It was the night before Halloween when Eleanor found the old music box at the bottom of a dusty trunk in the attic. She didn't know who had placed it there or how long it had been sitting amid the forgotten relics of her grandmother's estate. Its polished mahogany was chipped, and the silver key jutted out, begging to be turned.
The moment she wound it, a haunting melody drifted through the air, wrapping around her like a cold mist. Eleanor's breath hitched as a whisper threaded through the tune, a voice barely audible but unmistakably there: "Come find me."
She stepped back, heart pounding, as shadows stretched across the walls, flickering with the rhythm of the melody. The attic, once just dim, grew darker with each tick of the music box, the light shrinking to a mere pinprick. She spun to flee, but found the door no longer there, replaced by a mirror reflecting not herself, but a room unfamiliar - adorned with ancient tapestries and a fireplace where blackened logs smoldered.
In the mirror's reflection, she saw him - a figure with hollow eyes and a smile too wide, standing just behind her. Her blood chilled as he whispered, "You've wound it. Now, you're bound to it."
The air grew dense with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves. Her surroundings flickered and shifted like a dimly lit film reel. The room in the mirror seemed to stretch forward, swallowing the attic whole, until Eleanor found herself standing inside it.
The moment she stepped away from the mirror, it dissolved into the wall, leaving her in a corridor lined with doors. Each door bore a nameplate with names she vaguely recognized: Thomas Merrick, Charlotte Hawthorne, Edgar Ellis - relatives she'd only ever heard about in hushed family gossip.
A scream tore through thehallway, echoing from behind one of the doors. It was Charlotte's room; Eleanor remembered the story now, how she had disappeared as a child, without a trace. Her fingers trembled as she gripped the doorknob and twisted it slowly.
Inside, there was no little girl, no signs of life - only a single wooden chair facing the wall. On it, a doll sat, its porcelain face cracked, and one glass eye missing. As Eleanor approached, she noticed the doll's lips were moving, mimicking the same chilling tune from the music box. The words formed again in the air, "Come find me."
Eleanor turned to flee the room, but the corridor had transformed. The doors were gone, replaced by walls that pulsed and throbbed like the chambers of a living heart. The space between them closed in tighter with each passing second, squeezing the air from her lungs. She stumbled forward, gasping for breath as the world seemed to fold inward, the darkness drawing her into itself.
Suddenly, she fell into a room she hadn't seen before - a grand ballroom filled with figures dancing in slow motion, their faces obscured by intricate masks. Each dancer's eyes met hers, their movements pausing briefly as if they had been waiting for her arrival. At the center of the room, the man from the mirror stood, his hollow eyes watching her. He held the music box in his hands, winding it once more.
"You're just in time for the last dance," he said, his voice a low, mocking echo. The dancers circled around her, closing in, and Eleanor's vision swirled as the melody grew louder, almost deafening.
She lunged toward the man, desperate to snatch the music box from his hands, but as her fingers grazed its surface, the ballroom shattered like glass, and Eleanor was back inthe attic, lying on the dusty floor.
She sat up, her heart racing, but something was wrong. The shadows around her were no longer mere darkness; they whispered in familiar voices, voices of her long-lost family, calling her name. And when she looked down, she saw her own name etched into the music box, faded and worn, as if it had always been there.
With a sickening realization, she understood: she hadn't found the music box - it had found her. And as she turned the key once more, unable to resist, she knew she would not be leaving the attic again.
The melody played on, and the shadows closed in.
The moment she wound it, a haunting melody drifted through the air, wrapping around her like a cold mist. Eleanor's breath hitched as a whisper threaded through the tune, a voice barely audible but unmistakably there: "Come find me."
She stepped back, heart pounding, as shadows stretched across the walls, flickering with the rhythm of the melody. The attic, once just dim, grew darker with each tick of the music box, the light shrinking to a mere pinprick. She spun to flee, but found the door no longer there, replaced by a mirror reflecting not herself, but a room unfamiliar - adorned with ancient tapestries and a fireplace where blackened logs smoldered.
In the mirror's reflection, she saw him - a figure with hollow eyes and a smile too wide, standing just behind her. Her blood chilled as he whispered, "You've wound it. Now, you're bound to it."
The air grew dense with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves. Her surroundings flickered and shifted like a dimly lit film reel. The room in the mirror seemed to stretch forward, swallowing the attic whole, until Eleanor found herself standing inside it.
The moment she stepped away from the mirror, it dissolved into the wall, leaving her in a corridor lined with doors. Each door bore a nameplate with names she vaguely recognized: Thomas Merrick, Charlotte Hawthorne, Edgar Ellis - relatives she'd only ever heard about in hushed family gossip.
A scream tore through thehallway, echoing from behind one of the doors. It was Charlotte's room; Eleanor remembered the story now, how she had disappeared as a child, without a trace. Her fingers trembled as she gripped the doorknob and twisted it slowly.
Inside, there was no little girl, no signs of life - only a single wooden chair facing the wall. On it, a doll sat, its porcelain face cracked, and one glass eye missing. As Eleanor approached, she noticed the doll's lips were moving, mimicking the same chilling tune from the music box. The words formed again in the air, "Come find me."
Eleanor turned to flee the room, but the corridor had transformed. The doors were gone, replaced by walls that pulsed and throbbed like the chambers of a living heart. The space between them closed in tighter with each passing second, squeezing the air from her lungs. She stumbled forward, gasping for breath as the world seemed to fold inward, the darkness drawing her into itself.
Suddenly, she fell into a room she hadn't seen before - a grand ballroom filled with figures dancing in slow motion, their faces obscured by intricate masks. Each dancer's eyes met hers, their movements pausing briefly as if they had been waiting for her arrival. At the center of the room, the man from the mirror stood, his hollow eyes watching her. He held the music box in his hands, winding it once more.
"You're just in time for the last dance," he said, his voice a low, mocking echo. The dancers circled around her, closing in, and Eleanor's vision swirled as the melody grew louder, almost deafening.
She lunged toward the man, desperate to snatch the music box from his hands, but as her fingers grazed its surface, the ballroom shattered like glass, and Eleanor was back inthe attic, lying on the dusty floor.
She sat up, her heart racing, but something was wrong. The shadows around her were no longer mere darkness; they whispered in familiar voices, voices of her long-lost family, calling her name. And when she looked down, she saw her own name etched into the music box, faded and worn, as if it had always been there.
With a sickening realization, she understood: she hadn't found the music box - it had found her. And as she turned the key once more, unable to resist, she knew she would not be leaving the attic again.
The melody played on, and the shadows closed in.
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