The Music Box: Chapter Sixty-Seven

Emily paused halfway up the stairs, in a panic of uncertainty. She could hear the sounds of domestic work being undertaken in the kitchen, so knew her mother was busy down there. She had seen her father at his study window only a few minutes earlier, but had trusted he would be there for a while. A moment ago, when she first approached the window, she had caught a glimpse of Crouch as herself just coming into the room.

A moment later and she would have been caught, but Emily felt she had ducked out of sight just before Crouch would have seen her. Peering carefully through the bottom pane, Emily saw herself reaching for a book, examining its cover and wiping traces of dust from the top of the pages. Seemingly happy with the choice, Crouch had turned to the door and left as quickly as he had appeared.

Although unsure as to whether Crouch was going out to the hearth in the kitchen or up to her room, Emily knew she had to risk it. She had shivered with dread as she saw her mother and Crouch return home and knew that something terrible was going to happen if she didn’t act immediately.

As she pushed on the sides of the window, trying to open it as carefully as she could, Emily had cursed the wet weather that had swollen the frame. Hoping for a smooth slide open, she was furious at how much noise the window was making as it refused to let go of the frame. With a surrender that sounded to her like two trains at full steam running into each other, the window finally began shuddering its way up the frame. It still wasn’t wide enough for her massive frame to enter, so she gave it one last heave.

Sure it had been loud enough to alert the entire neighbourhood, Emily swallowed her breath and slid through the window, barely able to get Crouch’s shoulders through. Wriggling over the sill, she has used her hands to guide her body quietly to the floor. She didn’t want to make any more noise than she had to, but sensed leaving the window open was a bad idea. As gently as she could, and pleased to find it more willing to slide than at first, she pulled the window back into place, swinging the latch back to a locked position.

Walking over to the door – cursing under her breath when she crossed the creakiest section of the room, Emily had paused at the doorway. Her breath was coming in short, shallow gasps and she took a moment to try and get it under control.

Pushing open the door, she peered across to the open door to the kitchen. She could hear her mother working away busily and was pleased to see nobody was in sight of the doorway. Stepping slowly out into the hall, she had made her way slowly up the stairs, and it was here she now paused, ears straining to hear any movement from above. All seemed quiet. Wary of being caught out in the open like this, Emily took a deep breath and forced herself to put one foot in front of the other and not stop until she reached her room.

Closing the door behind her, Emily let out her breath and sighed with enormous relief. She still wasn’t sure what she was going to do, but felt she had at least a moment’s respite. With any luck her mother would be keeping Crouch busy in the kitchen, but she knew that would only be for so long. Peering around, she felt an uncanny sense of calm from these familiar surroundings. How long had it been since she had been here, safe in her little girl’s room? She realised that not only had she lost all sense of time – was it a day, a week, a lifetime? – but that she was seeing her room with new eyes, feeling suddenly too old for these lace trimmings, picture books and stuffed animals.

Her gaze had been scanning slowly around the room and now rested on her dresser, taking in the bag of lollies she knew must have come from Mr Pollock’s lolly shop – one of her favourite places in the world. Stepping closer her attention was captured by the mirror. She was mortified to be looking in and seeing Crouch look back, but forced herself to scrutinise her features more closely. She saw how old Crouch looked in the light that gently fell through the window, how his smooth skin was such a deeply pale, bloodless tone, as though he was a wax caricature of a creepy man.

His cruel lips were twisted into a tight sneer and his sharp nose seemed almost to have been sharpened as one might an arrow tip. His expansive brow sat under the rim of the hat, an ivory scar running down from the hairline to his jet black left eyebrow. She reached a finger up to trace its line, wondering who Crouch might have crossed too pick up such a souvenir. Looking now into his eyes, she was repulsed yet intrigued by their hollow depths, black tunnels that seemed to catch and swallow all passing light, letting nothing escape.

A scraping sound startled Emily out of her hypnotic swim in these inky pools. Percy must simply have been pushing his chair back in the study across the landing, but it reminded her she couldn’t afford to waste any more time. Her hand had idly found its way back into her coat pocket and Emily drew out the little blue bag with the liquorice that had come from her time in the music box.

Untwisting it, the task made quite difficult with her fingers now trembling quite badly, Emily drew out the pieces of liquorice within. Opening the lolly bag on the dresser, she drew out the pieces in there and popped them into her mouth, replacing them with those from the bag. Replacing the empty bag in her pocket, Emily turned to leave.

As she reached for the handle of her bedroom door, the knob began slowly to turn.