The Music Box

Isabella walked to the front of her grandmother’s casket. Her grandmother looked peaceful in her repose, wearing her favorite dress. Isabella guessed that she just didn’t understand what had happened. It felt as if she had just visited her grandma for afternoon tea not long ago, and then days later she got a call that Grandma Iris had passed away.

She looked curiously at the inside of the casket, as if the reality hadn’t quite sunk in. She remembered the sunlight spilling through the windows in the bright afternoon, and the way the smell of coffee lingered with the earthy scent of herbs. Isabella didn’t much care for tea, and her grandma always made a fresh pot for her weekly visits on Wednesdays. Iris loved to sample new teas, so there was always a pot steeping on the counter, the steam from the hot liquid floating up into the air.

Isabella remembered chatting innocuously about the new guy she was seeing and how college was going, which professors were a pain, and which ones she really liked, when she noticed a worried, faraway look in her grandma’s eyes. They were ice blue yet full of warmth, and in her old age, Iris had not lost a single ounce of sharpness. Earlier in life, she had been an anthropologist, which was actually what Isabella was going to school for as well, inspired by her grandma.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

Grandma Iris hesitated. “I… want you to promise me something, should anything happen to me—”

Isabella interrupted, “Nothing is going to happen!”

“Should something happen, could you do me a favor? I understand this is a lot to ask.”

“…okay,” Isabella said, confused by the serious tone.

“I’ve been working on something for quite a while, and I fear it may catch up with me soon. Do you remember that music box? The one I brought home?”

“Oh yeah, that really creepy one that plays that weird song no one could place and has the little figurine of the weeping woman,” Isabella said.

“Yes,” Iris said slowly, looking down at her teacup before taking a sip. “I’m going to need you to get rid of it when I’m gone.”

“First of all, I need you to be there when I graduate, so you better be sticking around for a long time. Secondly, you really don’t have to tell me twice. I hated that thing. It gave me such a weird feeling, like when you pass a mirror in the middle of the night. Even though you know there’s nothing there, your brain still kinda tricks you.”

Iris gave a lukewarm smile; there was no humor in her eyes. “If I’m being honest, there’s a little more to it than simply throwing it in the trash. Don’t worry about it now. I’ll make sure you have everything you need when the time comes.”

Isabella shrugged and smiled. She noticed that sometimes older individuals can talk quite cryptically about their future. She was okay doing whatever her grandmother required, even if she didn’t fully understand the context.

To Isabella, the rest of the day moved like molasses. She was stuck between wanting to save her last moments with her grandmother physically while she could, and itching for an opportunity to escape the crying relatives and endless hugs. Eventually, she made it back to her small studio apartment for rest. Still numb from the day, she was at her grandmother’s cozy home early the next morning.

When she went in, she found a note on the table addressed to her.

“Isabella, I’m so sorry to tell you this. I deeply regret that this will be passed on to you, and I fear that the moment you get into my house it will set off a chain of events. She belongs to you now, and if you would like to survive, if you would like to help me close the loop once and for all, then follow these instructions. On the table you will find candles, matches, salt, ash from the fireplace.”

Isabella blinked repeatedly, her eyes dry and scratchy. Another note read:

“From the music box, please. You only have 10 seconds to find the candle that has gone out… then the weeping woman will come get you.”⸻

Isabella hesitated, Mango eyed her nervously and hopped to the table with her grandmother’s letter. She began biting the side of the candle and knocked one of them off the table.

“OK, listen, you have to stop.” But Mango did not stop, and only paused once Isabella had the candle and matches in her hand. Isabella bit her lip, trying to think. Then she decided that her grandmother had never steered her wrong. This was, by all intents and purposes, her grandmother’s dying request.

One by one, she drew the curtains in the house, checking each room before leaving it in deep orange shadow from the curtains. She went down the list of instructions, which she folded and put in her pocket between setup steps.

She created the circle in the middle of the living room, roughly shoving furniture aside and throwing the rug into the kitchen. The circle was almost more of an oval, but she felt proud. She sprinkled the ash and smeared the symbols that her grandma had scribbled onto the parchment in the letter. Mango eyed her curiously the whole time.

Isabella then found the music box on her grandmother’s dresser, another note taped to the top that said “please be safe.” She tucked the note into her back pocket and set the box in the middle of the floor. She almost lit the first candle at the coffee table when she realized she still needed a mirror. She searched anxiously—how much time had passed already? She only had a few minutes left.

She pulled her purse out, took her Revlon compact, and stacked books to set it open in front of the candle. She really hoped this counted. Mango hopped onto the couch next to her, pressing her body against Isabella’s.

“It’s okay, bebe,” Mango repeated twice before falling silent again.

The candle was lit, and Isabella sat in breathless silence. At first, there was nothing. Then she exhaled, ready to stand up, when from the top of the stairs she saw long, pale fingers curl around the wall. A head poked out, a woman with long black hair obscuring her face except for one cloudy eye.

Isabella screamed and stood up. Mango reacted accordingly. She had kicked the candle over, which she quickly picked back up. She grabbed Mango as gently as she could, and when she looked back, there was nothing.

Mango hopped onto her shoulder, and Isabella rushed to the first location instructed: the guest bathroom. She grabbed her vials of salt and ash and the matches and hurried along. She heard weeping from upstairs, and did everything she could to stay calm.

Mango began singing the first five notes of the music box song, and when Isabella turned around, she saw that the weeping woman had gotten closer. Each time she blinked, she could sense the impending doom. She flung the door open and frantically lit the pillar candle.

It was quiet. Isabella could not tell where the woman was. The crying stopped, she no longer saw her near the stairs. Mango dug her little talons into Isabella’s shoulder painfully as she sprinkled the ash counterclockwise. The room lit up, and Isabella looked up to see the weeping woman repelled—she had only been a foot away.

Isabella had to control her breathing to avoid hyperventilating. Mango began to calm down, and Isabella looked cautiously out from the guest bathroom. The weeping had started in another room. The music box was gone.

“Nooo,” Isabella cried. “Where is it?”

She started frantically looking through the kitchen and living room, then saw a glint at the top of the stairs.

The box!

Isabella did not want to go over there. However, she gathered courage and scrambled up the stairs, stopping midway to glance down the hallway. It was clear. She grabbed the box and put it back in the circle. The weeping stopped.

Isabella was still at the top of the stairs—this was technically the direction she needed to go. She scrambled to her grandmother’s room, dodging open dark doorways along the way.

She lit the last candle and sprinkled the ash and salt counterclockwise in each room as intended. Mango faithfully assisted, alerting Isabella to the silent hunting of the weeping woman. She went to the circle and saw that nothing had changed; the box still stood. Then she remembered she had forgotten the garage. She raced there, narrowly missing the grabbing arms of the weeping woman. Mango panicked, scratching and scrambling. Isabella lit the candle, sprinkled the concoction needed, and there was no scream—only a deep sigh, like the wind.

When she returned, the box had melted like silver wax.

“Love you, bebe. Love you, bebe,” Mango squawked.

“I love you too, Mango. Let’s go home.”

She opened the window to the bright afternoon sunlight, and the door opened easily.

Credit: Ethereal_Goblin