The Music Box

The oldest teen in the house,

I was the first to get home from school every day—

still too young to drive a car,

but old enough to take the bus alone each way.

School wasn't memorable, the day flew by,

I'm sure I had homework or studying to do,

but I always made time for snacks and cartoons—

for an hour, to the TV, my eyes were glued.

As I dug into my Goldfish crackers,

giggling at whatever show I had picked,

I heard a tiny sound that sent shivers down my spine

and made my stomach churn and constrict.

From behind me, in one of the bedrooms upstairs,

I heard an eerie, delicate tune.

It was one I recognized, but that realization did not soothe me,

as I sat frozen on the couch, fending for myself that afternoon.

Like a fool, I knew I had to investigate,

I had to confirm the sound was not in my head—

but as I rose from my seat and approached the staircase,

it was harder to breathe, my lungs tightening with dread.

The climb was simple enough,

I made it to the top, gripped the railing and stood.

The music continued, quiet and slow,

I had to enter the room, but I wondered whether I should.

Shaking away my nerves,

I braced myself and tiptoed forward,

the doorway foreboding, I felt like a small animal

facing a predator, hopelessly cornered.

But I rounded the corner, and my eyes fell upon it—

my grandmother's music box, a vintage piece made of copper,

not really a "box," but rather, a display,

of a miniature merry-go-round and ferris wheel, such a whimsical shopper.

The metal shined in the soft light of the window

perched under the lamp on the bedside table,

the music slowed to a standstill, the melody puttering out—

I would have fled the room if I were able.

My mouth hung open for a moment,

my eyes wide with fright,

as the music finally ended, so too did my shock,

and as if I'd sprouted wings, I took flight.

Down the stairs in a flash,

I bolted outside,

stumbling out onto the porch,

heart racing, my horror impossible to hide.

I knew how the copper knick-knack worked,

and was well aware it had to be cranked by hand for the music to play,

who on God's green Earth had wound it up?

It's a question that haunts me to this day.