Zoe’s Cue is POINT
Gratitude for the apartment had waned somewhat in her weariness; the dark lingering odor of the previous, newly deceased tenant closed around her in an oppressively pointed way—though not like a period which signifies the end of one life, but rather a disturbing parentheses…as if to include Zinnia somehow.
As buzzards circling over carrion, it was impossible for her thoughts not to return to the stranger; a curiosity induced by the hovering emptiness of his spirit filling shabby corners where lace of pewter cobwebs clung adamantly, despite her determined cleaning.
The peculiar tap-tapping (of still unresolved source) had been replaced by briefly haunting strains of music playing in her half-sleep.
She was certain the sounds didn’t emanate from her one luxury purchase, wind chimes fashioned from various materials…too chilly yet to leave windows open at night.
When she woke again and shuffled to the fridge for a can of eye-opening carbonated caffeine, her focus pointed toward the antique music box which beckoned her to take a second, closer examination.
It was the only object of presumed value the man had left behind, and unlike everything else, was oddly unspoiled by aged grease, grime; she lifted the pristine lid expecting to hear melodious notes—but stern silence reigned.
© R L Cadillac, 2017 ~ All rights reserved.
Image ~ Pixabay
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