Mary couldn’t fall asleep. Sharp wails pierced the night, a thousand knives in Mary’s ears. She couldn’t stop the hot, angry tears from rolling down her face. Frustration gripped her like an iron vice. It had been six months since Charlotte was born—six months of living hell. It would’ve been a quiet night if she hadn’t been so stupid. Mary looked down at her writhing baby, twisted up in a soft pink blanket, face red and swollen from howling all night. Internally, she screamed. When she found out she was pregnant, it was already too late. She was no longer a daughter to her mother, but a low and dirty stranger. As for that waste of a man, he was long gone. So Mary was alone. “Well, not completely alone,” Mary sighed to herself.
Tired of failing to console the screaming baby, Mary resorted to her last hope and turned her attention to the small wooden box on Charlotte’s nightstand. She’d found the box in the antique store in town, but it was almost like the box found her. She was wishing for something, anything to help Charlotte sleep at night, and that’s when the glint of the sun against glass caught her eye, leading her gaze right to where the box was sitting. Entranced, Mary ran her finger along the carved pattern etched in the side of the box. She grasped the silver knob and twisted it clockwise. It slowly clicked with each rotation, winding the delicate gears within. A sweet melody began to play, twinkling softly like wind chimes in a gentle breeze—a lullaby. Mary closed her eyes and felt the song echo in her empty heart, a rush of emotion rising in her throat; that’s when she noticed: Charlotte was quiet. Mary, scared to wake her, crept slowly to the edge of the crib and peered down at her baby. Charlotte was peacefully curled up, breathing slow, the rise and fall of her chest in time with the chimes of the music box—Mary couldn’t believe it. She carefully laid the soft pink blanket on Charlotte’s breast, and turned away.
Suddenly, her foot slipped and Mary lost her balance, frantically waving her arms in the air, desperately fighting not to fall. She couldn’t save herself and toppled backwards, slamming into Charlotte’s nightstand, knocking the precious music box to the ground, where it shattered into pieces, the lullaby immediately ending on a lingering note. Instantly, Charlotte whimpered, then began to cry. “SHUT UP!!!” Mary screamed at the top of her lungs, rage shooting through her body like wildfire. “SHUT! UP!” She grabbed the edge of the crib with red fists and shook it, Charlotte tumbling around inside, slamming into the wooden frame. “I WISH YOU WERE NEVER BORN!!!” The baby cried even harder, betrayed by the one person who should’ve loved her. Heartbroken, Mary dashed out of the room, into her tiny bedroom, slammed the door behind her, and buried her head into a pillow.
A beam of sunlight broke through the dusty curtains and spilled onto Mary’s face, illuminating the room with streaks of white. Mary blinked the sleep from her eyes and sat up straight, rubbing her swollen, tear-stained cheeks. Grumbling to herself, she painstakingly rolled out of bed and into the abandoned hallway. “Charlotte?” No noise. Mary’s heart skipped a beat. She poked her head into the doorway. “Hey Char-” Mary stopped breathing. The room was empty, the air stale, the crib bare—Charlotte and the remains of the music box were gone. Mary choked for air and collapsed on the ground, her head swimming with questions, regrets, and gruesome scenarios as to what happened to her child. “You monster,” a voice hissed in her head. “What kind of mother wishes this on her child?” Mary whimpered, so upset she was shaking, brow contorted with worry and regret. “Charlotte, I’m s-sorry,” Mary gasped. “I didn’t mean it.. Please.. I didn’t mean it.” Tears blurred her vision and gravity took over.
Mary woke up with a start. One glance at the window told her it was nightfall. The steady pounding in her head and the throbbing pain where she fell told Mary that this wasn’t a nightmare like she hoped it would be—Charlotte was really gone. Mary could hardly breathe; it felt like something had grabbed her heart and was squeezing the life out of it. Her sobs echoed through the house, the only break in the sea of silence around her. That’s when she heard it; so quiet she thought she might be dreaming, a twinkling melody floating in the air. No, it couldn’t be.
Mary sprang to her feet and dashed through the house, following the sound. She stopped and listened again. Upstairs. Mary sprinted up the stairs, taking them two steps at a time, until she reached the room she was looking for. Out of breath, she threw open the door, which slammed against the wall, the sound of the crash reverberating across the frame.
There was no music.
Her brow furrowed in confusion as she strained her ears to listen, but there was nothing. She stood in place, frozen, straining her ears against the silence. Wait. There it is again. She could hear it, so quiet it was barely audible—but it was there. Mary hesitated, then slowly made her way back down the stairs. For some reason, she was starting to get a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach, something that made the hair on her neck prick up and her heartbeat quicken. Mary turned a corner and stopped again, careful not to make any noise so she didn’t lose the music. When she stepped forward, something caught her eye on the kitchen counter. Something silver and dainty. Her heart stopped. It was the silver chain that she had gotten for Charlotte when she was born. What it meant that the necklace was here, she didn’t know, but she was starting to become keenly aware of the empty darkness around her. As she crept towards it, she got the funny feeling that someone.. Or something.. was watching her.
Something… sinister.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Three quick raps on the kitchen window behind her. In a flash of movement Mary spun around to face the window—but there was nothing there. Just darkness. Funny, Mary thought to herself, dread building in her head. I could’ve sworn I heard someone tapping on the wind—Mary was cut off by another sound: the music, right behind her. She spun around for the second time that night, her heart violently seizing in her chest out of fear, her whole body going rigid… and found the music box sitting in front of her. Music innocently twinkled from it, the cute little box looking no more threatening than a baby lamb. Mary snarled at it, hate rising like bile in her chest, fury reeling beneath her skin, hot and dangerous.
She grabbed the box with both hands and stormed down to the basement, where she slammed it into the ground, over and over again. It splintered and cracked, the music going funny and distorted, strangled notes escaping from each hit the box took on the cold stone ground. Mary paused, staring down at the heap of wood and cogs at her feet. Unsatisfied, she grabbed a hammer and brought it down on the box with furious swings. All her hate, grief, anger, fear, and regret swelled up inside her for the final hit, and Mary brought down the hammer with all the strength in her body. It collided with the box with a deafening bang, the noise exploding through the house like a gunshot.
Mary sat there, panting, tears freely rolling down her face, openly crying for the loss of her child.
That’s when she heard it again.
Mary went dead still. She closed her eyes, praying she was hearing things. She wasn’t. The music played distantly, but this time, it was slower and insidiously off-key. There was only one thing left to do. Mary gathered all her bravery and bolted from the basement, down the abandoned hallway, past Charlotte’s barren crib, and into her own bedroom, burrowing under the blankets, trembling with fear. The house went silent. Mary didn’t dare to breathe. The clock on her bedside table ticked off the seconds. A minute went by… Still nothing. Mary’s heart pounded in her ears, her whole body tense—but there was still no sound. Mary let out a small sigh of relief.
Then she heard the music start up again, but this time, it sounded…closer. Panic ripped through Mary’s body. She wanted to run, but where would she go? There was only one way out, and that’s where the music was coming from. Please, please. The music stopped. Silence followed. Then, to Mary’s horror, it began to play again—at the foot of her bed. Please. Let it stop. The room went silent once more. Mary suddenly made the decision to get up and run for it. She risked a small movement in her fingers, slightly pulling down the edge of the covers so she could see the foot of the bed. It was too dark to see anything. Mary held her breath, but there was still nothing. She opened one eye slightly, not daring to breathe. Nothing. She opened both eyes. Just darkness. She turned her head ever so slightly. More darkness at the foot of her bed.. Wait. Mary could barely make out a silhouette. And strange white rope, coiled around the foot of her bed. Wait, not rope. She squinted her eyes harder, dread rising inside of her. The rope twitched, then began to uncoil, receding into the darkness. It was then Mary realized. Fingers. Long pale fingers, gripped around the foot of her bed, slowly stretching towards her leg. She shifted her gaze up—a white, eyeless face grinned back at her. There was no one to hear her screams as it grabbed her by the feet and dragged her away into the dark.
Sweet dreams, Mary.
This piece is a testament to the courage, strength, and sacrifice it takes to be a mother. Mary is faced with a predicament: she never wanted to have Charlotte in the first place, so is she really a daughter to her? Must Mary love the child that she didn’t ask for? In her moment of rage, Mary wishes for her daughter to die. Unfortunately for her, a monster hears her wish and kills Charlotte. But Charlotte was only a taste, because it’s really after Mary—Mary doesn’t know that until it’s too late. The presence of the monster is tied to the music box. By wishing for Charlotte to die, Mary releases the monster into her own house. Wherever the music plays, that’s where it is stalking its prey. Lullaby is a psychological horror that plays into the fear of being alone and the fear of the unknown. It speaks to the truth that people are afraid of what they don’t understand. In this case, Mary fears the music box because she doesn’t understand why she keeps hearing it. Mary also doesn’t realize how much she needed Charlotte’s company until it was gone. The house became an empty prison, where no one would hear her screams as she was pulled away into the darkness.