歌词
Footsteps slowly creaked on every step of the stairs. The bedroom door handle turned slowly, followed by a soft, insistent scraping. Sarah, paralyzed by terror, watched the doorknob dance a maddening jig. The old house, silent for years, had never creaked like this.
The scraping stopped. A chilling silence descended, broken only by Sarah's ragged breaths. Then, a sound that sent shivers down her spine - the faint, melancholic strains of a violin. It played a haunting melody, one note wrong, repeated endlessly.
Sarah knew the melody. It was an unfinished symphony her grandfather, a renowned violinist, had been composing before his sudden, unexplained death in this very room. Tears welled in her eyes as the memory of his gentle, calloused hand guiding hers on the violin strings surfaced.
The scraping resumed, this time accompanied by a low, mournful whine. The doorknob turned again, then with a sickening thud, the entire door imploded inward. Moonlight streamed through the gaping hole, illuminating a figure shrouded in shadows. It held a violin, its strings glowing with an eerie luminescence.
The violin sang, a desperate plea in its discordant notes. Sarah understood. It wasn't a monster, it was her grandfather, his unfinished symphony a tether to the living world. But the melody, the one wrong note, it spoke of something incomplete, something unresolved. With a horrifying clarity, Sarah realized the unfinished symphony wasn't just music, it was a plea for help.
The figure lurched forward, its violin outstretched. Sarah screamed, but no sound came out. Her voice was lost in the haunting melody, the final note now deafening, as the figure and the violin vanished, leaving only the echoing silence and the chilling question: what remained unfinished?
