The Original Shape of the Guitar

I. The Mystery of the Vihuela

In the small town of Aranda, nestled within the heart of Spain, there was an old legend about an ancient instrument. Musicians spoke of it in hushed tones, and historians dismissed it as mere folklore. But for those willing to listen, the story of the vihuela, the precursor to the modern guitar, remained a mystery that no one dared to explore too deeply. This instrument, with its haunting melodies, was believed to hold a secret—one that had been lost for centuries.

The vihuela first appeared in Spain at the turn of the fifteenth century. Unlike the guitars we know today, it had four double-strings, or paired courses, running along the length of its neck. The instrument's design allowed it to produce a rich, layered sound, making it popular among Spanish nobility. But there was something more to it. Legends told of a vihuela with a unique shape, one that possessed a strange, unexplainable power over its player.

The original shape of the guitar, as it was called, was said to have been created by a master craftsman whose name had been erased from history. According to the myth, this craftsman had made a pact with a dark entity to create the perfect instrument—one that would resonate not just with sound, but with the very souls of those who played it.

For years, this vihuela had vanished from history, until it resurfaced in the year 1401. The village that once housed the craftsman had been burned to the ground, leaving behind only charred ruins and whispers of a cursed guitar that could control the mind of its player.

II. A Stranger's Obsession

It was this legend that drew Miguel, a young musicologist with a passion for ancient instruments, to Aranda. His obsession with the history of the guitar had consumed him for years. He had traveled across Europe, tracing the origins of the modern guitar, and had finally arrived at the birthplace of the vihuela. While most scholars believed the instrument was merely a simple stringed instrument with no special significance, Miguel had heard otherwise. He had discovered ancient manuscripts that hinted at a hidden truth—one that pointed to a lost version of the vihuela that had once wielded unimaginable power.

Miguel's search led him to an old archive deep within the village. It was a dark, musty room filled with decaying parchment and brittle books. Among the many scrolls and manuscripts, he found a single, faded diagram of the vihuela, with detailed notes in the margins. The shape was unlike anything he had seen before—its body slightly elongated, with intricate carvings running along its edges. The words next to the diagram were written in an old dialect of Spanish, but Miguel could still make out the phrase "La guitarra de las almas"—The Guitar of Souls.

Intrigued, Miguel knew that he had to find this instrument. He scoured the village for any clues about its whereabouts, speaking with old musicians and scholars, all of whom gave him the same warning: the guitar he sought was not meant for mortal hands.

III. The Hidden Workshop

After weeks of searching, Miguel was led to a remote farmhouse on the outskirts of Aranda. The place was nearly abandoned, save for an old man named Esteban, who was said to be the last descendant of the legendary craftsman. Esteban lived in isolation, refusing visitors and avoiding any contact with the outside world. Yet, when Miguel approached him, something changed.

"You're looking for the guitar, aren't you?" Esteban asked, his voice raspy and thin.

Miguel nodded, unsure of how to respond.

Esteban's eyes darkened, and he motioned for Miguel to follow him into the house. Inside, the walls were lined with dusty old tools and unfinished wooden instruments. The air was thick with the scent of aged wood and varnish.

"My ancestors passed down this story," Esteban began, "but no one dares to touch that guitar anymore. It was cursed from the moment it was created. They say the one who crafted it did so with the hands of a master but the soul of a demon. The strings were made not of gut, but of something darker... something alive."

Miguel's heart raced as Esteban led him to a hidden chamber beneath the floor. There, in the dim light, lay the vihuela. Its shape was exactly as the diagram had depicted—strange, elongated, and carved with symbols that Miguel couldn’t understand.

He reached out to touch it, but Esteban's hand shot out to stop him.

"Be warned," Esteban whispered, "this guitar will make you hear more than music. Once you pluck its strings, you'll never be the same."

IV. The First Strum

Despite the warning, Miguel couldn't resist. He had come too far to turn back now. He gently picked up the vihuela, feeling its weight in his hands. The wood was cool, almost unnaturally so, and the strings vibrated faintly, as if they were alive. With a trembling hand, he strummed the first chord.

The sound that emerged was unlike anything he had ever heard. It was beautiful and haunting, each note resonating deep within his chest. But there was something more—something unsettling. As the notes filled the room, Miguel felt a presence, as though someone, or something, was watching him.

Suddenly, the room grew cold, and the shadows in the corners began to move. The symbols on the guitar glowed faintly, and a low whisper filled the air. Miguel's hands trembled as he realized what was happening.

The guitar was playing him.

V. The Price of Perfection

The more Miguel played, the deeper the whispers became. They weren’t just sounds—they were voices, ancient and forgotten, calling out to him. He felt his mind slipping away, as though the guitar was pulling him into its dark, twisted world. Images of the past flashed before his eyes—of the craftsman who had created the guitar, of the dark entity that had helped him, and of the souls that had been trapped within the instrument ever since.

Esteban's warning echoed in his mind, but it was too late. The guitar had taken hold of him.

Miguel tried to stop playing, but his hands refused to obey. The strings dug into his fingers, drawing blood, and the music became more frantic, more terrifying. The room around him seemed to collapse, the walls spinning as the voices grew louder.

With one final, desperate act, Miguel ripped his hands from the strings and threw the vihuela to the ground. The music stopped, and the whispers faded into silence. He collapsed to the floor, gasping for breath, his mind barely intact.

As he lay there, trembling, Esteban approached him. "Now you know," he said softly, "why some things are better left in the past."

VI. The Aftermath

Miguel left the farmhouse the next morning, the weight of what he had experienced pressing heavily on his mind. He never spoke of the vihuela again, nor did he ever return to Aranda. But the music stayed with him—those haunting, otherworldly notes that had nearly driven him mad.

In the end, Miguel realized that the original shape of the guitar was more than just a design. It was a gateway, a bridge between this world and another. And some doors, once opened, can never truly be closed.