There’s a song no one should ever hear. It has no name, no sheet music, no recording. It doesn’t need any. Once you hear it, it plays itself—over and over—inside your head. It’s always the same: A soft, slow, mournful melody. Haunting. Beautiful in the way a dying breath might be beautiful. The first known case was a violinist named Clara Fielding. She heard it in a dream—just a few notes—and the next