River Harmony's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

River Harmony had ninety days to earn the sunset set at the coast's biggest festival, and last night he'd played his best song to a fist pounding on the wall. He sat on a stranger's floor now, guitar across his knees. His blond hair fell over the strings. His whole plan was simple. Write the song that got him that stage. But he had no stage of his own. Not even a room where he could plug in past nine. This was the fourth couch in three weeks. Friends let him crash, then friends got tired. Every night ended the same way. He'd find the melody, lean into it, and someone above or below would bang and shout. Cops came twice. His amp still had a dent from the last fast pack-up. He counted his cash on the floor. Forty dollars. No lease would take that. He needed a place with thick walls and nobody to bother. He thought about it all day. That afternoon a busker told him about a house nobody rented. A mushroom-shaped mansion, painted every color, sitting empty on the edge of town. The owner had left a note on the door for months. River hiked out to see it. The place looked like a dream someone forgot to wake from. Round windows. Swirls of orange and pink. A balcony that curled like a stem. The front door stood unlocked. Inside, dust covered a huge record cabinet stacked with vinyl. An L-shaped couch sat in the middle, its cushions printed with peace signs. Someone had loved this house once. River set his amp down and plugged in. He played one chord. It rang and rang. No wall shook. No fist came. He played the whole song, loud, and the only sound after was his own breathing. He found the note taped inside a kitchen drawer. "Caretaker wanted. Feed the animals. Keep it clean. Stay as long as you play music in it." His hands went cold with luck. Then something moved by his boot. A sleek ferret with a strange shimmering tail sat watching him. Its eyes were sharp and patient, like it had waited a long time. It did not run. It looked at him as if it already knew the deal. River crouched down. "Guess I'm the caretaker," he said. He had a stage now, or close to one. Four walls and no neighbors. But as he stood, he noticed the water damage on the ceiling, the cracked stem of a balcony, a stack of unpaid notices spilling from the drawer. The house was his to keep only if he kept it standing. And in the yard below, half-sunk in an overgrown pond, a row of bright pink dolphin statues stared back at him, their painted peace signs peeling. Someone had built a whole strange life here and left it mid-song. Now the song was his to finish.