Chapter 4

The Final Note

The following year passed in a blur. Zara, Jake, Ellie, and Sam became obsessed with the task set before them, digging through every record they could find on Edward Hargrove and his daughter Lydia. The story of the grieving father and his unfinished song haunted their days, and the memory of his ghostly plea filled their nights.

They learned that Lydia had been a gifted musician herself, and Edward had written the Farewell Melody to honor her memory after she fell ill. However, rumors claimed she had died suddenly, just days before Halloween. The circumstances around her death were suspicious, but there was nothing concrete.

As Halloween night approached, they still hadn’t found the missing part of the melody. Every book, every sheet of music, every newspaper article had been a dead end. But the friends refused to give up. On Halloween evening, they gathered in Jake’s garage, surrounded by stacks of sheet music and old newspaper clippings.

“I don’t understand,” Zara said, her voice tinged with frustration. “We’ve searched everywhere, but we still don’t have the missing notes.”

Sam paced, his voice laced with nervousness. “Maybe we’ve done all we can. It’s been a year, and we’ve found nothing. If we don’t finish the melody, do you think he’ll…” He trailed off, his face pale.

Ellie shook her head, determined. “No. We’re not giving up now. If he wants us to play the song, then we’ll play the parts we do have and hope it’s enough.”

They exchanged hesitant glances, and finally agreed. They took their positions, each one holding an instrument they barely knew how to play. Zara had a violin, Jake a flute, Sam a small drum, and Ellie a guitar. They weren’t musicians, but they were willing to try. For Edward. For Lydia.

As Zara drew the bow across the strings, the eerie melody filled the air, as haunting and beautiful as they remembered. Ellie strummed softly, while Jake played the flute’s hollow notes. Sam’s drum beat was slow, rhythmic, matching the cadence of Edward’s original melody. The music was raw, imperfect, yet it felt like a tribute.

Then, just as they were finishing, a cold gust of wind blew through the garage, extinguishing their candles. The temperature dropped, and the room filled with an unnatural chill. They felt a presence—no, two presences—watching them.

A familiar figure began to form in the shadows: Edward Hargrove, his violin resting in his hands. But this time, he wasn’t alone. Beside him stood the faint, fragile outline of a young girl, her face pale and sad. Lydia.

“Lydia…” Zara whispered, her voice filled with wonder.

Edward looked down at his daughter with profound sorrow, then turned his gaze to the group. They could feel his gratitude, his silent plea for them to continue. Zara took a deep breath and raised her bow again, ready to finish the melody. But then, something unexpected happened.

Lydia stepped forward, her ghostly fingers resting on her father’s arm. Her face was calm, but her eyes held a strange glint. She shook her head, looking directly at Zara.

“No,” Lydia whispered, her voice barely audible. “He doesn’t deserve peace.”

The friends froze, a chill running down their spines. Edward’s face contorted in horror as he looked at his daughter. It was as if he understood what she was about to reveal, and he looked at the group with an expression that seemed almost pleading, as if begging them not to listen.

But Lydia’s gaze was intense, filled with a quiet fury that had smoldered for over a century. She turned her sad eyes on them, her voice laced with bitterness.

“Everyone thought I died of an illness,” she said softly, her voice filled with sorrow and accusation. “But that’s not true. He killed me. He poisoned me.”

Zara’s heart stopped, her hand dropping from the violin. She glanced at her friends, each of them frozen in shock.

“What?” Jake whispered, his voice barely a breath.

Edward’s ghost stepped back, his expression wracked with guilt and anguish. He tried to reach for Lydia, but she recoiled, her eyes filled with loathing.

“He wanted me to stay in Meadowbrook, to be his precious little protégée,” she continued, her voice growing stronger. “But I wanted to leave, to escape his control. So he silenced me, then played his ‘Farewell Melody’ for the town, pretending to grieve. And every year since, he has haunted Meadowbrook, forcing others to feel the sorrow he was too much of a coward to bear.”

Edward looked desperately at Zara, as if hoping for understanding, but she felt nothing but a cold fury.

“You’ve spent all these years,” she said, her voice shaking, “forcing people to mourn you, to help you find peace, when you’re the reason Lydia died?”

The ghost of Edward Hargrove looked broken, his once sorrowful expression twisted into something hollow and desperate. He dropped his violin, the instrument vanishing into wisps of mist as he knelt before Lydia, silently pleading for forgiveness.

Lydia’s face softened for a moment, but then she shook her head, turning her gaze back to Zara and her friends. Her eyes were fierce, filled with a strength that had grown over the years.

“Let him stay,” she whispered. “Let him linger in this place, forever mourning a life he stole.”

With that, Lydia turned away, her ghostly form beginning to fade. But as she disappeared, she looked at the group one last time, a faint smile on her lips.

“Thank you… for setting me free.”

And then she was gone, her spirit finally at rest.

Edward remained, his form growing fainter, his face twisted in sorrow as he realized his punishment. The fog around him thickened, swallowing him as he struggled to hold on, his ghostly figure vanishing inch by inch, until only the echo of his unplayed melody remained.

As the silence settled over the room, the friends exchanged haunted glances, each of them grasping the terrible truth of Edward’s curse. He hadn’t been searching for peace; he’d been trying to escape his guilt. And now, he was bound to Meadowbrook, forever paying the price for the life he’d taken.

The friends stood together in the darkness, knowing they’d freed a spirit that truly deserved it, but had also condemned another to an eternity of regret.

And as they left the garage that night, none of them heard the faint, mournful notes of a violin, echoing softly through the streets of Meadowbrook, forever unfinished.

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