The music Box

You woke slowly, realizing with a smile that Thomas was still wrapped around you. It was surprising how warm you felt without any clothes. Under the heavy blankets and sheets, Thomas spooned you tightly, molding your body to his so perfectly, it was as if you had been originally cut from him. Your waking movements caused him to take a deep breath and pull you tighter to him. He buried his face in your hair.

You blushed to yourself, remembering the night's events. The soreness between your legs did not surprise you, nor did it feel burdensome. It was a welcome reminder of the moment you had shared with Thomas. The encounter with the veiled spirit was not far from your mind either, spoiling the otherwise perfect morning. It was so bleak here, you reasoned, why not put off the horrible things for now and focus on the one nugget of happiness you had managed to find. There would be time later to persuade Thomas. Time when he was less naked, and you were less comfortable.

You heard mumbling and felt the vibrations on your neck. Giggling, you turned your head slightly towards Thomas.

"What was that?" you asked, chuckling.

"I said you did not fade away," Thomas repeated with his eyes still closed, smiling. "You're still here." Finally he opened his eyes and gazed at you. Turning around to view him better, you realized just how relieved he really looked - as if his remark the previous evening had been true.

"I told you, I am not going anywhere," you repeated firmly.

Taking his face in your hands, you gently pulled him in for a kiss. It was soft and delicate, much like the morning light that snuck through the curtains. Any mood you might have wanted to create was disrupted by the loud sound your stomach made then. Giggling, you looked down.

"Hungry?" Thomas asked.

"Maybe a little," you admitted. "It was a pretty taxing evening," you smirked.

Thomas bit his lower lip and smiled.

"Well, endurance is built up over time, with much, much practice," he teased.

He sat up quickly and stood, opening the curtains slightly and letting the morning light spill in. The light illuminated him, revealing every curve that the darkness had hidden. There were some moments when you were sure he belonged there in the sunlight, rather than hidden away in this dark mansion. Perhaps you could help him in this way - coax him out into the sun where he belonged. Anyone gazing at his glistening body in the bright rays would have agreed with you. It felt intrusive to stare, but you could not help it. He walked over to the closet and pulled out a dressing gown similar to the one you had stolen the night before. He draped it around himself carefully, covering himself completely, at which you frowned.

You followed suit, shivering at the temperature difference outside the bed. You slipped your nightgown on and Thomas held out the dressing gown you had stolen. You slid the gown on and felt quite a bit warmer. Finding slippers, you were sufficiently dressed to brace the cold of the mansion. Thomas led the way downstairs. You walked hand in hand into the kitchen.

Once again Lucille was up before you and dressed. You wondered if she dressed every day. So far you had spent your days in the mansion in a night gown. With no company, who was there to impress? Perhaps she simply liked a routine, you reasoned. She turned to the two of you with an indifferent expression. You noticed her eyes dip to your entwined hands and she scowled.

Placing the tea tray she had been holding onto the table a little more violently than you had expected, she took a seat at the table and stared at you.

"Good morning, sister," Thomas greeted her. He let go of your hand to cross the room and kiss his sister's cheek. She smiled and seemed to melt into the embrace. He pulled away quickly to return to your side, slipping his hand back into yours as though he could not breath without your touch.

Once Thomas had left her side, Lucille's smile faded.

"I have made you some tea," Lucille said, glancing at you when she spoke. "Here," she offered you a cup.

"Would you like some?" you asked Thomas, taking the tea from Lucille. You dreaded drinking it, but refusing her would mean adding gas to the fire.

"Thomas wouldn't like this tea," Lucille cut in quickly. "He prefers sweeter tea, and we are out."

Thomas shrugged and made his way over to the pantry. Lucille watched you carefully as you held the cup in your hands as if she were afraid you might drop it. You took a tentative sip. It was even worse than you remembered.

"It's full of herbs and nutrients," Lucille assured you. "To help against the cold," she added.

"Thank you, Lucille. That's very kind of you to think of my well-being," you tried to sound friendly. Taking another sip, you had to force yourself to swallow. You knew she would not stop watching you until you drank all the tea. It seemed to be some kind of test of friendship to her or something. You figured it was best just to get it over with and downed all of it at once.

Thomas had prepared some fruit and oatmeal for you. He pulled up a chair and joined the two of you at the kitchen table.

"Have you gotten any mail for me?" you asked Lucille, suddenly remembering. "I was wondering if my father had heard any word from the publishers."

"No," Lucille answered, uninterested.

"We could check the post office," Thomas suggested with a smile. "They don't always deliver here quite as often as they should; us being quite a ways a way and all. They like to save up until it's worth their trip." He gave you an apologetic smile.

"That would be nice, thank you," you reached out to touch his hand.

Lucille abruptly stood and snatched your teacup away from you, taking the tray back to the counter. It startled you, but you calmed yourself down soon enough.

"What are you going to do today?" Thomas asked you. "I have to work on my machine again, I'm afraid. I'm so close to a break through."

"I'm sure you'll get there," you said. "And I think I want to go back and finish the book I started yesterday. Maybe even start writing a little."

Thomas' eyes glowed with happiness.

"I would love to read more of your stories," he smiled. "Have I ever shown you her work, Lucille?" Thomas asked. Lucille gave a forced smile.

"No, I don't think you have," was all she said. She then left the room quickly without so much as another word. You watched her go, thinking you would never understand what made that woman tick.

After a moment of readjustment, Thomas turned to you.

"I must go now, my love. But I will be back in time for dinner, I am sure."

He kissed you quickly and you sighed as he left, wishing that you could simply spend all day with him. You would never rid him of his passions though, and so were content to spend the day in the library.

During your walk there, you started to feel severe stomach cramps. At first you thought it might be your time of the month, but this felt different - higher and more painful than usual. You tried to even your breath and found the chair you had been in yesterday. Sinking down, the pain lessened some. You felt your stomach tenderly, wondering what had brought on such sudden pains. You wished you had some water, but the thought of getting up again so soon and making the pain worse made you stay. Hopefully it would pass. Until then there was nothing much to do but try not to focus on it.

You picked up the book you had been reading and focused on the story. You were about three quarters of the way through it. Already the pain was fading away, masked by the great storytelling of the author. It did not take you long to finish the book. You smiled, having enjoyed the ending, and put it down. You were planning on digesting the book, considering and noting all the nuances to talk to Thomas about later, when your left hand suddenly went cold. It was as if someone had dumped it in a bucket of ice water. You clutched it to you, frightened at the sudden change. When you snatched it away, it warmed up. You convinced yourself it had been nothing and returned it to the armrest. Again you felt cool chills on your hand, and suddenly a slight pulling.

Evening your breath, you stood. Perhaps this was the same spirit in the hallway, trying to show you something, leading you by the hand. Although you should have been worried, concerned that the spirit had sinister intentions, you weren't. The spirit in the hallway had not scared you, and neither did this. It felt as though it was going to lead you to a discovery.

"What do you want to show me?" you asked the air around you. You tried not to feel foolish talking to the air.

The pull on your arm led you towards the door of the library. You grabbed a candle and followed, unsure where it would lead you in this dark house. The grip on your hand did not feel like someone tugging you along, it felt like a cool, friendly hand, leading you. Perhaps friendly was an overstatement, but it was gentle enough, and you followed. You wondered if the writer in you that loved mysteries was about to lead you to your death. Even if that were the case, you weren't sure you could resist.

Checking the hallway for signs of Lucille, and seeing none, you proceeded down the main hallway. The tugging on your hand became slightly more insistent as you neared the end of the hallway. The hold your hand seemed to tighten and grow colder. Suddenly you worried about your decision. Perhaps this was not wise or fun at all. You tried to pull your hand back, mumbling something about it hurting you, but the grip only became more insistent. It pulled you to the end of the hallway, basically dragging you at this point. You thought about screaming for help but did not think Lucille would hear you, and Thomas was gone working on his machine somewhere on the grounds. You tugged at the invisible force, but to no avail. Your feet nearly dragged on the carpet as your heart raced in your chest. You were pulling so hard, so focused on getting away from the grasp, that you almost didn't realize it had stopped pulling you. It stayed now, loosening its grip once again. You looked in front of you, realizing you were standing in front of an elevator shaft. The metal bars looked ancient and rusty. You were not sure if it should be transporting anything.

A memory surfaced from your first day here. Lucille had warned you about the basement and how dangerous it was. You had already been upstairs, and it didn't look as though the elevator went anywhere but down. Why would the spirit try and lead you somewhere dangerous? Perhaps its intentions were to harm you?

As if reading your thoughts, or perhaps your confused face, the grip tugged downward lightly, clearly indicating what it wanted you to do.

"I--I can't," you mumbled excuses. "It's dangerous."

You nearly jumped out of your skin when the elevator started to rumble. It shook and creaked so loudly, it hurt your ears. You stepped back, noting the disappearance of the grasp on your wrist. You watched as the lift opened and Thomas appeared. Again, his clothing was almost soaked with the red clay, making it appear as though he had just gone through a gruesome battle. You clutched your hands to your chest and breathed, evening your heart rate once again.

"Are you alright?" Thomas asked, stepping quickly out of the lift to step towards you.

You nodded, not trusting your voice.

"You're shaking," he noted. He glanced around the hall and then back at you. "What are you doing down here?" he asked.

Dare you tell him the truth? You were definitely not sleep walking this time. You wanted desperately to tell him of your experience, but you feared that he would not believe you. You thought of the closeness the two of you had had recently, and you did not want to ruin that. Besides, you didn't have any proof. For all you knew, your overactive imagination was throwing illusions at you. You hadn't been writing lately, perhaps it wanted some exercise. That's what you told yourself as Thomas wrapped his arms around you. For the moments that he held you, you could forget that a desperate spirit wanted you to be where Thomas had just come from.

Thomas held you against him, silent, until you had stopped shaking and calmed down.

"What were you doing down here?" he repeated, pulling away to look at you. It sounded accusatory, but there was genuine concern on his features. Perhaps he thought you had forgotten Lucille's warning and had planned to go downstairs.

"The lift startled me," was all you could manage. "I heard the sound and I thought something was wrong." You hoped your lie was convincing. Thomas' relaxed shoulder and small smile assured you it was. You felt awful, but you would tell him the truth eventually.

"It's nothing," he assured you. "It is just very old. Like everything else in this house." Suddenly his features lit up and he dawned an enormous grin. "I have something to show you," he smiled.

"What?" you asked, excited by his sudden enthusiasm.

"A surprise," he teased. "Upstairs."

A surprise? When would he have had time to surprise you. Perhaps he wasn't spending all his time on his machine and had taken time to do something for you. Taking a break from your passion wasn't easy, you appreciated it already, whatever it was.

Thomas led you up the stairs and down the opposite end of the hallway as your room. You hadn't noticed during the first tour, but there was another set of stairs at the end of it. Thomas had not pointed them out. Perhaps it was a sort of secret hideaway for him. Until now. Now he was sharing it with you. Wordlessly, he led you up the ancient wooden steps. The stairway wound around and around until it opened up to a small landing and a door. Thomas opened the door to an attic.

The space was fairly small, but well lit by windows on two walls. It faced the back yard, showing a wide expanse of snow and woods. The room was filled with tools and equipment. Small figurines, wheels of all sizes, contraptions, and all manner of nuts and screws lay around haphazardly. Thomas watched you take it all in.

"This is my workshop," he explained. "I have spent many years in here, tinkering," he smiled fondly at the space as if it were an old friend.

Although you were sure his time here had been happy, your heart sunk realizing it must have also been quite lonely.

"I used to make toys for Lucille when we were younger," he said, picking up an old wooden doll. Its features were intricately cut and stunning.

"This is all amazing," you smiled at him. "What a nice surprise."

Thomas grinned even wider.

"This isn't the surprise," he said. "This is."

He walked over to the main work station and turned a box around. It was a music box. On the edges of it were neatly carved doves with small hearts between them.

"Open it," he urged. He moved to stand behind you, pressing his chest to your back. His presence felt comforting and you sighed happily, brushing your hands over the woodwork.

The box opened easily, and the moment it did, a familiar song began to play. Memories of a magical night flooded back to you as the waltz you had first danced to with Thomas filled the room. When you opened the box all the way, a man and woman figure stood together, frozen in time, spinning somehow together as the music played.

"Oh, Thomas," you breathed. It was exquisite craftsmanship, not to mention the thoughtfulness.

"Do you like it?" he whispered in your ear, kissing your neck afterwards.

"Of course," you smiled. You felt his hands wrap around your sides and fold together just below your stomach.

No matter all your unanswered questions about the spirits in this house, this much was certain: Thomas loved you.

You spun around to face him, cupping his face in your hands.

"What did I do to deserve such a romantic?" you asked.

"I should ask you the same question," he replied.

Thomas held you close and pulled you in for a kiss. It was sweet at first, innocent. But as you pressed yourself against him, it became more heated - desperate. You scrambled, trying to get your hands on the table. You pushed the music box, careful not to damage it, and made room before hoisting yourself onto the table. Thomas tongue explored your mouth, and yours his as you clung to one another in a passionate embrace. You lifted your gown and spread your legs for him, and he stepped between. His hands migrated down to your breasts and he cupped them gently, lovingly.

"I love you," you breathed between kisses.

He undid the buttons on his pants and shifted your panties for access. The desk allowed you perfect height and you wrapped your arms around his shoulders as he delved into you. It was not as painful as the first time for sure, but some sparks of pain flooded before the pleasure took its place. Thomas kissed you as he thrust into you. It was more desperate love making than it had been last night and you were more than okay with it. You wanted him badly, and he complied. As he thrust into you, he kissed you, biting your lower lip lightly. You held on as he began quickening his pace. He bent his knees, changing his angle and you gasped at the new sensation. It felt like small fireworks were going off everywhere in your body now. You felt the tingling growing and growing, your breath coming fast. You tangled your fingers in his hair as you came, clenching your walls around him. He gave a few more thrusts before he too came undone in your arms. You kissed in between watching each other as you rode it out, smiles unashamedly plastered on your faces. Your body felt tired, but satiated. He pulled out of you, but did not step away.

Then you heard a sound against the door. You closed your legs and Thomas buttoned his pants before Lucille came in with a tea tray and a scowl.

"Lucille," Thomas said breathlessly. You could see the blush in his cheeks and were sure yours were equally crimson.

"Thomas," she answered suspiciously.

You watched as she raked her eyes over the two of you, most likely assessing what just happened.

"I thought I heard you two come up here so I thought I would bring your lovely bride here more tea."

She gave you a false smile and placed the tea on the table.

"It's a shame we don't have tea you like," she said to Thomas. "One of these days we'll get to the store."

"Thank you, Lucille," you said, still trying to get on her good side if there was one. "That was thoughtful of you."

Lucille merely glared at you as she handed you a cup. You held it, but did not drink from it.

"Drink up," she ordered, bringing her cup to her lips.

You raised your cup to her and pretended to take a sip. Hopefully she would leave soon and you could simply dump it somewhere. However, she seemed in to hurry to leave. You let the cup rest on the table, hoping she wouldn't push it.

"Shouldn't you be working, brother?" she asked, not taking her eyes from you for a long time.

"I took a break to show my wife a gift I made her," Thomas said proudly, showing Lucille the music box. A selfish part of you didn't want Lucille to see it. You wanted it to be yours and Thomas', something that had nothing to do with her. You expected her eyes to go wide with surprise at the amazing detail in the music box, but she merely huffed, seemingly indifferent to it.

"How lucky she is," Lucille said. It sounded like she was jealous. Having been the recipient of many of Thomas' inventions and crafts,