does more justice by your hand". "How's mother?" "She's...doing well, considering the circumstances." Cedric nodded. Whenever the reviewers would write about him 'playing like a devil' in the future, he would laugh at the irony of it. 

That very night, he held his fiercest concert. As the last notes died away and gave room for the applause, the audience rose for a standing praise of the young musician. Nobody heard the shot in the midst of all the noise. It was so precise that he collapsed and quickly drew his last mortal breath with half a smile, and half a sneer upon his lips. 

It is said, that to this day if you go out in the early morning, before the sun paints the sea with its licks, you can still hear the echo of the devil's violin. 

Author's Note

Please point out any grammatical/spelling errors.

Note: "Old Eric" is a Norwegian name for the Devil, very much like "Lucifer".
A bit unsure what to classify this one as, so I went for Fantasy. I don't mind suggestions here either.

Reviews

[Kurt Schweitzer]

I like this story. It has a very "Fairy Tale" feeling to it. Some of the grammar and word choice tells me that English is not your first language, so I suggest you find someone to help you edit it. The story could also use some work starting with Anna's death. After that point the scene transitions are more abrupt than I like, but overall it's a good story. Keep it up!

[E.R. Jonas]

Thank you. No, English is not my first language. And I absolutely agree with you that after Anna's death I kind of rushed through the rest of the story to finish it off. And I would guess that by some of the choice of wording, you're referring to (amongst other) the sentence with "and he came to care for the piece of wood" - I must point out that I do know what other meanings this has in the English language and chose to discard it.

I appreciate your constructive feedback, and I will try and have someone look at it, and I will also see if I can have the time to get a bit of a better flow after Anna's death :)

[RobbieT]

I really enjoyed the story, but I really can't offer you anymore advice than what Kurt said.