I needed a fresh start

March 2, 2025

by Scot

I don’t know if I imagined it or if it really happened. Maybe I was just lonely. Maybe it was something else. All I can do is tell the story and let you decide.

I left my hometown in Ohio after a rough time in my life. I needed a fresh start, so I moved to a quiet little town in Louisiana. I didn’t know much about the place, just that rent was cheap, and I liked the old-fashioned buildings. My apartment was small but cozy, with creaky wooden floors and a balcony overlooking the street.

At first, I spent most of my time alone. I thought about getting a pet, but the landlord had strict rules—no dogs, no cats, not even a bird. So, I filled my space with antiques, little treasures I found at the market. One day, I bought a music box from an old shop on the corner. It was beautiful—dark wood, carved roses on the lid, and a tiny ballerina inside that spun when you wound it up.

For weeks, I loved that music box. Every night, I’d wind it up before bed and listen to the soft, eerie tune as I fell asleep.

Then, one morning, I woke up to find the music box open. The ballerina was spinning slowly, even though I hadn’t touched it.

I brushed it off as a draft or maybe a faulty spring. But the next night, I woke to the sound of it playing on its own. The lid was open again. The ballerina twirled under the dim moonlight from my window.

I shut it, locked it, and shoved it deep inside my dresser.

But it kept happening. Night after night.

One evening, I finally had enough. I decided to get rid of it. I took it outside and left it by the trash bins. But when I came back up to my apartment, the music was playing. The box was sitting on my table.

I didn’t sleep that night.

The next morning, I took the box far—past the town limits, deep into the woods, and buried it under a heavy stone.

That night, my apartment was silent. Peaceful.

But just as I was drifting off to sleep, I heard something faint. A soft, distant melody.

The music box was playing.

Some things don’t want to be left behind. Some things don’t let go.

And I don’t think I’ll ever know why.

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