Clapping came from the darkness. "Beautiful," a man's voice said. Only the stage where she stood was lit; the rest was as black as the bow in her long blonde hair. She thought she could hear his feet as they padded on the carpeted floor. His sounds were getting closer.
Magdalena stopped playing and held her bow in front of her like a weapon. The viola fell to her side. "Who's there?"
"Oh, Maggie, don't be afraid."
He sounded familiar, frighteningly so, and he knew her name. She took a step back.
"Maggie, I won't hurt you."
Tears began to roll down her cheeks. She didn't know his name or his face, but she knew his lies. She'd first heard them years ago, on the first and last time her mother had ever left her home alone. She'd heard them whispered between the dresses and the long pants in her mother's closet. Then his breath had mixed with the smell of moth balls. But the darkness he hid in now was the same.
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