Darkness Through the Window Pane
A karaoke song no one remembers adding — and no one forgets surviving.
Scary Tales from the County from Travis Brown
— Chapter One
On any given Friday night in St. Louis, the busiest district in the county is the Loop.
Doesn’t matter if it’s summer or winter. Doesn’t matter if the weather’s supposed to turn bad. People still flood the street. Music spills out of doorways. Lines wrap around corners. And somewhere in the middle of it all sits the karaoke bar—neon-lit, always loud, always packed.
Over the years, people have whispered about a song.
Not a performance.
Not a singer.
A song.
The rumor goes like this: if you select it, really select it—queue it up and let it play—it will follow you home. It will haunt your sleep. And it will slowly drive you insane until you’re ready to die.
No one knows if it’s true.
No one recent has dared to try.
That didn’t stop Stevie.
Stevie had been planning the night all week. Rain was coming in over the weekend, so he figured the crowds wouldn’t be too crazy. Perfect timing. He convinced his girl, Maisha, to make a night of it—sake, cocktails, sushi, sashimi, and a private karaoke room.
They arrived just after seven. A couple drinks at the bar. Happy hour singers running through Bruno Mars, R.E.M., Dolly Parton. That’s the thing about this spot—it’s hard to find a song they don’t have. Unless it’s your friend’s local band. Good luck with that.
By 7:30 they were escorted to their room.
Clock didn’t start until eight. Plenty of time to order food and dig through the catalog—super jams from the ’50s all the way up to now.
Maisha was already scrolling. TLC. Beyoncé. Amy Winehouse. Avril Lavigne. Locked in.
Stevie hadn’t even cracked the book yet. His attention was on the menu. Sushi combinations. Sticky rice. Edamame. Hand rolls done exactly the way Maisha liked them.
They had the room for two hours. Maisha was hoping her girl Abby might show up later with her guy if she got off work early.
While they were settling in, Stevie noticed a smudge.
One of the pages in the karaoke book had a dark, greasy mark over it. Like someone had pressed their thumb down hard and dragged it.
Curious, he opened the book wider.
The smudge covered a song title. He couldn’t make out the artist. Couldn’t even tell the language at first. Looked Japanese. The background image behind the listing was strange—almost like a shadow of a man, half his body inside a window, half of it outside.
There was something city-pop about it. New wave. Neon loneliness.
“I don’t know what this is,” Stevie said, “but this is probably the jam.”
He found the number. Loaded it into the queue.
Maisha didn’t even notice. Once the food came, Stevie singing was pretty much done anyway. He was already eyeing the tempura.
By the time the plates arrived, Maisha had run through three songs and killed all of them.
“I’m thirsty,” she said. “Let’s order more drinks.”
The waiter came in, dropped them off, and glanced up at the TV.
“Looks like y’all are having a good night,” he said. “A lot of jams.”
“Yeah,” Stevie said. “Just riding the vibe.”
The waiter squinted at the queue.
“I got this other song coming up,” he said slowly. “I don’t know what it is… but I think it’s gonna be the one.”
“Well I hope it is,” Maisha laughed.
The waiter didn’t laugh.
He stared at the screen. Then at Stevie. Then at Maisha.
“Yeah, um… that song shouldn’t be available.”
Maisha rolled her eyes. “Stevie, I told you. You probably queued up some crazy death metal or something.”
“Not so far-fetched,” the waiter muttered to himself.
“What?” Stevie asked.
“That song,” the waiter said, lowering his voice. “It’s not supposed to play. I’ll delete it and show you how to add another one.”
He tried.
It wouldn’t delete.
“Oh, that’s cool,” Stevie said. “Just leave it. I’m down. What’s it called?”
The waiter hesitated.
“You sure you want to know?”
“That’s why I asked.”
“Darkness Through the Window Pane.”
Maisha laughed. “What kind of name is that?”
“It’s… kind of a gothic ballad,” the waiter said. “Japanese. Tokyo pop. Synths. Strings. Very moving. Very haunting.”
“Well who would want to listen to that?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” the waiter said. “I was told it just appeared in the catalog one day. With that smudge over it.”
Stevie’s smile faded.
“Wait. Is this the track people been talking about?”
“Yes,” the waiter said. “And you do understand what could happen if you play it.”
Stevie shrugged. “It’s a song.”
The waiter gathered the plates.
“I’ll let it play,” he said. “Good luck.”
He closed the door.
The song started immediately.
A young Japanese woman’s voice filled the room—haunting, grand, sorrowful. Gothic and beautiful. Devastating. Stevie tried to sing along but couldn’t keep up. Even Maisha admitted the beat was dope.
They finished the night full. Drunk. Happy.
No nightmares.
At least not that night.
What happened over the next five days would be something else entirely.
Five nights of terror.
Five nights of visions.
Five nights of never knowing if they were asleep or awake.
And the nightmare only got worse.
End of Chapter One.