The Missing Vinyl in the Coral House

Evelyn had been married to Arthur for nearly two years, but the shadow of her first husband, Gerald, still lingered in the corners of their sprawling beach house on the coast of Western Australia. The house, with its pale coral walls and floor-to-ceiling windows facing the Indian Ocean, had been Gerald’s dream. After he died in a boating accident in 1992, Evelyn couldn’t bear to sell it, and Arthur, patient and understanding, had agreed to live there.

Arthur was a geologist, a man of logic and reason. He scoffed at Evelyn’s claims that Gerald’s spirit remained. ‘It’s just the wind, Evie, or the house settling,’ he’d say, picking up a framed photo of himself that had mysteriously fallen from the mantelpiece. ‘You’re still grieving, and your mind plays tricks.’ But Evelyn knew better. She’d feel a cold presence in the hallway, hear soft footsteps in the study, and sometimes, she’d catch a faint scent of Gerald’s pipe tobacco, even though he’d never smoked inside.

Every morning at six, Evelyn would go to the spare room she’d converted into a workout space. It was a bright, airy room with a view of the garden, filled with yoga mats, free weights, and a state-of-the-art sound system. She had a collection of CDs, but her favorite was an ABBA album, ‘Super Trouper,’ which she’d been using to energize her routines. She’d pop it in the CD player, work out for an hour, then turn it off and take her little Lhasa Apso, Biscuit, for a walk along the shore.

One Tuesday, as she inserted the CD, she noticed a strange thing: the CD case was empty. She held it up to the light, but there was nothing inside. She frowned, checked the player, and found the CD already in the tray. She shrugged it off, thinking she’d simply left it in last time. She pressed play and began her stretches. The familiar upbeat tempo of ‘Dancing Queen’ filled the room, and she lost herself in the rhythm.

The next morning, she woke at six as usual, stretched, and went to the workout room. She pressed the power button on the stereo, but there was silence. She waited a moment, pressed again, then opened the CD tray. It was empty. She searched the room: under the treadmill, in the stack of yoga mats, behind the weights. Nothing. She even checked the CD case, but it was still empty. Now she was worried. She’d had the CD just yesterday; she knew she’d taken it out and put it back in its case.

‘Brian? Arthur? Are you awake?’ she called as she walked to their bedroom. Arthur was sitting up in bed, reading his tablet. ‘Arthur, my ABBA CD is gone. I put it in its case yesterday after my workout, but now it’s not there.’ Arthur looked up, bemused. ‘Maybe Biscuit took it,’ he joked, but Evelyn didn’t laugh. Biscuit was a small dog; he couldn’t reach the shelf where she kept her CDs, and he had no interest in plastic discs.

That afternoon, Evelyn swept the house top to bottom, searching every drawer, every shelf, even the laundry room. She remembered Gerald had always complained about her love of ABBA, calling it ‘glorified pop.’ But he’d never hidden her things. She felt a chill run down her spine. Was Gerald, or whatever remained of him, trying to tell her something? But why take the CD?

Over the next few days, more odd things happened. Arthur’s shaving cream was found in the kitchen sink. The toilet lid was up when neither of them had used it. And one morning, Biscuit barked at the empty hallway, his tail between his legs. Arthur dismissed it all, but Evelyn noticed he began locking the doors at night, a habit he’d never had before.

A week later, Evelyn decided to buy a new ABBA CD. On her way back from the shop, she stopped at a garage sale and found an old vinyl copy of ‘Arrival.’ She bought it on a whim, thinking she could hang it on the wall. That evening, she placed the vinyl on the turntable in the living room, just for nostalgia. As she lowered the needle, the crackling sound filled the room. But instead of ‘Fernando,’ she heard a distorted, muffled voice. She turned up the volume, but the voice was unintelligible, buried under static. Arthur came in, frowning. ‘What’s that noise? Turn it off.’ He reached over and lifted the needle. The room went silent.

Evelyn felt a knot in her stomach. She looked at the vinyl, and in the reflection of the window, she thought she saw a male figure standing behind her. She spun around, but there was no one. ‘Arthur, did you see that?’ she whispered. ‘See what?’ Arthur asked, his voice tense. Evelyn shook her head, not trusting her own eyes.

That night, she couldn’t sleep. She lay in bed, listening to the crash of the waves, when she heard a faint melody coming from the living room. It was ‘Dancing Queen,’ but played slowly, like a music box. She got up and tiptoed downstairs. The turntable was on, the needle skipping in the run-out groove. But the vinyl was gone, replaced by her missing ABBA CD. She stared at it, her heart pounding. The CD was scratched, as if someone had played it with a needle.

She backed away, bumped into a chair, and fell. The music stopped. In the silence, she heard a whisper, as clear as day: ‘Why do you replace me?’ Evelyn screamed. Arthur came running down, flicked on the lights. ‘What is it?’ She pointed at the turntable, but it was empty now, the vinyl gone. Arthur saw the scratched CD on the floor. ‘This is your ABBA CD,’ he said, picking it up. ‘It’s ruined. But where did you find it?’ Evelyn burst into tears. ‘I didn’t find it. It was on the turntable. He’s here. Gerald is here.’ Arthur sighed and put his arm around her. ‘You’re exhausted, Evie. Let’s go back to bed.’

The next morning, Evelyn woke to find a note on the kitchen counter in Gerald’s handwriting, a handwriting she knew as well as her own: ‘I’m still with you. Remember the time we danced to ‘SOS’ in the rain?’ She hadn’t told Arthur about that memory; it was precious, private. She clutched the note and sobbed. Arthur found her there, the note in her hand. He read it, his face pale. ‘This doesn’t prove anything,’ he said, but his voice wavered.

From that day on, the house grew colder. Evelyn would see Gerald’s reflection in mirrors, but when she turned, no one was there. Arthur began to believe, but it was too late. One night, she woke to find Arthur standing over the bed, his eyes glazed. ‘Arthur?’ she said. He didn’t respond. He walked to the closet, pulled out an old box, and handed it to her. Inside was a stack of handwritten letters, all addressed to Evelyn, all in Gerald’s hand. They were undated, but they’d been hidden behind the shoe rack for years.

She read the top letter: ‘My dearest Evelyn, if you’re reading this, I’ve been dead a long time. I know you’ve remarried, and I’m glad. But I can’t leave. I’m tied to this house, to you. I’m sorry for the things I did—I wasn’t the best husband. But I loved you more than you’ll ever know. I promise I’ll stop moving your things and scaring you. I just want you to know I’m still here, watching over you. Please don’t replace me. Yours forever, Gerald.’

Evelyn put the letters down, her hands shaking. Arthur was still standing there, motionless. She touched his face, and he blinked, as if waking from a trance. ‘What happened?’ he asked. ‘Where did you find those?’ Evelyn didn’t answer. She knew. Gerald had given Arthur a message, but Arthur wouldn’t remember. She looked at the turntable in the living room, where her ABBA CD lay shattered on the floor. She realized then that Gerald wouldn’t stop until she acknowledged him, until she told him it was okay to go.

That night, she lit a candle and placed it on the windowsill, facing the sea. She spoke aloud, tears streaming down her face: ‘Gerald, I love you, but you have to move on. I need to live. Please, find peace.’ The flame flickered, then steadied. A gentle breeze brushed her cheek, like a kiss. The next morning, the house felt warmer, lighter. She found the ABBA CD on the shelf, new as ever, but she didn’t play it. Instead, she took out the vinyl of ‘Arrival’ and carefully placed it on the turntable. As ‘Fernando’ began to play, she smiled, feeling as if Gerald had finally set her free.

But as she turned away, a voice whispered in her ear, ‘I’ll always be here.’ She shivered, but she didn’t look back. She walked into the kitchen, where Arthur was making coffee, and hugged him tightly. ‘I love you,’ she said. He smiled, puzzled but pleased. She knew they could live with the ghost, as long as she acknowledged it. And so they did, with the occasional strange occurrence, but never again the loss of anything precious. The missing vinyl had become a memory, a bittersweet reminder of a love that refused to die.