Symphony No. 5 (Horror Story)

Jose slapped the manila folder down on my desk and I looked up. "Another Mass Suicide." He said, plopping down in the leather chair across from me. I raised my eyebrow. "Another one? That's the third in two weeks! Was it the same circumstances as last time?" I asked. Jose shoved the manila folder towards me. It slid across my desk. I pulled it open, and looking at the crime scene photos, I flinched. I'm a hardened detective and I flinched. About twenty young people lay dead in the middle of a high school auditorium. Jose sighed. I shut the folder trying to put the pictures out of my mind. But let me explain. Your probably very confused right now. My name is Amy, and I'm one of L.A.'s finest detectives. I'm on a case that involves mass suicides. Lately many kids have been killing them selves in groups, but all of them at dances. And I'm still missing a piece to the puzzle. "So, what do you think?" Jose asked. "Is it a copy cat suicide?" I shook my head. "No, It's not. They are not performed the same way. They're all a bit different. What is it that's making them do this?" I asked him. "It's got to be linked to the dances. What are the DJ's saying? What's the music that's playing?" Jose stood up. I looked at him. He was only 21 years old, same age as me. He could pass for 18. Then suddenly an idea popped into my head. "Jose, I've got it. We're going undercover!" I stood up slapping my fist on my desk. "Ow!" I winced with the pain. My desk is made of iron. Jose laughed. "Well, There actually is a dance tonight and the rumors that are going around are saying that the ‘thing' is there. Whatever that means. But this may have a link to our suicides, Amy. So I'll pick you up at eight?" I laughed. "Sure." I sat down, putting my feet up on my chair. That night Jose knocked on my door, and I in my skirt and top ran down the stairs from my apartment. We hopped into the unmarked police car, and drove to the dance. Arriving at the dance, I stepped out of the car and saw some couples of kids nervously walking into the door, and instead of a dance floor alive with young people, there were some very nervous kids dancing reluctantly, and the rest were talking nervously around the sides of the gym. After about twenty minutes of sitting there, the DJ came on the microphone. "Okay, now the song you all are just dying to hear" he laughed a cold laugh at this, "Symphony No. 5" Several of the kids got up and left the room. Jose leapt to his feet, and for some unknown reason, my stomach dropped to my toes. I gulped, and got out of the room as fast as I could. "God Jose! Did you feel that to?" Jose just nodded. The next day at work, I was sitting in my desk, looking over the suicide files, when Jose threw open the door to my office. Leaping over the chair, he threw another folder at me. it flew open, and there was a photo of about twenty dead kids in the auditorium we had been in last night. Jose looked up at me. " I think it's time we learned a little more about this Symphony No. 5" After searching all day on the Internet and local music stores I found a small little classical music store hidden in the back of an alley. I entered through the musty door, and tried not to cough from all the dust. I rubbed my eyes, walked up to the dingy little counter where a bell sat. I gingerly touched afraid it would fall to pieces if I did. Then a man cleared his throat, and I peered over the top of the counter, and looked down on an unbelievably short man. He climbed up on a stack of dictionaries, and I stepped on Jose's toe to keep him from laughing. "Norman's book shop, how may I help you? I'm Norman." he said in a low voice for such a short man. I kicked Jose in the shin to make him stop snickering. Still smiling a fake smile I said "Hi, I'm Detective Amy Miglia, and I was wondering if you happened to have a copy of Symphony No. 5 in stock." The little man went pale. "No. No. No. I do not stock that particular piece anymore." he gulped. "Well what can you tell us about it?" Jose asked. "It was written in 1933 by a man named Thomas Johnson. He was a fairly popular composer in his day, and this was obviously his fifth symphony. That's about it." He said. "Then why don't you stock it anymore?" I pressed on in the investigation. "Because, well, because, you see, it is supposedly cursed. He wrote it the day his fiancé broke off their engagement. He went into a deep depression, and about a week after he wrote it, he killed him self. In his will his fiancé was sent a copy, and after she listened to it, she took her own life about a day later. Then it began to be played, and every night it was on air, at least one person would kill themselves. So now it's becoming a fad to do it again. To listen to it I mean. It's kind of like a test of bravery, and a lot of gang initiations now revolve around listening to it." I was shocked. Jose looked as shocked as I was, his normally tan skin was a pasty white. I gulped down air and looked at Norman. "How is it possible that a piece of music can cause someone to kill themselves?" Norman just looked at me. "They say that a true composer pours his heart and soul into his piece. Thomas's must have been one suicidal soul." Norman walked back into the books. "Uh- Thank you for your time!" Jose shouted. I looked at him. "That is just insane!" I said refusing to believe anything I had just heard as we walked through the rainy L.A. afternoon. Jose shook his head. "It fits. It fits perfectly Amy. The kids do it to be cool, to be strong, to be in a gang, and they become so depressed they can't continue to live anymore. It's like he's making them feel what he was feeling that night." Jose sighed. Arriving back at the office, I walked past my secretary's office, and noticed the door was shut. I grabbed the handle and went to twist it, but Jose stopped me. "Wait. Amy, look." Jose stopped unable to finish his sentence he was shaking so hard. I peered through the glass doors and saw the shadow of a body hanging, against the wall. I gasped, but then noticed something Jose hadn't. And sitting on her desk stood an old fashioned record player. Spinning slowly on it was a black record, and the cover, laying on the floor by her desk, marked in plain white letters read, "Symphony No. 5" My mind raced. I didn't know what to do, but then the calm detective in me came out. I started giving orders. I signaled over some people, and started shouting at them. "You in the red, go call 911. And you, in the orange, go get the deaf girl in accounting, tell her we need her immediately! Jose-come with me." I turned and stormed into my office. "Jose, you were right. It's Symphony Number 5." He just looked at me. Another case is solved, and I am moving on, but still, a word of caution. If you're standing in a dance hall late at night and the Dj puts on a song called Symphony No. 5, please, please leave the room. I've got enough works as it is.