Don't Open That Door - GoM 1

Echoes - 1

The room was dark. Felicity didn't like being in the dark, but turning on the lights made her feel vulnerable when Dad was angry. Like that night. His loud voice thundered all over the house as he bellowed at Mom about something Felicity didn't understand. But she never understood why Dad got so mad all of a sudden.

Like every time Dad got like that, Mom sent Felicity to her room. And she hurried up the stairs, not looking at Dad yelling in the kitchen. Whenever he was angry, his face turned red, and the veins in his forehead and neck seemed to pump out. Seeing him like that scared Felicity a lot. So she always ran to her room, closed the door and curled up at the corner beneath the window, pressing her hands to her ears not to hear him.

Because after Dad's yelling always came Mom's crying. And later, or the next day, Felicity would see the bruises on Mom's arms and face. Mom always tried to hide them and smile, and promised everything was alright. But she looked so sad.

That night, on her way to the corner, Felicity grabbed a music box from her nightstand. It was old, made of dark wood, and it had a pretty ballerina on top of it, which spun when Felicity wound it up.

Granny had given it to her, two weeks earlier. She'd found it at her friend Clarisse's store, and it had soon become Felicity's most cherished possession.

She didn't know why, but whenever she heard the box's simple tune, or just held it in her hands, she didn't feel alone. And what was more: she felt protected. Nothing could harm her if she had her music box.

In the dark room, Felicity wound it up and held it before her face, trying to listen only to its tune. It wasn't enough to cover Dad's yelling, the noise of smashing dishes, Mom's sobs, but Felicity tried to imagine they didn't exist.

Nothing else existed. Only her and her precious music box, the tune, the small ballerina spinning in the shadows of the room. And the feeling like warm arms around her, holding her. Keeping her safe.

For no particular reason, that night Felicity wondered what she would ask if the music box could grant her a wish.

"I wish Dad wouldn't get angry anymore," she muttered, eyes tightly shut.

A soft gust brushed her temple, like a gentle kiss.

All of a sudden, the tune played faster, and Felicity opened her eyes to see the ballerina spinning like a crazy teetotum. And then they stopped. And Felicity heard Mom's scream. A scream of horrified surprise.

Felicity ran to the door. She considered leaving the music box behind, but she didn't dare to go down the stairs all alone. So she pressed it to her chest and tiptoed out of her room.

As she came down the stairs step by step, her heart racing in her chest, she heard Mom talking through tears. But she couldn't be talking to Dad, because Dad knew where they lived, and Mom was repeating their address. Mom cried and begged somebody to hurry up.

Felicity sat down on the last step and tried to see what was happening in the kitchen. Dad was lying on the floor, very still, and Mom kneeled by him, holding his hand. Felicity couldn't see her face, but she could still hear her cry.

She wondered why Dad was lying there, on the floor covered in shattered glasses. The white pieces were from the dishes, the grin ones were from the beautiful glasses she and Mom had bought the week before.

She didn't wonder why Mom cried, because Mom always did when Dad got angry.

Then she realized the music box had just granted her wish: Dad wasn't angry anymore. He wasn't yelling. He wasn't smashing things around. Maybe he wouldn't do it ever again?

Felicity held the music box tight and lowered her head to whisper, so only the ballerina would hear her, "Thank you."