Tarnished, cracked and caked in cobwebs it sat there right at the back of the old broken wardrobe.

It hadn't been touched in so many years. Whether or not it still worked was a mystery and she wondered if she should even dare so much as to lay a finger on it, let alone pick it up.

Surveying the bedroom and straining to hear below stairs, hearing nothing, she gently removed the music box from its eighteen-year-old holding cell.

Long gone was the glimmering gold tone that would dance on the walls in the sunlight, the feel of the smooth ceramic as she laid her hands on it. It was so very old now — an antique from a bygone era; a life she would never again experience.

So carefully she laid it on the dressing table, fearing that all positive memories would be lost if she weren't cautious, she took a deep, shaky breath, as she rubbed a spindly finger along the cracks. Ever-so-gently, she lifted the lid, as the music, once more, began to play.

The tone, of course, was not as it once was. It was so off-key now, yet she remained fixated.

Somewhat at peace with herself, she sighed and, for the first time in a long while, she smiled, closing her eyes and taking herself to the middle of the room, as though she were being led by an invisible beau.

And so, she danced, eyes never once opening, so completely lost in her own world. Even when she bumped into the wall, she did not allow herself to be distracted.

How long she had listened and danced she did not know. For once she was at peace with herself.

"Eileen!"

She began singing.

"Eileen, where are ya?"

"Oh, you are a mucky kid," she sang.
"Dirty as a dustbin lid,
When he hears the things that you did,
You'll gerra belt from your Da…"

She used to sing that to her son when he was quite small. It didn't even match the broken tune of the music box, but she didn't care.

"Eileen, I swear—!" the voice sounded again, though she remained blissfully oblivious.

Neither did she hear the old hinges of the bedroom door creak just as they always did.

"EILEEN!" he bellowed.

Eileen's eyes snapped open and she spun on the spot, breath caught in her throat. She wanted to cry out; to shout, though she was so stunned she could scarcely stammer.

"'Ow many times do I 'ave ta keep tellin' ya, woman?" he said, his voice no less threatening than usual, as he made his way slowly to her, his filthy boots pounding on the bedroom floor so hard he might almost have gone through the plasterboard beneath and landed on the kitchen table below.

Eileen, struck with fear, backed into the wall.

"T-T-T-Tobias," she stuttered, barely able to talk.

"Think yerself lucky," Tobias seethed, his eyes full of menace, "that the snivellin' little brat isn' 'ere, Eileen."

Tobias' eyes fell on the music box, still weeping it's disenchanted song. With a swipe, he threw it off the dressing table.

"T-Tobias, w-w-what are ya doin'?" Eileen asked, sinking to her knees in the corner of the bedroom and shielding her face with her hands. She didn't want to know what he had this time.

"Oh, I don't think you need to worry yourself too much about that," he smirked, a malevolent grin spreading across his face.

Eileen didn't really want to know what her husband was doing; she knew only that she had to get away.

Crawling from the corner, she scrabbled to her feet and bolted for the door.

"Oh, no you don't!" he bellowed once more, as he effortlessly seized her by the wrist and threw her into the wall. "One time too many, witch. I ought to 'ave ya burned at t'stake, but I don't fancy waitin' that long."

If Eileen's second attempt was anymore successful, she'd never find out, as he chased her out of the bedroom and down the hall.

She'd barely reached the stairs before she hit the ground with force.

She knew little of what had just happened, only that her head was pounding, though the sight before her held no mysteries. With blurred vision, she took note of his hulking form and the strange item he held aloft.

Disillusioned, she called for her son. "Severus?"

"Sweet dreams, honey-bun," Tobias' voice pounded in her ears, as his assistant hit the deck… hit Eileen.

THUD! THUD! THUD! down the stairs, she went; Tobias with a spade over his shoulder, dragging Eileen by the leg.

"I always 'ated this carpet, Eileen," he said, with a jovial laugh. "'Orrible colour, but it doesn't show t'blood so much. Not the worst decision you've ever made, eh? I never thought 'bout t'walls, but that were a good idea too."

Down and around the staircase he continued, reaching a door.

With a thud, Eileen's leg flopped to the floor, as he threw the door open.

"Door always did stick."

Down with a clatter went his garden shovel, as he lifted his wife into his arms and descended the stairs, her head smacking against the cellar wall as he went.

"Not been down here in a while, 'ave we?" he said. "Remember t'last time? Nah, don't s'pose ya would."

At the base of the stairs, he paused, before heading over to a darkened corner, where an old beer barrel sat.

Kicking the lid off, he placed his wife inside and returned it to the barrel.

"See ya later, love," he said, ascending the stairs, locking the door and discarding the key in the dustbin outside.

Returning to the front door, he took one look around, ignorant of the stench of fresh blood seeping into the maroon-coloured carpet or the music box still play it's soft broken song.

Then he left, never to set foot in the house again.