The Midnight Hour & Other Scary Stories

The Music Box

Young Farris sat with his father in their cabin on the fringes of town. The boy was scared. His father had been acting very differently all day. He had never seen him so shaken. It didn't look right, seeing his father so worried. He was a big man. A farmer. Farris's father wasn't afraid of anything. Except for now, of course. Now he was absolutely terrified.

"Be a good boy and give it here." His father said, motioning to Farris.

Farris handed his father another board and the big man began hammering it across the window with the others. The window was nearly covered by now

"Father? What is the matter? Why do you look so scared?" He asked.

His father would not look at him. As he hammered the big nails into that board, fat beads of sweat rolled down his temple.

Finally, he said, "Never mind that, boy. You just be good and stay inside. It'll be over before we know it and then there'll be no need to know."

His father tried whistling as he nailed the boards in place but the sound was forced. Farris wished he could help his father, but all the poor boy could do was watch as his father shook like a sapling in the wind. When he finally finished, the man took a seat on one of their simple chairs and invited Farris over to sit on his lap. Farris listened, of course. He was a good boy. He sat on his father's lap while the man rocked back and forth.

Yet, every tune he tried to hum came out wrong. It reminded Farris of his late mother's music box and how the mechanism distorted the music, slowing it down and twisting the melody. His attempts finally stopped when a sour wind came whistling through the fields outside. This wind carried its own sort of song, but Farris did not like it.

His father held him close as the wind went from a whistle to a howl; then from a howl to something else. A rusted, metallic scraping could be heard from somewhere on the wind. It was accompanied by the ear-splitting cry of aged joints moving forward.

Something was outside their door.

"Father--" Farris began, but his father placed a hand over the boy's mouth. Tears were pouring down the side of his father's weathered face.

The wind's howl rose to a fever pitch that drowned out even Farris's heartbeats. And then, the wind stopped howling. A dead silence fell over the house. The only thing that could be heard were the cries of distant crows.

Something knocked on the door.

Farris's father gripped him tightly.

The knocking continued.

"Do not listen." His father whispered in between tears. "Do not listen!"

Farris did not know what his father meant, but then, he heard a soft melody. It started sour, like the notes on the wind, but slowly changed into something sweet. That was when Farriss realized that it was the same song from his mother's music box, restored.

He tried pulling himself from his father's grip.

"No!" His father cried, gripping him even more tightly. "You musn't go!"

The melody grew louder. Farris found himself drawn to it. Still, he could not move. His father's grip was strong.

"Farris." A familiar voice floated on the song now. "My dear boy. It's me, your mother. Won't you come to me?"

"Mother?" He pushed against his father.

"No, fool boy! It isn't what you think! Farris! Your mother is gone, boy! That isn't her anymore!"

But Farris slipped from his father's grasp. He bolted to the door.

"Mother!" He cried, struggling with the locks. "Mother, it's me! I hear you!"

His father struggled to move fast enough. He raced behind his son and grabbed hold of him. Farris kicked and screamed but he couldn't break free. He could barely breathe, his father was holding him so tightly. Something sharp and mechanical, like the leg of some metallic insect, tore through the wooden door.

In that moment, Farris's father looked up to watch the metal leg retreat, leaving behind a gash in the wood. The opening allowed him to see the ghostly figure of his late wife hovering just outside, and the horrible machine that had summoned her to this world, like a music box on rusted spidery legs, continued to play its infernal tune. There were other souls too around her, faces he recognized; family long dead. He screwed his eyes shut.

Farris's father did not realize how tightly he was holding on to his boy. He could only weep and avoid the dead eyes beyond.

But then, something made him look up again. A horrible sting of terrible emotion. He saw his dead wife was joined by someone new. Now, her ghostly hand held on to the hand of another shade, a small boy.

It was Farris.

They waved at him before turning to face the music box.

As they walked away, Farris's father looked down to see his son's limp body. He had squeezed too hard. Just like his wife.

His wail joined the infernal melody.