Gemotions

The cardboard box sat on the welcome mat, a stark white rectangle against the worn brick. Amelia knelt, squinting at the smudged label. “To Mr. Silas Blackwood,” it declared, followed by the address: *her* address. Silas Blackwood? The name rang no bells. She’d only moved in last week, inheriting the place after Mrs. Gable's hasty departure.

She dragged the box inside, the weight surprising. Her brow furrowed. What could a previous tenant possibly still be receiving? Inside, nestled in packing peanuts, was a heavy, ornate music box. Its brass finish gleamed, reflecting the muted light of her hallway. A chill ran down her spine.

Reaching for the lid, she hesitated. Should she open it? Curiosity and an odd sense of unease warred within her. Taking a deep breath, she lifted the lid and braced herself for the tune.