I wrote this story in text form to a friend back in 2015. He was looking for ideas to make a 30 second movie short. I was on a four hour drive and my mind was wandering. It was around Thanksgiving, which explains why I went Native American. I don’t remember where the musician thing came from, though. Maybe it was a stipulation for the short? Who knows? Either way, I hope you enjoy!
Ah ha ha! Where’s the horror flick about a budding Native American musician? Last year at Thanksgiving his crazy old Aunt gave him his recently deceased Uncle’s guitar. He’s been practicing every day, and now he’s sitting in the kitchen, playing along in time with the microwave numbers as he reheats a plate of turkey and stuffing. As it always does, his mind begins to wander as the numbers continue their rhythmic countdown. His fingers explore the ancient instrument, coaxing out notes and chords he wasn’t aware he knew.
As the numbers impassively approach zero, he imagines he were playing side by side with his Uncle. Their steady plucking is backed up by a chorus of hand drums that forms a heartbeat to the rhythmic melody. A group of figures stand eerily motionless around a flickering fire as their soft chanting is lifted on steady notes of song into the night sky. The words are all the more menacing for being foreign and half heard. His Uncle slowly turns to him an– BEEEP!!
A discordant note escapes the guitar as the microwave’s alarm shatters the melody. The sweating musician draws a deep, ragged breath and a knowing smile slithers across his lips. In his eyes can be seen the reflected light of a dancing fire surrounded by motionless figures.