A Turn of the Key

I slipped back inside as night fell, the heavy door clicking shut behind me to lock out the street's chill. On the low credenza in the entryway, an antique music box rested beside a stack of mail. Its tiny brass winding key on the side was angled down, dormant. I approached quietly across the polished wood, stepping close to grip the key with both hands. With slow, measured effort, I nudged it through three deliberate rotations until it met a firm resistance. As I stepped back, a hushed, delicate melody began to chime inside the walnut casing, each metallic note ringing pure in the quiet dark.