The Cursed Song (a ghost story) ~ pt 3

by electricmask

In the spirit of October, every Monday this month will see a new section of Erik Virtanen’s four part short story “The Cursed Song”

Art Imitates Death

It’s a sad song.

There’s this guy and he has this sweet young thing named Mary. Them two meet when they’re kids and grow up and fall in love and all that. And they’re happy. Ya know? Like they never worry ‘bout a thing ‘cause they got each other.

But Mary dies, and this guy’s sick from it. Dead himself. The only girl he loved – only girl he could love - she’s gone.

So at the end of the song – I’m terrible at explainin’ things and tellin’ stories like this, I apologize – at the end of the song, this guy, after years of sadness, decides to put on his boots and head for the dancin’ hall. That’s how it ends.

I guess you’re s’possed to imagine what comes next, given the title. I imagine this sad guy doing his best to go on with his life, maybe meetin’ a new woman, but nothin’s ever the same as it used to be. Nothin’s ever as good as those years with Mary. But he’s just got to accept that. He’s gotta get out and dance with some new woman even though he can’t get Mary out of his heart. I picture a fake smile on his face, dancin’. And maybe he makes some joke that used to make Mary laugh, and this new girl laughs at the joke, and it just kills him.

Well, the song is cursed. Yep. I ain’t pullin’ nothin’ on ya. I saw first hand. Few men have ever heard “Mary May Be Dead” ‘cause there ain’t many cowboys brave enough to sing it.

Buddy sang it. Sang that heartbreakin’ song on a Tuesday night in our filthy dive, and he ain’t been the same since.

Ya see, this song ain’t fake. The story, I mean. It’s all real.

Mary wrote it. She wrote it before she died.

And she used to sing it back in the day. She sang the ballad a few times in dives like this, but her husband couldn’t bear to listen and he asked her to stop playin’ it. So she stopped. Mary quit singin’ about her own death.

But the song, I guess you could say, came true. Mary was buried before her husband. That sweet young thing. And maybe her husband grieved for years, then finally went out to try livin’ his life again like the song says. I dunno. I don’t even know who that guy was. But Mary’s song was put in a box in an attic and those words and chords were silent for a time.

Mary May Be Dead, But You and I Are Dancin’.

Some kid found the song in the attic. Maybe Mary’s great-grandson or somethin’. He was learnin’ guitar – prob’ly using Mary’s guitar too. I dunno. I’m speculatin’. Well, the kid took that music sheet and starting strummin’ and singin’ Mary’s song. And when it was all over, he played it again. And again. He tried playing somethin’ different, but only Mary’s song satisfied him. Satisfied him in a painful way.

That kid’s guitar teacher got hold of it. Same thing happened. Every other song became empty. Only Mary’s song touched his soul. And he cried when he played it. Every time. This sad song. Finally the teacher was forced to lay his guitar to rest. Stop playin’ music cause he didn’t want to shed another tear.

Word spread and Mary’s song became legend ‘round music folk. The song that killed all other songs. The song that, through its beauty, ruined your life. A few brave souls got hold of the music and when those words and notes were played those men and women were cursed with a desire to play only Mary’s song.

Her sad song over and over.

(Stay tuned for our fourth and final installment. But a forewarning, Reader: upon finishing the story, you will be cursed by a terrifying truth. About everything you are.)