Red Hot Jazz (standard:horror, 2401 words)
Author: Rene Amador	Added: Jan 30 2002	Views/Reads: 3619/2459	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A down on his luck musician buys a trumpet and gets more than he expected.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story


Johnny stopped for a second because that sales pitch sounded so strange.


"Sure.  Can I get a receipt?" 

"It's in the bag." 

Johnny took the bag and walked out of the pawnshop.  He immediately
started home.  The whole time he walked back home he felt that someone 
or something was following him, shadowing his every step.  Just to be 
on the safe side, he took the long way home, turning down some streets 
no sane person would.  He was also excited about the trumpet.  It was a 
bargain no matter how you sliced it. 

As soon as he walked into his apartment, Johnny took the trumpet out of
its case and carefully examined it.  There were no scratches, 
blemishes, marks or fading whatsoever.  The trumpet looked completely 
brand new.  The only thing that it was missing was a reed but that was 
no problem; Johnny had reeds to spare. 

He inserted the reed and began to test out the trumpet.  The sound
coming out of the bell was beautiful.  Normally with any instrument 
there were some imperfections that give it its own distinct sound, but 
there were no noticeable warblings or waverings of any kind; just a 
straight, perfect tone.  Johnny decided to let the other shoe drop and 
belt out a tune. 

He flourished over the notes as easily as anything else.  He noticed
that the valves were super responsive and didn't stick at all.  The 
trumpet felt natural in his hands, as if it were meant to be there all 
along.  Louder and louder the notes rang out.  All the while, Johnny 
felt that something was lurking nearby in the shadows.  With each note 
he played its presence intensified. 

As Johnny hit the last note, out of the corner of his eye he caught a
vague shape.  Something moved very quickly without making any noise at 
all.  As soon as he stopped the feeling and the shape vanished.  It 
must have been the wind or the fact that it was so late, Johnny 
thought.  He placed the trumpet in its case and turned in for the 
night. 

Johnny didn't get a chance to play the trumpet the next few days because
of his work schedule.  Pulling double shifts at the restaurant took a 
lot out of him.  Three days later, after work, his eyes rolled over the 
trumpet and he decided to take another stab at it.  Since the weather 
was so nice that evening, he opened the window and stood in front of it 
with the trumpet in hand.  The full moon shone over the city and cast 
its light on all. 

He pressed his lips to the mouthpiece and blew.  The notes sounded
sweeter and crisper than three days ago as he played some tune he heard 
earlier in the day.  Probably because of the night, Johnny was really 
feeling the music and pulled out all of the stops.  His lungs felt as 
if they were on fire with each breath he puffed into that trumpet.  
Again the feeling of being watched crept up on him, only this time he 
could see a more definite shape. 

It scared the hell out of him.  This little monster, or demon if you
will, sat in the corner of his apartment as he played on.  It at first 
sat and waited patiently, mesmerized by the trumpet as the notes rolled 
off.  Then it stood up and began to creep closer.  It edged closer and 
closer still with each note.  For just a moment, Johnny was not able to 
stop partly out of curiosity and partly out of loss of control. 

The demon's eyes were fixed entirely on Johnny.  As a habit, he moved
the trumpet back and forth when he played, sort of keeping in time with 
the music.  Johnny noticed the demon turned its head and followed the 
trumpet.  He turned to the left and stopped and the demon turned his 
head also.  Johnny turned to the right and the demon also turned right. 
 This time Johnny began to make a circle motion with the trumpet and 
sure enough the demon also moved, keeping its gaze on the bell of the 
trumpet, its eyes glassed over from the constant staring. 

Finally, Johnny couldn't take anymore and stopped.  Immediately the
demon vanished without a trace.  This was all too weird for Johnny to 
handle.  He picked up the trumpet and flew out of the apartment in the 
direction of the pawnshop. 

Quickly he entered the pawnshop and the old man sat patiently behind the
counter rapping his fingernails on the counter.  Johnny put the case 
down on the counter. 

"Alright.  You said that this trumpet has a history?  Why don't you tell
me about it right now?" 

"Sure," the old man started.  "I'll tell you all about it.  Pull up a
seat." 

Johnny slid a stool over to the counter and eagerly waited.  The old man
dragged on his pipe and blew out smoke.  It wafted toward Johnny and 
circled around his neck. 

"Have you ever been to New Orleans, Johnny?" 

"No, never been." 

"Well, this trumpet is from New Orleans.  You would like it down there,
Johnny.  The days and nights seem to leap off of picture postcards.  
The trumpet used to belong to the greatest trumpeter that ever lived.  
He went by the name of Sebastian Cobb.  Ol' Sab, as he like to be 
called, used to play every night in the French Quarter of town near the 
bay.  People used to come from miles around just to hear him play the 
sweetest jazz numbers you ever let your ears witness. 

"Back in those days, musicians were a more chivalrous type.  If one
heard of a musician better than him, he would challenge him.  Mind you, 
this wasn't the kind of ‘to the death' challenges; it was a 
performance challenge.  The battlefield was the tavern called ‘The 
Last Bar.'  The liquor used to run as free as tap water and it was 
there that the stage was set.  Well, Ol' Sab was a regular to these 
challenges.  I can't count how many times he had to defend his honour 
but he won every single time.  One time, however, was the closest shave 
of his life. 

"Like I was saying, almost every musician in town was chivalrous, except
for one, Lucious Daemon.  He was a legend in his own time as well.   
There were rumors going around that he had struck a bargain with 
Beelzebub himself to be a better musician.  Cocky in every way, he 
fought the toughest battles.  One day, he challenged Ol' Sab to a duel. 
The battlefield was ‘The Last Note.' 

"People from all parts flocked to the tavern to see the greatest battle
ever.  They were packed like sardines from wall to wall.  Finally, the 
appointed hour fell upon the house.  The two knights took the stage and 
it was the loudest and hottest set the Bayou ever saw.  It lasted for 
three days, all day and night.  The only time they stopped was to eat, 
once.  At the end, the audience, who was judge, jury and executioner 
rolled up into one, decided that it was a draw.  There was only one 
thing to do in a draw; ‘Last Man Standing.' 

"Each man blew one note on his trumpet.  Whoever stopped first from lack
of breath lost.  Both Lucious and Ol' Sab puckered and blew with all 
their might.  After two minutes, Lucious ran out of wind and Ol' Sab 
was declared the winner.  It was then that the true face of Lucious was 
revealed.  He was none other than the Devil himself.  The terms of 
defeat meant that the loser gave up his instrument to the victor.  He 
handed to Ol' Sab the trumpet he was playing. 

"The trumpet enhanced the playing of whoever owned it, but it carried a
curse along with it.  The trumpet also had the power to call forth 
demons.  Those that owned it had to be extremely careful.  That trumpet 
has changed hands many times over the years and now, it rests in your 
hands." 

"So that explains what I saw the other night.  Take it back.  I don't 
want this thing anymore." 

"Sorry son, but I told you twenty-four hours, no more than that.  You
are its owner now.  Let the buyer beware, you know." 

Johnny opened the case and held the trumpet in his hands.  He knew there
was only one thing that he could do at this point: play.  Immediately 
he started to blow into the trumpet and the sweet melody carried over 
the air outside the pawnshop. 

"What are you doing, you fool," screamed the old man. 

"I'm just playing, that's all," Johnny answered. 

In the corner of his eyes, Johnny could see the demon appearing, only
this time it was much larger.  Its teeth gleamed under the faint 
fluorescent lighting of the pawnshop.  He continued to play.  With each 
note, the demon edged closer, keeping its focus on the prey.  As the 
song continued the demon gnashed its teeth together.  The corners of 
its mouth began to turn up resulting in a horrific smile.  Finally 
Johnny hit the last bars of the melody and the demon chose that moment 
to strike. 

Quickly Johnny tossed the trumpet into the hands of the old man.  The
demon changed its trajectory and headed for the old man.  It had been 
lured solely by the trumpet and Johnny had figured it out just in time. 
 The old man caught the instrument and the demon leapt onto him, 
bearing its teeth.  On its decent the demon struck the fluorescent 
light above and landed on the old man.  The light began to pulsate on 
and off.  It tossed his head back and came down on his neck and bit 
fiercely, puncturing the flesh.  The flashes of light made it difficult 
for Johnny to see, but he assumed the worst each time the old man 
shrieked in terror.  It relished its new victim and ate greedily upon 
the old man's carcass. 

The demon turned its head toward Johnny and desired a new victim, but he
did not possess the required instrument.  A smile crept onto its mouth 
and it proudly showed off its stained teeth.  Its meal finished, the 
demon scampered away and dissolved into the shadows of the pawnshop 
without a trace.  Johnny stepped behind the counter, opened the 
register and took his money back.  He left the trumpet where it lay, on 
the floor in a pool of blood.  He took one last look at it and the 
blood of the old man began to seep into the trumpet's bell.  The light 
flickering above cast shadows all around.  The trumpet changed color so 
slightly as if it were blushing. 

Johnny stepped back and bumped into a cabinet.  He turned and ran out
the door.


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