Prologue: The memories

There were memories. 

Vague ones, but memories nonetheless.

It was a brisk night, the wind making the windows whistle, and I was getting ready for bed. My parents were on a business trip and my siblings were already asleep. Abruptly , I heard a knock on the door.

I was sitting at the piano in the living room, playing the same four measures of music over and over.

    The story I want to tell starts with a rhythmic knock, once, twice, three times…a fourth?