Bedside Chimes

Slipping back inside from the chilly street corner, the bedroom welcomed my padded feet with deep, quiet warmth. Climbing onto the low stool by the nightstand, my blunt plush hands mapped a small, solid timber box with rounded brass feet. On its side sat a cold, winged metal key. Click. I gripped the key between my palms and twisted. Ratchet-click, ratchet-click. Internal spring tension tightened against my grip. When I let go, a delicate, rhythmic melody began to pluck inside—ting, plink, ting-a-ling. I pressed my chest flat against the polished oak surface. The wood amplified every tiny metallic note into a sweet, humming tremor that vibrated through my ribs. A low resonant rumble rose in my throat as the mechanism slowly wound down into silence.