I Came Back to Make the Music Box Kill You

After Tina left, the dorm fell into an unsettling silence.

Fleur placed the music box back on the top shelf of the bookcase, then turned and smiled at me. “You really overreacted today.”

I forced my shoulders to relax and gave an awkward smile. “Guess I’ve been watching too many horror movies lately. That tune just feels… off.”

“Didn’t expect you to be this timid.” Fleur let out a soft scoff and pulled a laptop from her drawer.

“Midterms for psychology are next week. How’s your revision going?”

“Not bad.” I cast a casual glance at the music box on the shelf.

“But that music box really is something special. Mind if I take another look?”

Fleur’s fingers paused on the keyboard. “Since when are you so interested?”

“I just think the tone is unique.” I put on a curious expression. “It sounds like an old gramophone. You don’t really hear that anymore.”

She studied me for a few seconds, then suddenly smiled. “Sure. Go ahead.”

She reached up, handed me the music box, her fingertips brushing the back of my hand.

It felt cold, like snake skin.

“Thanks.” I took it with a feigned brightness and deliberately wound it in front of her.

That warped “Für Elise” filled the room again.

This time, I listened carefully to every note. Beneath the melody, there was a faint distortion, almost like someone whispering from far away.

“It sounds beautiful,” I said, silently counting the beats in my head.

In my last life, every person who jumped had listened to the full melody three times.

Fleur leaned back in her chair, watching my reaction, her eyes narrowing slightly behind her glasses. “If you like it, you can listen a few more times.”

“Sure.”

I pretended not to notice the probing look in her eyes. “Oh right, aren’t we going to Sunshine Orphanage tomorrow for volunteer work? Maybe we could bring this along for the kids to play with?”

Her expression froze instantly.

“No.” Her voice turned sharp. “It’s an antique. Kids are clumsy…”

“I’m kidding.” I cut her off with a laugh. “Something this valuable? I wouldn’t let kids anywhere near it.”

I placed the music box by my bedside, deliberately positioning it to face Fleur’s bed.

Late that night, after lights out, I pretended to be asleep, my eyes barely open as I watched the room.

At 2:17 a.m., Fleur quietly slipped out of bed.

In the moonlight, I saw her standing beside me, reaching out for the music box.

I suddenly rolled over, mumbling as if in a dream, “Don’t jump… don’t jump…”

Fleur’s hand froze midair.

“Having a nightmare?” she asked softly.

I didn’t respond, pretending to stay asleep.

After a long while, I heard her return to her bed. But for the rest of the night, she made no sound at all.

The next morning, I deliberately took a photo of the music box in front of her.

“Posting it?” she asked, holding a cup of water.

“Yeah. I have to show off something this unique.” I looked down and typed: “A treasure my roommate picked up. The more I listen, the more addictive it gets.”

A faint smile tugged at her lips. “You’ve got a good eye.”

On the way to the orphanage, I made sure the music box sat in the most visible spot in my bag.

Fleur glanced at my bag three times along the way.

“Since we’re teaching the kids songs today, should we use this as accompaniment?” I asked, feigning innocence.

“No!” Fleur grabbed my wrist, her grip shockingly tight. “This kind of music isn’t suitable for children.”

I widened my eyes in mock surprise. “Why not? It’s just ‘Für Elise,’ isn’t it?”

She released me, adjusting her glasses. “A distorted version can affect children’s pitch perception. I study psychology; I know better than you.”

“Oh.” I nodded as if enlightened, noticing the bandage on her right ring finger had shifted to a different spot.

At the entrance of Sunshine Orphanage, the children were already lined up waiting for us.

I crouched down and hugged the first little girl who ran toward me. Her name was Raine—the second one who had died in my last life.

“Miss Shaw, what’s in your bag?” Raine pointed curiously at my backpack.

Fleur immediately stepped in front of me. “It’s her personal belongings. You can’t touch it, okay?”

Her tone was gentle, but her eyes were cold as ice.

I smiled and ruffled Raine’s hair. “I’ll bring it for you next time, okay?”

“Okay!” The little girl ran off happily.

Fleur turned to look at me, a polite smile stretched across her face. “You seem especially fond of the kids here.”

“Yeah.” I met her gaze. “Especially Raine. She reminds me of my little sister.”

That part was true.

In my last life, after Raine died, the police found my photo under her pillow. Fleur had put it there.

On the way back to school, I deliberately slowed my pace.

“You’ve been acting strange lately,” Fleur said suddenly.

“Have I?” I gave the music box a small shake in my hand. “Maybe I just found myself a new toy.”

She stared at me for a long moment, then suddenly reached out. “Give it back.”

“Why?” I tightened my grip on the music box. “Didn’t you say I could play with it?”

“I changed my mind.” Her voice turned sharp, edged with something dangerous. “It’s mine.”

I took a step back, putting on a hurt expression. “That’s a bit stingy, don’t you think?”

Fleur’s gaze went cold—unfamiliar, almost chilling. “Some things, you’d be better off not getting involved in.”

Right then, my phone rang.

It was the orphanage director, Alex Warren.

“Miss Shaw, could you come back right away? Raine just collapsed. She keeps muttering about a ‘music box’…”

I looked up at Fleur.

The color drained from her face in an instant.