You know how it goes.
When you were a child, your favourite thing was your music box. It would play a soothing yet haunting melody that lulled you to sleep, or provided background noise for playtime.
You had it for years. You loved it, cherished it. You brought it everywhere. Kept it safe. It was your comfort item, one you were proud to show, unlike Billy’s baby blanket.
Your music box kept you safe.
Or so you thought.
Each night you would play it, falling asleep to its haunting tune. But what you didn’t know was that it was always there, poking and prodding at the edge of your consciousness. It controlled your dreams, made you think that the nightmares only came when there was no melody breaking the stifling silence.
No, you didn’t have nightmares with your music box.
It was the nightmare.
It fed off your happiness, your calmness. Oh, now you’re just noticing that you never had to change the battery. It wasn’t an inanimate object. No, it was a living, malevolent creature, waiting.
Waiting.
It’s waiting for that one moment, that one slip up in reality.
It’s waiting for you to screw up, to forget.
Your precious music box will become part of you. You will forget it. You will not remember.
It will control you.
And the only part left will be a faint melody, one that reminds you of your younger, innocent days. What you won’t realize, is that it was it slipping up.
Fight it. Remember. Don’t forget.
Or you will become one of them.
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Credits to: photofreecreepypasta
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