The Tune that Time Forgot

A bell tinkled as I entered the peculiar establishment. "Welcome to the Raven's Emporium." The one-eyed man smiled, rubbing his callused hands. "What brings you to my humble collection of curiosities?"

I knew exactly what I wanted, yet I feigned ignorance.

"Oh, just browsing. Maybe something will jump out at me."

He gave me a sharp look, as if he could see through my deception. Then the wrinkled shopkeeper flashed a wry grin. "In here, you never know. Take care not to get lost."

I heeded his words with a polite smile, casually striding into the murky interior. Ancient floorboards groaned as I secretly searched for object of my desire.

Though the wooden shelves held layers of dust, they contained wares that were meticulously arranged. Each object was tagged with a handwritten name and brief description. Strangely, there was no price listed on or beneath any of the odd items on display.

I inspected a human skull, its jaws clamped with a metal device. Inscribed in spidery letters, the yellowing label informed me it was the 'Screaming Skull of Burton Agnes Hall'.

The description warned any potential buyers not to remove the bindings lest the owner wished to suffer sleepless nights filled with endless shrieking.

Interesting, but who would want that?

An exquisite Victorian wedding dress dangled from a hook. A large warning was pinned to the silk fabric, stating any women that donned this garment would take their own life. I wondered what would happen to a man but decided curses weren't picky.

Moving on, I squinted at a shriveled fist clutching a half melted candle. Ah, a Hand of Glory? Taken from the corpse of a thief, this object will allow the user to move unseen in the dead of night.

That would certainly be useful, I mused. Sorely tempted, I forced myself to continue on my original quest.

I knew it was here, it had to be.

Passing by racks of occult books, I read the titles with mild disinterest. The Egyptian Book of the Dead, Petit Albert, Necronomicon... The Entire Ars Goetia?

Shaking my head, I grimaced. Focus. You came here for one reason.

Turning down the labyrinthine aisles, I found myself before a full length mirror. The gilded frame beckoned me closer. My breath caused the surface to ripple, as though it contained a pool of crystal liquid.

Marveling at the strange glass, it seemed there was nothing separating me from my reflection. Palm itching, I stretched out a hand.

"I would not advise that." I jumped at the voice in my ear.

The wizened man leered behind me, hands clasped behind his stooped frame. "Some legends say the Limbus mirror is a portal to the edge of Hell."

I shrank from the glass as the old man snickered.

"A wise choice indeed." He turned and retreated back into the murky shadows, whistling softly.

Shuddering at the close call, I grimaced at the enigmatic mirror and carefully stepped around it.

The little shop was much larger on the inside than I'd expected. Wandering past the mysterious and macabre wares, I began to despair. Perhaps my informant lied. Maybe it sold earlier today and I was too late.

Just as I lost hope, I glimpsed the treasure my heart longed for.

An ornate music box sat on a crumbling pedestal. Detailed figures were carved into the rich mahogany, maroon shapes depicting a story that time itself forgot. It was locked, requiring a special key to open.

I knew the shopkeeper was behind me, I could feel the weight of his gaze.

"How much for this?" I inquired, eyes fixated on my ambition.

"Why do you seek this item?" Stepping out of the gloom, he moved into my line of sight.

I frowned at his question. "Does it matter? I'm willing to pay, just tell me your price."

Scratching his nose, the one-eyed man peered at me. "This lies beyond the extent of your wealth."

Face burning with outrage, I struggled to keep my composure in check. "How much are you asking for, old man?"

He grinned and shook his balding head. "I have no use for money. You must give me something of equal value. Something... priceless."

Exasperated, my mind swirled as I tried to make sense of his cryptic response. "I don't understand what you mean..."

Sighing, he snatched my face as his bloodshot eye bored into my mind. "Let me browse your waresss." The whispering hiss snaked into my ears as I stood powerless under the all-seeing orb.

He picked through my memories, murmuring to himself. "No, no... Too common. Where are you hiding... Ah!"

Releasing me, I stumbled back as he clutched a nebulous wisp in his gnarled hands. "This... this will do nicely."

Placing the fragment of consciousness in a tiny jar, he held it with a look of unrestrained glee.

"What did you take from me?" I demanded dizzily, gasping for breath. Why am I so exhausted?

Grinning enigmatically, he whirled and walked off. "Nothing you'd miss. Please enjoy your new purchase." His laugh faded as the room spun in a nightmarish kaleidoscope of insanity.

My legs gave out, sending me falling into the twirling void, too weak to scream. I closed my eyes, resigning myself to the abyss.

Rain dripped onto my face. I found myself outside the store, holding the music box.

The bizarre shop was closed. But the sign didn't have a raven perched above it. Black Gold, the best coffee around, read the embossed letters on the door. If this was a dream or some hallucination, it felt very convincing.

I blinked and looked at the antique in my hands. It was the real thing. Who cares how I managed to acquire it?

The music box rattled faintly as I shielded it from the storm. Splashing through puddles, I hurried through the parking lot. My excitement grew once I reached my car.

They said it never existed. It was a fairy tale, told in hushed tones after too many drinks. Perhaps it was just an ordinary device, but I would soon find out for myself.

Driving home, I could scarcely focus on the road. My thoughts were consumed by endless possibilities, wondering if my life long obsession would come to fruition. If so, it would be time for another trip back to that eccentric store.

I parked in my garage, racing into the house. After gently placing the box down, I scoured my study for the final piece.

Papers flew as I rummaged in drawers, rifling through cabinets, muttering all the while. "I left it somewhere... Where the hell did I put it?"

At last, I found the tiny metal object.

It was a silver key, shaped in the form of a winged heart.

"Tchaikovsky's final creation." I breathed, voice quavering with anticipation. As the story went, the famous Russian composer fell in love with a ballerina.

The tortured musician was often used for his talents, forced to write music for the benefit of others. But when he saw the beautiful dancer perform, Tchaikovsky was inspired to create a masterpiece.

He created a music box, pouring his soul into the trinket. His hope was that the ballerina would be so enraptured by the gift that she would fall in love with him. Unfortunately, he died shortly after the device was complete.

The box was lost, along with his dreams.

Until now.

Placing the silver key in the lock, it opened with a faint click.

Hands shaking, I paused to recollect myself. This was it. The moment I dreamt of.

I felt flushed, hot with nervous anticipation. Opening a window, I sighed as the cool breeze tempered my passion. The storm outside had dissipated, leaving the sound of crickets chirping in its wake.

Soothing my tension, the insects peeped cheerfully.

I returned to the table. Taking a deep breath, I grasped the lid and slowly opened the fabled mechanism.

Silence greeted me.

Crickets trilled in the stillness as my hopes plummeted.

Then I heard it.

An angelic voice, softly singing. The haunting melody brought tears to my eyes as the chorus swelled with an emotional crescendo. It felt as if my heart was going to burst with sadness, the exquisite music resonating throughout my entire being.

I wept as they chanted, sweet syllables of sorrow wounding my soul.

The hours passed as I listened to the endless fountain of melancholia pouring from the little box. Everything seemed trivial compared to that lovely composition.

My stomach gurgled, but I wasn't hungry. How could I eat when my spirit was so enraptured? Food was of little importance. All I wanted was to let the music wash over me.

Days passed.

A gnawing agony clawed at my guts, begging for sustenance. I ignored it.

Swallowing, my parched throat ached. But this pain was nothing compared to that melodious grief. Truly, this was the greatest composition ever created.

Soon, I would share it with the world. But only after the song was finished playing.

I couldn't bear to cut it short. Every time I thought I'd heard everything, a new crescendo tugged at my heartstrings.

My throbbing head felt so heavy...

Perhaps a short nap, a brief rest before I make my discovery public.

Maybe I imagined it, but I swore that I heard a familiar raspy laugh as the music pulled my eyelids shut.

(Word count: 1,562)

Link to the music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wSqTwDtU2Fw