Writing for Fun
November 2016
The Musical Box - Maureen Rampersaud
Julie let herself into Number 13, Truro Road. She was asked to value it by Miss Wood’s American nephew, who was in a hurry to sell, now that the will had been sorted out. He had instructed her firm to sell the contents and put it on the market. She looked around in disbelief, it was like something from an Agatha Christie novel ... definitely no ‘mod cons’ ... she would have to emphasize ‘original features’. She toured the house with her clipboard, no point taking pictures until all this junk was cleared.
She mounted the stairs and wondered if Miss Wood had died in bed, she shivered as she entered the back bedroom. There was a paisley eiderdown on the ancient bed with sensible slippers neatly beside it. Yes, this was where Miss Wood had drawn her last breath. Julie’s mother always said that she had a sixth sense.
Picking up an ornate box on the bedside table, she couldn’t resist the urge to open it. It emitted the tinkling sounds of ‘Fur Elise’, a tune she knew well because of piano practice that her mother had insisted she did as a child. Julie poked about at the few trinkets inside, slipped a cameo broach into her pocket, replaced the box and continued her inspection. There weren’t many perks in this job.
Julie felt cold. It wasn’t warm when she came in, but the temperature had definitely plummeted. She felt uneasy, so turned towards the stairs, when she froze. The unmistakable strains of ‘Fur Elise’ were coming from the bedroom. She threw the cameo back into the room and nearly tumbled down the stairs in her rush to leave. She slammed the front door behind her and reached her car with relief. As her shaking hands put the key into the ignition, she resolved to delegate the work of selling this particular house. She was never setting foot in it again.