Jon climbed into the attic because the music box stopped whenever his hand touched the ladder. Dust coated every trunk except for a line of bare footprints crossing the floorboards toward him. He stepped aside; the prints stopped at the open hatch, toes pointed down into the dark room below. The box clicked once behind him. Its lid lifted, and his own voice began humming from inside. On the ladder beneath Jon, a new footprint pressed slowly into the dust.