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It is now nearly a week ago it happened, but I really need your advice. I have to tell the story.

My son's teacher lives in an very old house in the middle of nowhere. It's in constant shadow of ancient trees on the nearby cemetary and not visible from the road.

When we came to the house that monday for his lesson, nobody answered the door bell, but luckily the door was open. It was the worst thunder storm on record, so we went in, drenched. The air was stale and the heavy curtains drawn. My son sat down and played a descending minor scale I had never heard before, but suddenly dropped his hands.

After 12 or 15 minutes we heard laughter and the teacher came up from the cellar, his hair on end, unshaved, strange looking, as if he had been up all night. He greeted my son with a dirty glass in his hand telling him: "drink this weird looking beverage and you'll play like Franz Liszt."

When I left to leave my son alone with the teacher, as I always do, I was a little worried, but when I came back half an hour later, everything seemed normal - well, maybe apart from that he shuns my staring at him and prefers to be alone - and oh, yes, a seemingly old scar on the back of his neck I have never noticed before... I don't know, could be wrong of course.

Now, please, what do you think? Should I find a new teacher for him or should I wait and see? Have I any reason not to trust the teacher?

(I mean, after all, my son does play like Liszt now...)

This sounds like the scene from a film, kind of strange. But let me think about it a little more before I answer. Did you ask your son if anything was different that day or what they normally do or if the teacher behaves strangely every now and then?

I understand that a lot of the strangeness/suspician does not come from what you've seen/heard alone but that this is usually something you (difficult to describe) "feel, sense" with what you see either backing it or not even backing it.

For some time now I have made it policy to insist that a parent is on the premises while I am teaching their off-spring. Nearly thirty years teaching in what americans would call the public school system has left me being cautious. I stress to the parents that their child is at no risk from me and that the arrangement is to protect me not the child.


John

Drumour: that is a good policy..back in 1966 when I first started taking guitar lessons..if we were in the store..he closed the door..because other students and teachers were outside..and it was distracting...but when I went to his home for lessons..he left the door open? and that was way back in 66...so maybe teachers new back then to protect themselves and their reputation.

Bob Newbie

I would sit in on lessons. I don't have a strict policy on requiring parents to sit in on lessons but I also don't have a policy that parents can't sit in on lessons.

I have a couple parents who sit in on lessons. They sit and read or work on business projects from work, etc. and it's hardly noticable they are there.

As a parent I'm responsible for my kids even if it means being on the safe side.

It sounds strange to me and I would sit in on the lessons.

Hmmm, I don't know which story to think of?

First, I'm glad the scar is not on his forehead or I might think he had an encounter with Voldemort while you were out.

On the other hand, perhaps the appropriate story is Faust. While you were away he struck a bargain with the devil (the teacher) and that is why he plays like Liszt. Let me see, are you hearing a lot of Totentanz in the house about now.

If the teacher can't/won't teach him Tocatta in D-Minor, on the organ you know is in the basement, I would find a new teacher.

Buxtehyde, all kidding aside, I'll say the same thing I said in your other thread: Trust your instincts. If something about this teacher has raised your hackles enough that you started this thread, that would indicate to me that you are right to be wary. Start bringing a book with you to lessons and explain that it doesn't make sense to go off and come right back.

p.s. The lateness, unkempt appearance, dirty glass and "drink this beverage" comment would be enough to weird me out...

Was there a guy named Igor hanging around the place?

that has got to be the strangest thing i have EVER heard that is real. i would have definitly sat in on lessons that day and everyday thereafter. i would have also asked him, is everything ok you look like you just got ran over by a truck(yes i would say that). thats just strange. or i would have altogether left when the teacher didnt answer the door. i think that would have angered me enough to say something, maybe he had a huge leak in the basement and thats why he was dirty and carrying a dirty cup. i dont know but i would have asked him then and there and not left my kid there. STRANGE......

edit -

I feel dumb for taking this one seriously!!!

- delete -

I would have done a 180 and high tailed it outta there - but not without first grabbing the concoction and downing it in a desperate attempt to be able to play something more advanced than selections from Alfred's Adult Level I.
No doubt he will issue a sinister laugh as lightening strikes dangerously close!!!
MWAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA!!!!

Could I get that teacher's number?

buxtehude, this sounds like a joke to me. If it's for real- well, you are in a bit of a different light today. On the one hand I keep thinking what a great parent you must be- then again your protective instincts need to be sharpened. You couldn't pay me to leave my kid in a house alone with a teacher.

Does your daughter have the same teacher? She's just 5!

If this studio is in the middle of nowhere, why do you leave?

Doesn't seem like piano is bringing yoru family much joy

It was a dark and stormy night
And we were an hour late for our lesson
The door creaked on its rusty old hinges as we pushed it open
We stepped inside, with trepidation, rain dripping from our sodden clothes, pooling wetly on the bare floorboards
A strange cloying scent permeated the air - had a living creature perished here?
My child sat at the piano
The logo on the fallboard glowed eerily, almost as if the piano had an all seeing eye, gazing at usm unblinking
My child began to play
But rather than the familiar refrain of Fur Elise, the keys drew her fingers to strange chords and Lucifer's Tune rang out

Suddenly, with a loud bang, the fallboard snapped shut and a dreadful scream rent the air as my child's hands were trapped

And then a haunting slurping sound began and slowly, but surely, the infant was sucked inside the piano
All I could do was look on, frozen in dumbstruck horror as the piano inexorably consumed its prey

And from that day to this I have never again visited a piano teacher's house in the middle of nowhere. That is because nowhere is not a real place....

A :-)

I just had a thought in reading the other threads. In such a situation, a person could say something like, "You seem not yourself today. We best just not have a lesson today and get in touch tomorrow as to when we can re-schedule the lesson. We'll talk tomorrow." Then hurry out the door before they have a chance to reply.

My Spidey senses are tingling.

It's not the drink, hair, response or anything like that. I wouldn't care if my child's music teacher had regular drug or jello-fuelled polysexual insurance seminars...but NOT just before a SCHEDULED lesson.

As in all things musical, the issue is the timing.

Unfortunately this is a thread that is really nothing to joke about whether you are from the perspective of protecting the child or the teacher. I just think it is very good practice as a parent to supervise any interaction with your child until you are sure that it is safe. (Bear in mind I work with sex offenders) I think it is only safe for teachers to have the parent with the child until they know the parents and that child because you hardly need accusations about your behavior. This is not a time in history for anyone to take chances on either side. I say Stay with your children to the parent and I say to teachers keep those parents in the room. And there is my two cents.

I noticed you wrote this at 2:17am. I hope you went back to bed with a light on......It was just a bad dream.

If not find a new teacher or stay with your son during his lesson.

If this is a true story I would be totally creeped out.

Assuming you are serious, and that this is not a joke (though I think you are pulling our leg), there is no way I would let my child drink some unknown beverage- either from a clean or a dirty glass.
And I would not let my child out of my sight. In fact I would take my child by the hand and leave immediately.
Gaby Tu.

buxtehude

This is all very good advice.

However, I don't believe this story for a second. He now plays like Lizst? He had him drink some unknown wierd drink and you left?

You just walked in and started playing?

Good story though.

Are we approaching Halloween?

Come on folks, put your thinking caps on. This is clearly a riddle. Halloween is approaching and Buxtehude's son is clearly preparing a piece for the event, and he loves Liszt. So which Liszt piece is it?

What's even worse is the teacher is probably reading this thread and having a good laugh!

Good one, AJ! Wonder if the teacher's piano was a Bossie....

I agree with those who say that this is really nothing to be joked about (please, P*D et al).

It seems to me that there is some confusion about whether my son actually drank that weird looking beverage or not. Well, I haven't asked him, but if he didn't, how come he plays like Liszt now?

A private mailer has asked me for the recipe to that beverage. And strangely enough I found it stuck in between pages 71 and 72 in the teacher's edition of Nieder-Rummeling's Etùdes Norvese, which my son had accidently brought home with him. But... I'm not sure... perhaps I should try it on myself before I release it (and one ingredient, at least, I can't find anywhere in the stores: tannis.)

As to the telephone number to the teacher - well, he has no telephone, doesn't believe in these things, and snow has fallen, so the steep mountain roads to his house is at least momentarily not passable.

How are those Mephisto Waltzes sounding, buxtehude?



Sophia

The plot (or at least the beverage) thickens.

Isn't it rather difficult to get something stuck between pages 71 and 72 since the odd numbers are usually on the right side and the evens on the left as you open a book?? hmmmm..... more mystery


Sophia

Please don't tell me his maid is named Noona.

P*D, er Sherlock,

The town of Nowhere is in need of your employ. One innocent, commonly known as Buxtehude, made a deal with the local piano teacher to immortalize his son as master concert pianist. He believed he was only selling his own soul in return, and only did so under great duress. You see he tried in vain initially to bribe his son with payment of 50 Euro per practice session to no avail.

Buxtehude has reason to believe that the piano teacher has tricked him and has every intention of subsuming his son's body as a new home for his soul. He reports finding desire in all the wrong places and with the worst of all possible outcomes.

Come quickly, time is of the essence. It may be too late already!

Yes, ftp, the game is afoot.

First problem ....nowhere seems to be mountainous. This is strange, since Denmark is rather flat. And snow falling in September would be an oddity to say the least. I must surmise that Buxtehude is not really from Denmark or he and his son travel a great distance for lessons. Narvik perhaps? No, then his son would play like Grieg, not Liszt.

Holmes,

Curious indeed. A gentleman of impeccable character and presumably well to do has come to me with an oddly similar account as Buxtehude. He left in rather a haste and absent perculiarity but not before noting that the logo on the fallboard spelled *Walpurgisnacht*.

What would you make of such coincidental events?

Beetlejuice!!!Beetlejuice!!!!Beetlejuice!!!!

How does your son feel about garlic? Sunlight? Does he still have a reflection? Cast a shadow? Can he stand on consecrated ground? I know this shattenjagger guy - -

Dr Watson has been consulted, as has the fine team at Scotland Yard.

It is clear that something is afoot.

But this mystery can only be solved with guile and fine logic.

Let us first consider the facts.

1 Someone found nowhere, and not only that, they found the middle.

2 The piano teachers house has a basement. basements are only found in houses where strange and disturbing happenings occur.

3 The parent is clearly negligent and has criminal leanings. Firsly they enter a house where no one seems to be in. This is clearly a felony. Then they allow an infant to drink a strange coctail. Then the said parent leaves the child in the hands of a disturbed person. It may be necessary to involve the social services.

4 If the account of that trickster AJB is to be believed (can anything he says ever be thought of as true again?) then one child has already gone missing.

We need more information. First and foremost, what is the name on the fallboard of that evil piano? I shall have to seek out my detecting equipment and investigate. But first, I must have dinner, as it is that hour here and no man can thrive on an empty stomach.

Yours, with graciousness

Holmes

A further thought - these references to Denmark. I think they may be targeted to deceive. One must ponder. One must reflect.

H

Yeah, I'd go for garlic; excellent snow and mountain remover ... but, maybe not, consider magic perfectly speeds the make of genius ..... and if things don't work out there's this rare green herb you can only find during one night every 7 years ..

Dear Mr. Holmes,

My learned Sir. You don’t know me. I was born July 26th 1875. I studied psychology in Vienna and was about to make myself a career until a very unfortunate incident of which I cannot speak forced me to flee helter-skelter north by northwest. I litterary didn’t stop before I reached the end of the world. I was lucky enough to cover my tracks so that everybody today think I am longtime dead.

I really do not know where to begin, I am not a man of letters and Rumanian and not English is my mother tongue. My Master, Buxtehude, and his, well, son have gone missing. From a letter, or rather more of a hastely written note, my Master left behind, I think to understand (and believe me, the words on the note do not really make much sense) that they have gone on a world tour.

Now I more than anything fear the audience’s reaction when they see his son - because he has... I mean, he is... no, I just can't, I am sorry.

Please, come quick.


PS. It is the way he plays now! Like a certain person who’s name I am too superstitious to take into my mouth, alone my pencil… Is this because my Master with his uncompromising demands on him (endless hours of practice) has bereaved him of a normal childhood do you think?

The teacher should be a serf unto the student, and was perhaps providing him with the best musical education possible. However, it sounds like this teacher has had a fuse torn from his brain somewhere along the line. On the other hand, the student shouldn't act like a fetus nor an inanimate object, and idly drinking a musical elixir implies he was acting thusly.
Beware the sanguinous natures of some teachers. While it may be neat for us to hear such musical prowess, perhaps the cost is too dear. The ante for us is inexpensive, but the teacher's fees are excessive.

Furthermore, if you learn all your music by rote snafus may occur.

HINT: the italics aren't random.

I want a teacher like that. My teacher is not nearly that much fun.

They're anagrams of the same phrase, obviously, but which one? "Fortunates"?

Edit: No, that doesn't work; there aren't two t's.

[must really get back to work now...]

His masters valet

Fear not. Holmes has taken flight on the wings of a swan and verily is already speeding forth to investigate.

It is of chagrinous concern that Bustehude and his transformed offspring have gone missing. But we need not necessarily fear the worst. Yet.

Among our esteeemed members here we have some fine minds on the case. And sadly some fine minds throwing additional dust into the fine sands of confusion. Our colleagues Nina and Miss Monica appear intemt on the trifles of crossowrd puzzles rather than solving this heinous crime. But we must be tolerant of the fairer sex in these modern times.

Now, to the task at hand. Can you, sir, throw any light on the name on the fallboard of this piano. I hope and pray that it does not end in "burg" or "way", or "er". All of these short words have dreadful implications as I fear that they are all used by the Devil himself to differentiate instruments that produce his finest and most devilish tunes. These lure the unwary into the pools of darkness that we all fear.

pray tell. Can you throw any light on the matter. Did your master breathe a word before he left.

And now a matter of great import. You say you are seven miles south of the middle of nowhere. The very fact that you are talking miles not kilometres enables me to narrow my search to the whole of America, England and that newest of English provincial outposts, Australia (a land of god forsaken souls).

Can you sir, tell me of the climatic conditions in or near nowhere. This will help me determine the direction of my travles to assist you.

Waiting expectantly.

Holmes

wow, it develops into a detective story now. cool, i need to read more speculations!

We have two clues in tension with each other. His Master's Valet is reluctant to reveal his true name, but the date of birth and area of study are identical to that of ..... Carl Jung. On the other hand, Carl Jung was Swiss and HMV claims Rumanian as his native tongue. But Jung studied dreams, did he not? This nightmare needs further study.

HMV has other connotations...

Perhaps Irma Vep can be of assistance here.....or is there an archetype lurking in the shadows?


Sophia

I think Irma, well known expert in these things, will be of enormous assistance.

Our prime suspect as Miss Mina - uh Nina - so cleverly deduced.

Max Schreck aka Nosferatu

Suspect has been known to call himself "Graf Orlok," "Count Alucard" and "Vlad Drăculea" and "Vlad Who Plays With Really Big Toothpicks" 575 year old WM. Born Transylvania. Heavy slavic accent. Nocturnal lifestyle. Needs manicure, dental work and a better tailor. Should be considered toothed and extremely slipperly.

The Great Dane has got to be pulling our collective legs ... what with a dishevelled piano/organ teacher ... complete with neck scar ... emerging unpunctually from a basement reverie armed with a vampire chalice ... for the pupil to be able to play like Liszt ...

This has got to be the most hilarious thread to date ... thanks everybody for the spontaneous wisecracks.

But I ask you ... with tears in my eyes

"Have I any reason not to trust the teacher?"

A friend of mine, who is a stand-up historian of religion, once told me about a guy, a guru of a new religious sect, who confronted his 137 world-wide followers one day and told them:

- Look guys, I'm sorry, it was all a hoax. I was just pulling your legs. There is no Holy Goat's Apocryfic Order.

They just looked at him, saddened:
- Oh, Steve, we are so sorry you have lost your faith! We are really sorry for you...

- Listen, perhaps you didn't hear me: I made it all up ... there is no sect! I can prove it; it was me who wrote the so called scriptures...

- Yes, you were inspired then by the Holy Light. Look, Steve, we understand. You have had your doubts, that happens. You will regain faith some day... then you will be wellcome amongst us again...

End of story.


So; I fear your reaction when I tell you that my son didn't really drink that weird looking beverage and that he only plays like David Helfgott now. I'm so sorry.

As buxtehude wakes in the pale twillight in an ancient and secluded asylum an unnamed distance from Copenhagen, mummering "Was it all a dream, only a dream - - -" and a wan thin hand absently strays to the scars on his neck - - -

Holmes,

I fear for the worst for the father. After his sudden disappearance, he turned up at the constable's station strenuously purporting a wholely sanguine manner. He asserts he doesn't recall where he's been and why he's here, yet the constable remains unconcerned. He kept saying "Nowhere is just Nowhere just as this cigar is just a cigar." I saw the town psychiatrist, Mr. Jung Nietzsche, being hurried out the back door.

He seems possessed, repossessed and unpossessed all at once. I don't know what to make of it but the trail for his son runs cold.