Old Town changes after the crowds leave. The music stops. The patios empty. Wooden doors close one by one.
For Elena, who worked late in a small shop, that quiet was normal.
Until the upstairs light came on.
The Locked Door
The second-floor room was used for storage.
Elena had locked it herself.
At 10:47 p.m., while counting the register downstairs, she saw a thin line of yellow light under the upstairs door.
She called the owner.
“Is someone still here?”
No.
The Music Box
Elena climbed the stairs.
From inside came a soft melody.
A music box.
She had seen one upstairs earlier that week, buried inside a box of old merchandise.
The song stopped when she reached the landing.
The Key Turned Itself
Elena put the key in the lock.
Before she could turn it, the lock clicked from the other side.
The door opened two inches.
The room beyond was dark.
The music started again.
The Footsteps Overhead
Elena backed away.
Then she heard footsteps.
Above her.
There was no third floor.
Slow steps crossed the ceiling from one end of the building to the other.
Then stopped directly above her.
The Voice in the Room
A child’s voice whispered from inside the storage room.
“You left me up here.”
Elena ran.
She locked the shop from the outside and never went back upstairs alone.
The Next Morning
The owner opened the room the next day.
Nothing had moved.
Except the music box.
It was sitting in the center of the floor.
Open.
Inside the lid, written in dust, were three words.
DON’T LOCK IT.
This story is fiction. The setting is real; the haunting is ours. Browse Yawnder Night Stories.