Lauren glanced at the clock, groaning when she saw that she had been woken up again, that stupid musical jewellery box chiming at exactly 3.17 am. Two weeks had passed since Lauren's great-aunt Agatha had left it to her in her will. Lauren had been confused by the bequeathment, as Agatha had never warmed up to her. From memory, Agatha had never warmed up to anyone. The song the jewellery box was playing was not one that Lauren had ever heard before until it had woken her up that first morning, and every morning since. It had been slow, and eerie - but Lauren didn’t want to upset her parents by throwing it away - it would have been bad luck, according to her mother.
After a fortnight of interrupted sleep, Lauren had had enough. She moved from her bed, bending down in front of the antique box, a ballerina painted onto the surface. As Lauren picked it up, she looked for a key or at least something to stop the music - but luck wasn't on her side, and in a moment of rage, she flung it down onto the floor, turning away before she could witness the way it had bounced off of the rug. Slipping back into bed, Lauren had just closed her eyes before the cold breeze brushed over her. The window wasn't open. In her tired delirium, she chose to ignore it.
It was at this point that the footsteps started. Lauren's entire body stiffened, and she looked back to where she had thrown the jewellery box. A small, pale figure was perched next to it, seemingly trying to pick up the box, as if to place it back on the table. Lauren gasped, and the figure turned to her, her eyes meeting Lauren's. "What... Who are you?" Lauren whispered, her voice shaking as the words came out. The figure blinked, its eyes sad. "Agatha?" She asked softly, to which Lauren's head shook quickly. "No, no - I'm not Agatha - who are you?" The spirit sighed, before floating forward. "Hattie... My name is Hattie." Lauren bit her lip, listening to her speak. "Are you dead, Hattie?" Hattie nodded, looking away from Lauren. Lauren had sat up by this point, her hand moving to brush over Hattie's cheek - but Lauren felt nothing but coldness. The movement had caused Hattie to pull back, and before Lauren could tell her to stop, the little girl had disappeared. Lauren had struggled to fall asleep after that. She’d been too confused and terrified to do anything but stare at the ceiling. Had she imagined the little girl?
The next morning over breakfast, Lauren looked at her mother, before speaking. "Did Aunt Agatha ever know someone called Hattie?" Lauren's mother frowned in concentration before she shook her head. "The name doesn't sound familiar, no - but you know Agatha was such a private person. I doubt she'd have mentioned the name even if it was important to her." The response had done little to comfort Lauren, and once she'd gotten home from school Lauren had climbed up the rickety old stairs to the attic, bending down in front of the box labelled 'Agatha's Things.' Ripping the tape from the seam of the box, Lauren began to pull things out, looking through the items for any indication of someone named Hattie. Most of the box's contents were scraps of paper or the occasional photograph. It was the picture labelled as having been taken at 'St Mary's Orphanage' that had gotten her attention - as well as the small face in the corner that had been scratched off. Lauren had never known Agatha had lived in an orphanage - she couldn't help but wonder if her mother had known either. Tucking the photograph into her pocket, Lauren made quick work of tidying the box away, before carefully walking down the stairs, and back into her bedroom.
Lauren knew little about her aunt's life. She had been adopted in England and then moved across the world to Auckland with her family, that was common knowledge - but everything else was something never discussed. Lauren had always been lead to believe that Great Aunt Agatha had been a baby when she was adopted, but from the severe-looking girl in the picture, Lauren could only assume that was untrue. Sitting on her bed, Lauren let her finger brush over the photograph, lifting it from her lap to get a closer look — frowning when she found nothing that explained the little girl from the night before.
That night, when that 3:17 am song started to play, Lauren was ready for it, and she used her hand to swipe the box from the table. She waited for a moment, and then another — before that same ghostly figure who had called herself Hattie appeared again. "Agatha?" Lauren shook her head quickly. "No, I'm not Agatha - I'm Lauren. Agatha was my aunt." Hattie's eyes widened before she gave a little nod. "I see..." Hattie responded, floating from the desk to Lauren's bed.
"What happened to you, Hattie?" Lauren whispered, her eyes meeting that of the ghost. Hattie bit her lip nervously, before she looked around the room, noting the jewellery box in Lauren's hands. "My adoptive parents gave me that when they first came to St Mary's." Lauren listened carefully, realising exactly how Agatha had known the little girl. "I was so excited - I'd grown up at the orphanage, of course — the forgotten children, the nuns had called us. The children that had grown too old for the families wanting to adopt an infant." Lauren sighed softly, saddened by Hattie's tale. "And Agatha? How did you know Agatha?" Hattie stilled, looking to the curtains as the moments passed before she began to speak. "Agatha was my closest friend. She had been twelve when I was first introduced to the couple who had wanted to adopt me. I was eight." Hattie said faintly. "She had always been the jealous sort — sometimes it was hard not to be in, in a system where we had to compete for attention." Hattie was again silent for a moment or two, her eyes now fixed on the jewellery box. "The night before I was due to leave, we had stayed up talking about my new life — the couple who had chosen me, the new home where I would live in New Zealand. I hadn’t meant to boast - not really."
As Lauren listened, she started to piece together Hattie's story and came to a frightening conclusion. Not wanting to interrupt the girl, Lauren stayed silent, her nerves rising. "It was past one by the time I went back to my own bed, and I had been so tired, I fell asleep almost instantly. Agatha hadn't been blessed with rest, and I can only assume she laid there, staring at the ceiling until she crept from the bed at ten past three." The room seemed to turn to ice, the air suffocating. Lauren could barely breathe, let alone ask what happened next. Hattie didn't seem to notice, simply continuing with the story. "She placed her pillow over my face. I tried to scream, to struggle — But it was like I had already left my body at this point. I saw it. I saw my friend cover my face with a pillow. I saw Agatha kill me." Lauren was crying by this point, a few stray tears running down her face. "I'm so sorry." Hattie simply shook her head. "It was a long time ago. Almost 75 years. Even at eight, I wasn't one to hold a grudge, and I still don't. It wasn't quick, but things in life rarely are — Agatha spent her life with ending mine on her conscious."
Hattie explained how her death had been assumed natural before Agatha had eventually been adopted by the family who had initially wanted Hattie. "She got everything she had ever wanted - a family, a home, and she still was unhappy." Lauren wiped her eyes, listening to the ghost. Hattie's ghostly hand extended as if to squeeze Lauren's in an effort to comfort her. "Thank you for asking me - for listening to me. All these years I've been alone, stuck watching the world from that silly jewellery box. Perhaps now, I can be at peace."
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