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| - It was Friday morning and the summer shone through the window of Old Gary pawn store. The shop bell rang as John Smith entered the store. Dressed casual with a red chequered shirt and light blue denim jeans, he looked around the shop, searching for the owner. Old Gary Hartmann appeared behind the counter, greeting with his usual enigmatic grin. John nodded at his friend and smiled too. "How's it going?" "Business is booming and that makes the wife happy, so I have no complaints. How are you?" "Actually, yes. Something I actually wanted to show you, I was hoping you would pay me a visit soon."
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| abstract
| - It was Friday morning and the summer shone through the window of Old Gary pawn store. The shop bell rang as John Smith entered the store. Dressed casual with a red chequered shirt and light blue denim jeans, he looked around the shop, searching for the owner. Old Gary Hartmann appeared behind the counter, greeting with his usual enigmatic grin. John nodded at his friend and smiled too. "How's it going?" "Business is booming and that makes the wife happy, so I have no complaints. How are you?" "Good, good... I have no complaints either. The wife is out of town for a few weeks for work and Carla has started at university. Any new items in?" "Actually, yes. Something I actually wanted to show you, I was hoping you would pay me a visit soon." He led his friend to the back of the store, which was much darker than the rest of the shop. In this part of the shop, you could find objects with a more sinister past. Gas masks of the World War I and II, but also old books bound in the skin of an executed criminal from the late 1800s. Gary stopped abruptly and without warning at a cabinet filled with small objects. John was surprised and collided with Gary. The old man lost balance and almost fell against the cabinet, as it wasn't for John who managed to grab him just in time. "Thanks, John. Maybe I could have better warned you we had arrived." "No problem, Gary. Let's go on like nothing happened. What was it that you wanted to show me?" He reached out for it on the fourth shelf and showed it to the historian. It was a little rectangular box which was refined with a golden coloured metal, which protected the ribs of the box and came together at the front by a golden keyhole. The box itself was coated in a crimson material, most likely leather. From the left side, there was a crank which was made from the same metal as the decorations. He looked from the box to the pawn store owner. "Do you know what this is?" "I know what you think it is." "It fits the description, doesn't it? And here is the key to open the box!" He took the key and showed it to his friend. While he looked at the golden key, he said, "Indeed. This could be indeed the Gisolph's Music Box. Amazing! How did it get here?" "I bought it from an old lady who was married to an Englishman who had inherited it from his mother..." "How much do you want for it?" As the historian specialized in the Europe of the 19th century, he was fascinated by everything from this time period. But he never had dreamed of seeing such an item, let alone possessing one. During his studies he stumbled upon the story of Elizabeth Gisolph. For some reason the story intrigued him. John shivered when his fingers closed around the box as he raised it in the air. "What do you mean?" "How much do you want for it?" John repeated. "I'm not selling this to you!" "Why would you refuse me such thing! I thought we were friends!" "That's exactly why I'm not selling it to you! Not to any male customer! This object is cursed!" "You really don't believe this yourself, do you?! There isn't such things as curses, Gary!" The old Gary's head became red with shame and anger but he didn't surrender, instead he continued his attack as to why he believed this artifact was cursed. "The father of the Englishman was a soldier in World War II. He came in possession of the box at the end of the war, in the Battle of Berlin. He disappeared in 1950, he was forty-one years old. The mother died in 1969 and our friend found the box while cleaning her house, his house now. He disappeared in 1970. According to his wife, he had opened to the box and since that he was obsessed by it. She told me he believed he saw things that weren't there. He also heard things she couldn't. She opened the box herself but still couldn't understand the behaviour of her husband." "And you think it's the curse and that it only targets men?" "Yes!" "Well, Gary, I don't! I'll give you a thousand for it. That sounds reasonable!" "OK, a thousand dollars, but only because you really want it. But do me this, don't open the box. It's not safe for us to open it!" It was already getting dark and it was starting to rain. It was the end of a beautiful day. When John looked at the box in the middle of his kitchen table, the box was surrounded by books about West-European mysteries, and sketches with artistic impressions of how the box should have looked, and an audio recorder, so he could record the music coming from the box. He looked at the drawings from the box and back. If the drawings were accurate, it really looked like the box was standing before him. Could this really be the box he had been looking for? Would it contain the answers he had sought. Could he finally solve the mystery of Elizabeth's suicide? He knew he had promised to not open the box but what harm could it do. There was no such thing as curses, only people who were frightened enough to believe in them. He wouldn't say ignorant enough because this hasn't much to do with knowledge or intellect, only with belief. And curses were something in which he didn't believe. He took the key and unlocked the box. With shaking fingers of excitement, John opened the box. Nothing happened and the box was surprisingly empty. A small wooden box inside contained the mechanics necessary to create music, but for the rest it was empty. He had hoped for some piece of paper or another clue to what happened the day she died. But nothing. Maybe, he would find some answers when he turned the crank. It could be possible that the music contained inside was a subtle message that could have led to her demise. Something that you'll only notice subconsciously. He would take his audio recorder and recorded the music coming from the box. He tested his audio recorder one last time ("Mary had a little lamb.") and closed the box. He started turning the crank. He could hear the mechanics twist as he continued. He stopped when he felt a pressure pushing back. He released the crank and he felt full excitement when he grabbed the microphone and placed it close to the music box. The box popped open and a beautiful sound came from the box. The melody sounded like that of a cello and filled the house. He closed his eyes as the music engulfed him. When the music stopped playing, he reopened his eyes. It only felt like a few minutes had went by, but when he looked at his watch he saw that two hours passed since he started listening to the song. He quickly started to collect his things and piled them up, and started the preparation of his dinner meal. Unbelievable that two hours had been passed since he started listening. But this was no curse, he was just tired and had fallen asleep, nothing more...
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