Twisted Roads – Twisted Horror Stories by Matthew Tonks

The Chord Once Played, Now Again

He bites tightly down on the plastic plectrum, winks at the girls in the front row, and rests the banjo on his knee. He lets out a breath, removes his fedora, and places it on the table to his left. A smile wriggles across his lips as he leans towards the microphone, almost touching it.

“I said a very long time ago, if I ever got up on stage again, if I ever picked this little fella back up,” he says, patting the banjo. “I said I’d be doing it for something more than a paycheck. So, here’s hoping whatever little doozy this turns into, turns a little doozy into me!” He grins wryly as he gently starts strumming.

“Fifteen years, twenty-two weeks, three days, thirteen hours, forty minutes, and a handful of seconds,” he sings softly, strumming a melodic tune—one that has no recall, yet recalls every good song any of them have ever heard.

“That’s the time between when I last played this song and today.” He hums along, the room swaying to the rhythm of the tune. A fog descends—not literal, but figurative. They all move in unison, gyrating back and forth, to and fro. He glances around the room and smiles as his fingers coax the notes from the banjo.

“I look around tonight, and I can’t help but smile when I look into all your happy little faces. I can’t help feeling love and to feel loved. It’s nice to know you haven’t forgotten me,” he says softly, his voice carrying a gentle rasp, layers of emotion pouring from his tongue. “Thank you for not forgetting. I was nervous to come here tonight, thinking you might.” He looks skyward, his body swaying, a soft smile curling his lips.

“Do you recall? Do you remember?” he calls out, as his strumming turns sharp and fierce.

“We remember,” they cry.

His grin widens. “I didn’t hear you! I couldn’t, because you were quieter than a mouse!” he sings, striking the banjo with an ear-splitting chord. “I ASKED IF YOU REMEMBERED!”

“WE REMEMBER!” they scream back, the sound shaking the room.

“GOOD! GOOD!” he snarls as the grin grows wider, and his eyes fiercer. “AND DO YOU REMEMBER WHAT I SAID? DO YOU REMEMBER WHAT I ASKED YOU TO DO?”

“WE REMEMBER!” they bellow.

With sudden ferocity, he stands, tearing faster, more savage notes from the banjo, his body vibrating with the force.

“THEN DANCE!” he cries, leaping from the stage as his feet begin a wild, frenetic rhythm. “DANCE WITH ME ONE LAST TIME!”

The crowd begins to move in sync with him, their bodies mimicking his wild, frenzied motions. Fear glimmers in their eyes, betraying the broad grins stretched across their faces. His smile sharpens as he stomps harder, his movements growing more manic.

“THAT’S IT! THAT’S IT!” he cries gleefully, saliva dripping from his trembling lips. “FEEL THE MUSIC! LET YOURSELF DANCE! LET YOURSELF BE FREE!”

He cackles, pounding the banjo’s strings with a ferocity that makes the music weave and twist through the crowd’s ears like a splinter in their minds. He jumps back onto the stage, strutting back and forth, the crowd following his lead.

Suddenly, his grin falls, replaced by a snarl. The melody shifts—darker, more mournful. His lips tremble. “They didn’t remember you!” he spits, his voice breaking. “YOU DIDN’T REMEMBER HER!”

He strikes the banjo again and again, each note jagged and brutal. The room shakes. Smoke rises as the floor splits, revealing fiery pits below. The music wails on, and the crowd doesn’t stop—because they can’t. He won’t let them.

“She was mine! My child! My blood!” he bellows, tears streaming down his face. “SHE WAS MINE, AND YOU TOOK HER! YOU WATCHED! YOU LAUGHED! YOU LET HER BURN!”

His voice breaks into a guttural cry as he holds the banjo aloft, strumming wildly. One by one, the crowd begins to leap into the fire, their faces twisting into expressions of terror. His smile rots in his mouth, the flesh peeling from his cheeks, his true face—gaunt and shadowed—emerging beneath.

As the last soul plunges into the flames, he sees her. Across the room, his daughter stands, her small face lit by the glow of the fire. She smiles, and he smiles back, tears streaking his filthy cheeks.

“Come, Daddy,” she whispers, barely audible over the fading music.

He smiles, a laugh escaping his cracked lips, and leaps into the pit after them. The room falls silent, empty once more.