Music Box

July 1970.



Liam Dickinson, the boy with straight cut, white blonde hair and dimples, thrashed underneath the confines of his silky single bed, clothed in a pair of damp rocket-ship flannelette pyjamas that stuck close to his pale, delicate skin. His forehead was clammy with the beads of sweat than ran down the side of his face and the centre of his nose.



Subconsciously he moaned and pushed the thick uncovered doona from his body and he lay there, tossing uncomfortably.



There was a crease between his light brows and his forehead was so deep in a frown it looked as if his face might tear. His eyelids never stayed closed for one second, they were always opening ever so slightly, revealing the whites of his eyes. He did not see the moonlit room he slept in, but another room, where darkness reigned and the empty, cheerless lullaby tune of an unknown music box played repeatedly, never ending…



Liam was trapped inside the darkness of his nightmare, unable to wake up.



He never stopped moving, and eventually his small, bony hands rose to his ears in attempt to block the sound.



It echoed all around him in the darkness, the melody that, once ended, began to rewind by itself; a hollow, haunting sound. The slow click-click as it reversed the song.



‘No, no…’ he muttered in his sleep, his hands glued to his ears, continually tossing and kicking the remains of the doona off his feet.



La la la…



He screamed then, his young, high voice pierced the air, and with hands still on his ears, he sprung up from his mattress, eyes wide open.



The nightmare still hung in the air; it was still real.



The music was fading but ever so slowly, so slow Liam’s hands never left the sides of his head and he sat there, one leg hanging off the edge, scared to shut his eyes in case the darkness returned.



‘Mummy!’ he yelled at the top of his lungs, with tears coursing down his face. Then he began to sob. He just sat there, his small chest heaving.



He tried to scream again,‘MUMMY!’ yet the word was trapped in his throat.



‘Mum!’ he wept, the haunting sound of the recurring music box tune still playing, muted by the walls of his nightmare.



His mother came rushing into the room, barging through the door, her heart pounding.



‘Liam, Liam!’ she cried, and sat on the bed, immediately embracing her son. ‘What is it, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?’



‘Mummy!’ he cried, sobbing into her neck. ‘Mum, stop the music!’



A sudden fear gripped her and her eyes froze. She continued to stroke his back comfortingly, but she was unmoving, her eyes staring off into space. Liam cried into her, but she could not speak.



He wrapped his fragile arms around her and begged her to stop the music once again, over and over. She faltered for words, eyes wide with dread.



‘No,’ she whispered to no one.



Underneath the house, in the cellar, she heard the muffled tones of the frightening, music box song rewind and begin to play over again…



La la la la…





December 1976.



Liam now stood edgily atop the stairs, the cold silver key cradled lightly in his clammy palm. He tossed it absentmindedly between his hands, ever so slowly and carefully. His eyes never left the dusty door handle, afraid it would disappear or turn by itself.



An icy fear raced down his spine, raising the white blonde hairs on the back of his slender pale neck, leaving his entire body with a prickly sensation.



The night of his first nightmare flashed occasionally in some part of his mind. The song that played on the music box, which his mother claimed to be ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’ performed inside his mind, like his own music box embedded inside.



The chills of the memories ran down his limbs, sprinting through his veins and cowering inside his bones. He was not aware of his hands quaking and shivering, but then again was he aware of anything much besides that door below him? The key almost dropped to the floor in his complete and utter terror.



He was waiting, yet dreading that horrid, awful moment. The click-click-click of the rewinding. The muted, cheerless sound of the sad lullaby tune, echoing throughout the empty house. He waited. Trepidation pulled his eyebrows together. All instincts told him to run; his legs screamed at him to move; his mind told his hands to the drop the key but curiosity prevailed.



The moment arrived with startling precision. Boots against hardwood floor. . The silence was louder when the footsteps ceased and the rewind began. Liam felt his chest freeze and his heart pound like horses were running loose in his ribcage. His heart hammered behind his ears, sending throbs down to his thumbs.



His feet were rooted to the floorboards like a flower trapped in concrete. The rewinding of the tape sounded empty and hollow in this huge house.



And…



La la la la… The lullaby took him back to his nightmares and his screams. The insides of his stomach churned; chills rushed through his body.



It echoed mutedly throughout his home, bounced inside his head. Liam gripped the lightly held key with a sweaty hand, his toes curling underneath along the floor with the anticipation. His expressionless face tingled and his eyes widened dreadfully.



Liam found it hard to shift his feet while the music played, as his whole body was prone to running away from such things.



He had to face it.



He could not run away this time, could he? He very cautiously took one small step downwards, already feeling like he was in a different world. The silence hung in the air around him like cobwebs, crawling up and around his neck, setting his instincts off. The deep breath he then took was dusty and almost made him cough. The dirt stuck in his windpipe and he clutched his throat with both hands, fighting the urge to splutter and break the never-ending silence.



His knees were weak with the next step and Liam felt them almost collapse under the weight of his body and his fear.



He took each stair with patience, the tune continued unrelentingly. Had he ever had days without the music box haunting his life? Barely.



His mind was fogged by the questions that got harder and harder to answer as he finally dropped down to the last step, his face so close to the door he could barely believe it.



Before this day he had hardly even gone near the top of the stairs, now suddenly he was down here, his body precariously close to the doorhandle and too aware of it. His fingers twitched when he realised the heaviness of the key he held, it weighed his hand down as if it were made of gold.



He stared at the keyhole almost with respect. Why respect?



The key went quivering toward the lock, gleaming slightly in the dull light.



He was in a hole. A trap of darkness. He could not run back up those stairs now – he had already gotten this far. With unconscious breath he shakily slid the key into the lock. It rotated with a clack and the music box cluttered to a halt mid-tune. The door opened and drew back with a loud, groaning creak. The room that was before Liam’s very eyes was somehow extremely foreign yet hauntingly familiar.



Empty.



One naked bulb that cast a shadowy light around the room was dangling distractedly from the roof of the small room. A dusty crimson chair sat inanely in the far right corner. Another small door exactly the door he was standing at was situated on the opposite wall, it looked aged and more filthy.



What caused Liam to even look at the floor was the small ‘click’ of a dull, wooden music box that slowly closed its lid.



Liam ignored the cellar door that was creakily drawing back towards him, but stared vaguely at the music box. He forced his feet forward and eventually he was standing above the music box. It looked innocent. He knew it was not. This had haunted his childhood.



He leant down, his head pounding. A shaking hand seized the small music box. The smoothness of the timber felt strange against his hands, the naked bulb shed a faint shadow across the top of the music box. He moved away and continued to watch it intently, afraid it might suddenly begin to play.



Now he had the cause of his childhood nightmares in his very hands, Liam didn’t know what to do. He took a deep breath in through his nose and at that exact moment… he heard footsteps.



Liam’s eyes flickered up to meet the door on the opposite wall. His entire body iced over, fear gripped him so incredibly that he almost collapsed. There was a feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. He stood still. He could not think. The panic clouded his mind like a terrifying black curtain.



The footsteps grew louder and then came to a halt. Whatever, whoever it was, Liam was sure they were standing on the other side of that door. There was a deep breath from someone, Liam didn’t know if it was himself or someone else…



He wasn’t aware the music box had slipped out of his fingers like soap and clattered to the floor. Splinters of wood were strewn everywhere.



The music box bounced once and then smashed sidewards, landing in an awkward position. It burst unlocked.



Liam’s hands were still in the same position, and he turned, ever so slowly, and reached for the door. He pulled himself out, stooping to get through, and reached inside for the small door. Everything felt too slow, like his feet would not move fast enough, or his hands would not move quickly enough. The door felt heavier as he pulled it shut, his heart thrashing in his ears so he could barely hear the other door as the doorknob turned hoarsely.



He slammed the cellar door shut with force, his short breaths escaping from his lips.



He listened.



A door opened, footsteps inside, like boots, and then a door closing. More footsteps, and he counted, five, before they stopped.



Without thinking Liam turned the knob on his own door, and opened it, hoping it wouldn’t make so much as a sound.



He peeked around the corner and the image shocked him so deeply he could not breathe.



There, in the middle of the room, was Liam Dickinson himself, quite a bit older, completely unaware of another, younger, Liam peeping around the corner of the door. The other Liam had picked up the music box and was inspecting it, turning it around in his hands. He sighed and then turned on his heel, back out the way he had come. He bent over to get out of the door, and then shut it behind him quietly.



Liam Dickinson watched with such confusion and felt his unstable legs weaken and fall from underneath him. His eyes clouded over and the ground came up to meet his face.



In the other world the other Liam Dickinson heard the muted thud of a body hitting the ground ever so far in the distance. He paused where he stood on the stairs, a cold shiver caressing his body like an icy blanket, and drew the sleeve of his jacket back. He stared at his worn leather watch and frowned at the date, which read December 1982…