She was a perfectionist at heart: Eliza practiced the piano every single day, without allowing herself any excuse.
It was not only her livelihood but also her passion.
Ever since she was a young kid, she had spent hours at end playing the piano until her fingers hurt, but she never let other distractions keep her from her favorite instrument.
Now, an adult and living on her own, she could practice to her heart's desire without anyone being annoyed by her constantly playing the same piece over and over again.
For a whole week now, however, she had been unable to practice at home.
Eliza had moved into a new house downtown, and due to an incompetent moving company, her piano was taking longer to arrive than it should have.
But now, finally, she could enjoy playing her favorite pieces in her own living room, and not just at work.
The house she had purchased was old and stunningly beautiful, with a colonial-style she had adored ever since she was a small girl.
Who knew how many families had inhabited it before she managed to buy it for herself?
For hours, she sat down at the piano and played, closing her eyes and letting the music flow through the empty corridors, until she was ready to finally take a break.
That was when she heard it: Someone clapping.
The sound was loud and unmistakable, coming right from behind her. When she turned around, though, no one was standing there.
She gulped and looked back at her piano: The keyboard lid had been closed, while she had her back turned to it.
She was all alone in her new house, and now she was terrified of playing the piano again.