The Opera House – 4:03 AM
In the heart of the cold darkness, beneath a dim light that felt like a synthetic moon, the walls of the abandoned opera house trembled with the haunting sound of a piano playing by itself. It wasn't an ordinary tune. It was The Dance of Death—a piece that carried the very footsteps of death itself, slipping into the soul of any listener and planting a seed that felt eerily like the end.
Caleb, Anna, and Douglas entered the grand hall, each carrying a different question in their minds… but all three froze as their eyes locked on the body hanging center stage.
The corpse of a man dressed in an elegant black maestro's suit, head dangling, body suspended by violin strings from the ceiling. His fingers were severed, and the conductor's baton was pierced into his chest.
Douglas stepped forward slowly.
> "That's Maestro Julian Marsh. He was the conductor during the opera's golden years… vanished five years ago."
Anna whispered, her voice trembling with fear:
> "Is… is this the new scene?"
Caleb shook his head.
"No… it's the melody that was never played."
The piano still played on.
Caleb slowly approached, reaching out to stop it. But the moment his fingers touched the keys, the music ceased… replaced by a whisper.
The sound came from a puppet sitting atop the piano—dressed in a miniature maestro's outfit, with a face eerily similar to the corpse.
It whispered in a hollow voice:
> "The wrong rhythm… leads to death."
Caleb took a step back, as Anna leaned closer to examine the puppet.
Underneath, she found a folded sheet of paper with encrypted musical notes, and a handwritten message:
> "The final melody that was never performed before a live audience."
Douglas flipped open his notebook.
> "Crawford… used to come here in secret, according to old records. He was obsessed with the idea that music could bring back the dead."
Caleb smirked.
> "Was he trying to compose a resurrection symphony?"
Douglas responded grimly:
> "Or one for control… over anyone who hears it."
Strings of Truth – Backstage Room
In the storage room behind the curtains, they found a wooden box labeled:
> "For the final scene only."
Inside was an old recording device and a small music box. When Caleb wound it up, a familiar tune played… the same haunting piece from earlier.
But the true shock came when a voice emerged from the recording—Julian's voice:
> "If you've found this melody… it means I was deceived. I played the secret tune… a strange request from a man I never saw, only received written instructions. He wrote:
'The melody should make you feel like you're drowning… because it reorders your brain's rhythm.'
And then… I began seeing faces. The puppets started speaking… and the dead audience clapped for me every night… even when I was alone."
The recording ended. A faint applause followed.
Anna whispered:
> "The music isn't just background here… it's a murder weapon."
Caleb stared at the hanging corpse.
> "He wasn't killed because he was a maestro… but because he played a tune he was never meant to."
In one of the seats, they found another puppet… sitting in seat number 7. When Caleb leaned in, it rasped:
> "Each puppet represents one of us… we are the dead… and the soon-to-die."
Then it fell silent.
Douglas said:
> "Seven puppets so far… seven bodies… each victim turned into a character in a play that hasn't been written yet."
Caleb replied:
> "And the maestro… was just the one finishing the scene before the final act."
The three stood in the center of the empty stage, as the wind played its own symphony through the strings hanging from the ceiling.
Douglas murmured:
> "Do you think killers choose their victims? Or… do the victims walk onto the stage willingly?"
Caleb answered:
> "Maybe we're all just actors… in a play with an unknown writer. But someone always decides who the curtain falls on."
Anna, her expression subtly shifting, said:
> "I feel like we're all part of Crawford's play… whether we want to be or not."
As they stepped out of the opera house, they paused at the main doors. An envelope was pinned to the handle, labeled:
> "To the true director of the show…"
Inside, a note typed in red ink:
> "The next puppet will speak in the name of justice.
Will you protect it…
or let it sing alone until death?"
Anna looked up.
> "Who is the next puppet?"
Caleb answered, his eyes drifting back to the maestro puppet inside:
> "The one who hasn't spoken yet… will be forced to sing."