The Phantom Music Box, Page 2

  Da-da-da-da DUM Dee-dum dee-dum Da-da-da-da DUM Dee-dum dee-dum

  She recognized the tune right away: “The Blue Danube.” Emma checked an app on her phone, which told her it had been written by Johann Strauss in 1867.

  The little dancers turned slowly to the tempo of the music, their dance reflected in the oval mirror. It was a cute little music box, she decided. She was just being silly.

  Shutting the lid stopped the music. Emma snapped off the light and rolled over, falling into a deep sleep.

  After several hours, Emma gradually came awake. The soft tinkling of “The Blue Danube” was playing in her room. Da-da-da-da DUM Dee-dum dee-dum Da-da-da-da DUM Dee-dum dee-dum

  Moonlight shone on the music box on her nightstand, and Emma leaned toward it. She was certain she’d shut the lid before falling asleep, but it was open now. The little dancers were moving….

  But they were spinning much too fast!

  The little dancers whirled at a tremendous speed as the tempo of “The Blue Danube” grew faster and faster, and the music swelled louder, as if an orchestra was playing and not just the tinny music box.

  What was happening?

  Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, Emma peered into the moonlit music box and reached out to close the lid.

  And then she noticed a movement in the oval mirror.

  Two eyes were gazing back at her — but the eyes were blue, not brown, like her own.

  Emma slammed the lid shut, cutting off the music. Her heart pounded. Someone had been looking at her from the other side of the mirror!

  Her school backpack was in a corner of her room. Keeping a firm pressure on the music box lid, Emma used her free hand to spill the backpack’s contents onto the floor. Then she stuffed the music box inside and zipped the pack.

  For extra security, Emma stuffed the backpack into her dresser drawer and shut it tight.

  In the morning, she’d throw the thing in the garbage.

  No!

  She’d never be able to sleep with the music box in the room. She’d get rid of it right away.

  Wrapping herself in the quilt on her bed, Emma took the backpack with the music box out of the drawer and hurried downstairs. In the family room, her parents were watching the news on TV.

  She dashed past the doorway, hoping they wouldn’t notice her. Emma worried that if she told them what she’d seen, they’d laugh at her, or worse, worry. The last thing she wanted was for them to try to persuade her to keep the music box.

  Emma slipped into the kitchen and eased open the back door. She stepped out into the yard and hopped as the cold ground chilled her toes. Shivering, she quickly unzipped her backpack and pulled the top off one of the garbage cans lined up by the side fence. “Out you go,” she said as she dumped the music box out of the backpack and replaced the can’s lid in a flash.

  Crossing her arms for warmth, she ran back to the house. Just as she stepped into the kitchen, a tinkling song caught her attention.

  The haunting melody of “The Blue Danube” played from inside the garbage can.

  For a moment, Emma froze in place, listening.

  Should she go back to shut it off?

  No. The image of those strange eyes peering at her from the box came into her mind. There was no way she would take a chance on seeing them again. Closing the door firmly behind her, she hurried upstairs to her room.

  In the morning, the sanitation workers would take the eerie music box away — for good.

  EMMA? EMMA!”

  Blinking in the morning light, Emma was confused. Why was she on the living room couch, and why was her mother calling to her from her bedroom upstairs?

  “Emma! Where are you?”

  Then she remembered everything that had happened the night before and went to the bottom of the stairs. “I’m down here, Mom,” she called.

  Mrs. Bryant appeared at the top of the stairs.

  “I couldn’t sleep so I came down and slept on the couch,” Emma explained. When she’d gone back to her bedroom after throwing out the music box, she’d tried to fall back to sleep but kept waking up. The music box had scared her so much that she didn’t even want to be alone in her room. She’d come down to watch TV and fallen asleep on the couch.

  Besides, she wanted to know the moment the sanitation truck took the garbage cans away. She’d hear the truck better from the living room. And she had, in fact, heard them very early that morning.

  What a relief! The music box was gone.

  “Are you all right?” Mrs. Bryant asked.

  “Not really,” Emma said as she climbed the stairs. “You won’t believe how weird that music box is.” Now that the music box was gone, she could tell her mother about what had happened.

  “I can’t believe what a wreck your room is,” her mother countered, heading into Emma’s bedroom. “What went on in here?”

  Emma followed her in and saw her mother’s point. The books, papers, pens, and pencils she’d dumped from her backpack were scattered all over her room, as were the clothes she’d thrown from her dresser drawer to make room for the backpack holding the music box.

  “And where is your quilt?” Mrs. Bryant asked.

  “On the couch,” Emma replied. “The music box was acting really bizarre last night and I had to put it in my backpack and then in the dresser. And then I got so creeped out that I couldn’t take it anymore so I —”

  “Well, it seems just fine now,” Mrs. Bryant cut in.

  “Huh?” Emma didn’t understand.

  Mrs. Bryant gestured at the music box that sat open on Emma’s nightstand.

  “No way!” How had that gotten there? “I threw that thing away last night.”

  “Maybe you meant to throw it away, but clearly you didn’t,” Mrs. Bryant said.

  “I’m not imagining it, Mom! I threw this in the garbage can last night.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “I told you! Something’s not right with it. I definitely threw it away.”

  “You weren’t feeling well last night, dear. You probably just dreamed you threw it away.”

  “Ugh,” Emma murmured, picking up the music box. Could she have dreamed it?

  The little dancers seemed back to normal. They stood there looking innocent. The only mark on the oval mirror was the thumbprint. Emma took a tissue from the cardboard box on her dresser and wiped it away.

  “You said the box was acting strangely? What exactly was it doing last night?” Mrs. Bryant asked.

  Emma told her about the lid opening and the music playing faster and faster, but she felt increasingly foolish as she spoke. Her story was so crazy. She couldn’t blame her mother for the skeptical expression that had formed on her face.

  “You were definitely dreaming,” Mrs. Bryant said. “Your father was right about that Haunted Museum. It gave you nightmares.”

  Mrs. Bryant took the music box from Emma and turned its key until “The Blue Danube” played. Da-da-da-da DUM Dee-dum dee-dum Da-da-da-da DUM Dee-dum dee-dum

  She hummed along, swaying gently with the melody. “I adore this piece of music,” she remarked. “It’s so lovely.”

  That had to be it, Emma thought. She’d fallen asleep and had had a bad dream. The little figures whirling to a frantic version of “The Blue Danube,” the peering eyes — they were only a creepy part of her dream. The music box was perfectly fine now.

  But if that was so, she’d also thrown all this stuff around her room.

  Emma looked down and realized that her feet were filthy. She’d definitely been outside last night. Had she sleepwalked out into the backyard?

  Could she really have done all of that in her sleep?

  KEERA CAME over that afternoon. “I called Stella and Lauren. Neither of them got music boxes or anything else from the Haunted Museum,” she reported. “Show me this music box.”

  Emma and Keera went upstairs to Emma’s room where the music box still sat on her nightstand. Keera picked up the music box, t
urning it in her hands to examine it. “It looks okay now,” she said, opening the lid. “But you said the little figures were spinning around like crazy?”

  “Yeah, and the music played way too loud and too fast.”

  “Maybe it’s just broken.”

  “Maybe,” Emma allowed. “Mom thinks I dreamed the whole thing, but my feet were dirty, which kind of proves I was outside.”

  “These little dolls aren’t doing anything freaky now.”

  “What about the eyes I saw on the other side of the mirror?” Emma asked.

  Keera smiled. “It was you, silly.”

  “No, it wasn’t,” Emma insisted. “The eyes were blue, and it was definitely someone else looking at me.” But she was starting to wonder if it had been her own reflection she’d seen last night. Maybe her eyes had just looked different because the lights weren’t on.

  Keera shook her head and turned the key to begin the music. Emma had to admit that the lilting waltz was pretty. As they both listened to “The Blue Danube,” Emma began to sway to the melody.

  Soon she was gliding and turning across her bedroom floor as her mind filled with the music. There was no room for thinking about mysteries or creepy eyes or music boxes. She wasn’t even thinking about her movement. Emma was simply at one with the notes of the piece.

  Keera clapped when the music box wound down and the melody faded. “Emma, how can you say you’re the worst dancer in your class?” she asked. “The way you just danced was awesome.”

  “Thanks,” Emma replied. “The music box is really nice to dance to. But if I were with the others in my class, I’d be bumping into them and stepping on their feet.”

  “That’s kind of hard to believe. You were so graceful.”

  “Believe it,” Emma said firmly.

  “Did you decide if you’re going to audition for the dance team?” Keera asked.

  “I don’t see the point of bothering. I won’t make it.”

  “You don’t know unless you try,” Keera argued. “And you love dancing. Wouldn’t it be fun to do?”

  Emma flopped onto her bed. “It would be great to be on the team. The girls go to dance competitions and performances. They win trophies and travel around the country. They even go to big cities and perform with professional dance companies.”

  “So do it,” Keera urged. “You just needed to find the right piece of music, and ‘The Blue Danube’ is totally your song. Fate brought this music box to you,” she said, growing excited by the idea.

  “I don’t believe in fate.”

  “Fate, good luck, you know what I mean,” Keera insisted. “Promise me you’ll at least try out?”

  “Okay — promise,” Emma said.

  Keera and Emma went downstairs to watch some movies and forgot about the music box.

  But later that night, after Keera left, Emma opened the box and saw immediately that the little male doll had fallen to the bottom of the box.

  Emma lifted him up and gasped. His eye was unmistakably rimmed in black, as though someone had hit him! And the little woman doll now had her head thrown back and looked as if she was laughing wildly.

  Emma stared at the music box so intently that she jumped when she caught a motion out of the corner of her eye.

  Jason appeared at her door. “What are you doing?”

  “Come here, Jason. Look at this.”

  “Cool,” he said, examining the male doll. “How did you do that?”

  “I didn’t do it,” Emma said. “The woman doll attacked her dancing partner.”

  “Oh, yeah? How dumb do you think I am? You twisted those figures just to scare me. How did you get them to bend? Did you melt them or something?”

  “I didn’t! I just found them like this.”

  “Very funny, Emma!” Jason left, chuckling gleefully. “The marker under the doll’s eye was a good touch, though.”

  “Pest,” Emma muttered.

  Emma tossed the little man into the music box and slammed it shut. She ran from her room, calling to her parents. “Mom! Dad! Come here!”

  Alarmed, her parents hurried upstairs. “Emma, what on earth has incited such an outburst?” Mr. Bryant asked.

  Emma opened the music box. “Look at this! The little woman doll hit the man and now she’s laughing about it. He’s got a black eye! See for yourself.”

  Her parents peered into the box and then exchanged a worried look. Emma quickly checked. The little man and woman were standing beside each other once more, just as they’d been when she first opened the box.

  Emma stared into the music box, stunned. How had that happened?

  “They weren’t like that a minute ago,” she insisted. “Ask Jason.”

  “Jason!” Mr. Bryant called. “We require your presence and assistance for a moment.”

  Jason came up the stairs into the hallway. “What’s going on?”

  “Emma is of the opinion that her new music box is displaying some peculiarities,” Mr. Bryant explained.

  Jason cast a confused look at his mother.

  “Something’s strange about the music box,” she explained.

  “Oh.” Jason looked into the music box. “Hilarious, Emma,” he said drily, looking at her. “You twisted them and now you’ve untwisted them.”

  “I didn’t do that, Jason!” Emma said. “You know they looked different.”

  Mrs. Bryant put her arm around Emma’s shoulders. “You’ve had a long day and that Haunted Museum has spooked you,” she suggested.

  “I told you that I didn’t approve of her admission to such a place,” Mr. Bryant added as he and Jason headed back downstairs.

  Maybe they were right. It was possible that the museum was making her imagination work overtime.

  “Let’s get you to bed,” Mrs. Bryant said, continuing to guide Emma back toward her bedroom. “Everything will seem better in the morning.”

  Emma nodded, hoping her mother was right. As she headed toward her room, Emma heard her father and Jason speaking at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Uh-oh,” Jason said with a sigh. “I hope Emma’s not cracking up — again.”

  THAT NIGHT, Emma slept fitfully. Had she really imagined everything the music box was doing?

  This sort of thing had happened before, back in the third grade.

  That year, her teacher had been the super strict Mrs. Clatter, a terrifying woman with no patience who didn’t seem to like her job very much. She’d always seemed on edge and was constantly yelling at the class to sit down and be quiet even when they were already behaving just fine. Their work was never up to her standards, and homework assignments that had never been assigned were requested to be turned in. Mrs. Clatter had made Emma so nervous that she’d had nightmares about her teacher every night and dreaded going to school.

  Then, because she was so tired all the time, Emma was clumsier than ever. The kids laughed every time she tripped or knocked something over.

  Every morning, Emma’s heart would race with anxiety. Each afternoon, she came home and cried. One day, Jason found himself accidentally locked outside of the house and was leaning on the doorbell to be let in. Already sleepy and anxious, Emma imagined that Mrs. Clatter was coming to take her away. She ran out of the house, hysterical with terror, and it took Emma’s mother and some neighbors four hours to find her.

  That was when Mr. and Mrs. Bryant really began to worry.

  They took Emma to a therapist who prescribed tiny pills to calm her down. Emma did feel better after taking them for a while, though the nightmares didn’t truly go away. But the only thing that really worked was when school ended for the summer and Emma was on her way to the fourth grade. Once Mrs. Clatter was out of her life, things got so much better that Emma didn’t even need the little pills anymore.

  But was it happening all over again?

  Was Emma so nervous and upset about the dance team audition that her mind was once again playing tricks on her?

  Emma got out of bed, slipping into a pair o
f flip-flops. Her parents might still be up. If they were, she wanted to talk to them about her worries. Maybe she should take the little calming-down pills again. She also wanted to see if she could convince her father to bring the music box to the school where he worked and toss it away. If it was that far from the house it might not be able to find its way back.

  Emma was halfway down the stairs when she heard her parents talking in low tones. When she heard her name mentioned, she quietly backed up the stairs so she could listen without her parents becoming aware of her.

  “It could be that Emma requires a calming respite at a facility equipped to handle such singular behavior,” Mr. Bryant remarked.

  “I don’t know,” Mrs. Bryant said warily. “There’s one nearby, but it’s for teens, isn’t it? Do you think that would help Emma?”

  “One of my students recently returned from some time at the residence, and seems much improved.”

  “I heard Mrs. Clatter has left teaching and is the new dean of girls over there.”

  Mrs. Clatter!

  Emma could hardly breathe.

  There was no way Emma was going to any place run by Mrs. Clatter!

  “Don’t you remember how much Emma disliked her?” Mrs. Bryant added.

  “Oh, that was long ago.” Mr. Bryant dismissed the concern. “I’m sure that Mrs. Clatter is in a much more pleasant professional situation. Besides, Emma probably does not remember her former instructor.”

  But Emma certainly did remember. Hurrying back to her room, Emma shut the door, trying not to panic. The music box sat closed on her nightstand, just as she’d left it. She couldn’t let it get to her. There had to be a way to get rid of it without mentioning it to her parents. It would only convince them further that she needed to go away, to the place run by Mrs. Clatter.

  Emma decided that she had to return it to the Haunted Museum on her own. She checked her phone and saw that if she got off the bus she took to dance class one stop early, the Haunted Museum wasn’t far from there. She’d simply walk in and give it back.

  Emma yawned, rubbing her eyes. She felt calmer now that she had a plan. She took a glass paperweight from her desk, placed it on top of the closed music box, and settled down to sleep.