From the Author
From the Inside Flap
For Cain, it was like stumbling into some terrible scene he might have written himself. His entire body went cold. He felt a pounding in his temples as the adrenaline of fright fueled his pulse. He was aware of a full bladder and had to concentrate to contain it.
He fumbled with the sleeping bag zipper and squirmed out of it as though it were full of spiders. He knelt on the hard floor and strained to listen. Still the music played, the quick melody losing energy but still recognizable. Fur Elise from the snow globe, floating down from the very top of the turret. Beautiful, terrible music from the pink room.
It wound down. I heard it wind down. There was not a single note left in those springs and cogs.
He stood and pulled on a pair of jeans. He reached for the flashlight and switched it on. He aimed it at the staircase, terrified at what he might see there. But again, there were no leering faces or crouching ghouls. Only the darkness of the second floor. And above that, the turret from which the haunting melody continued to play.
I cant go up there. I think Im physically incapable of climbing those stairs.