Peter must save his daughter from a dangerous music box.
***********
Peter walked down St. Petersburg’s thriving main street, Nevsky Prospekt, his twelve-year-old daughter, Natalia, at his side. The sun tried to peek in through the gray clouds overhead – typical weather for summer in Russia. Sea salt from the nearby Finnish Gulf blasted through the air. The busy street was teaming with people bustling about, on their way to either work or shop. Today was Sunday, his daughter’s birthday, and he promised to take her shopping for her gift.
“Papa, look!”
Natalia tugged on his arm, forcing him to stop in front of an odd little knick-knack store. He raised a thick eyebrow, catching his reflection as he surveyed the storefront window. Most of the items appeared to be Romanov antiques. Not quite a rarity anymore since the fall of the previous government.
“Can we go in, Papa?” she asked, her blue, doe-like eyes shining up at him.
He returned her smile, unable to refuse her. “All right, Natalia, but are you sure you want your gift from here?”
“We’ll see,” she replied, running inside.
He rushed to follow her, struck by an immediate musty odor that seemed to hang in the air. Cracked pieces of old, stained wood furniture littered the shop. His daughter pranced through the cluttered aisles, running her fingers over the unusual items. If only Natalia’s mother were still alive! Peter frowned at his daughter’s behavior, but said nothing. No one came out to greet them, but he spied a small light peering out from a crack in a door to the rear.
“Hello? Anyone here?” he cried out, ambling toward the back. No answer. He quickly glanced at his daughter who had finally stopped before a messy shelf. Old silver hairbrushes, dolls, and china tea sets held her attention. Satisfied she’d be fine for the minute, he continued toward the old wooden door passing a long shelf. Several leather bound books with cracked spines and yellow pages stared back at him. He paused, wiping off the dust on a thick book that caught his eye.
“Ancient Russian Myths,” he read, squinting at the tiny hand printed writing.
He heard a small breath of air escape from Natalia, and cut his eyes in her direction. A cold, damp chill swirled through the shop. A flash of memory tore into him. A royal man was arguing with his wife.
“Give me a son, woman! Give me a child!”
Desperation laced the unknown man’s voice. Peter froze, stunned by the intensity of the words. He pictured ruthless brown eyes, a perfectly curved goatee, an aquiline nose, and the sneer of hard, thin lips.
“Hello? Can I help you? I’m Sophia, the owner of this store.”
Peter stumbled backward, hitting the shelf, fumbling with his hands for balance. His eyes darted to the woman now in front of him. She had long, raven black hair and a smooth complexion. Her eyes were a soft, gentle hazel color, and she looked a lot like the woman in his vision. Unnerving!
“I’m Peter Kirkhof. How long has this place been here? I’ve never noticed it before.”
“It’s always been here. I just recently inherited it from my grandmother, Alice.”
“Papa! Can I have this one? Please?”
Before he knew it, Natalia thrust a small music box in his face.
“What do you want?” Peter mumbled, trying to get his bearings.
“It’s a music box, Papa,” Natalia said, holding it up.
“That is from the Riorikovich dynasty of Russian Czars,” Sophia replied, pointing to Natalia’s box. “Are you all right, Mr. Kirkhof?”
“Yes, I’m fine. When was the box made?”
“The box itself is from the mid 1300’s,” Sophia added.
He took the delicate box from his daughter and felt that cold chill again. Still, there was something about the music box that made his eyes glaze over as he studied it. Laced in dull gold and silver, a woman dressed in a willowy white gown with long black hair seemed to twirl about on a red satin cover. The light green paint used for the woman’s eyes was still bright, boring into his soul.
“Childless bitch!”
He thrust the music box away from him and his daughter took it.
“Does it open?” Natalia asked.
“I’ve never gotten it open, but I’ve been told it is a haunting Novgorod flute that plays a melancholy tune.”
“Novgorod?” Peter questioned.
“It was the name of this land before it was Russia,” Sophia added, her eyes staring back at him like two curious orbs of light.
“Papa, can I have it, please?” Natalia begged.
He couldn’t refuse his daughter, despite what the box made him feel.
********
Peter’s eyes snapped open, darkness enveloping him in a clammy sweat. His bed sheets rested in a crumpled mess on the floor. The past week was filled with the same restless dream. A nobleman, dressed in fine, yet foreign linens, spat curses on his wife as he called her a “childless bitch.” Tonight, though, the dream seemed more vivid – rich in detail. Tonight he was that nobleman – an ancient Russian Czar – disappointed with his wife’s inability to give him a child. Feelings of intense, young love grew into unmanageable anger and frustration. Only in this dream, the beautiful shopkeeper, Sophia, played the role of the Czar’s wife. Surprising he dreamt of another woman. It had been several years since Anya’s, death, and no one had caught his attention since. No, losing Natalia’s mother to cancer was unbearable.
Just then, as he wiped the sweat from his face, sad, soulful notes reminiscent of a flute filled the air. Peter jumped out of bed and raced for his daughter’s room, ripping open the door. The flute thundered in his ears as Natalia clawed at her second story window overlooking the docks where Peter worked. Crumpled wallpaper from his old home lay at her feet. He bolted forward, grabbing her arm, yanking her from the glass, spinning her around.
“Natalia! What are you doing?!”
Her once vivid blue eyes were blank. Her sandy blonde hair seemed unnaturally dull and listless in the moonlight. She pushed him away with amazing strength. His back hit the wall with a loud thud, cracking the aged plaster further.
“Ivan…Father…” she whispered, in a cold, unfeeling boy’s voice. Her words bored into him, and Peter could feel his daughter’s anger emanating in waves, directed right toward him.
His heart thumped lou
dly in his chest. What had possessed his daughter? “You are not Natalia!”
“I am Rusalka.”
Fearful for his daughter’s life, Peter bolted past her, grabbed the music box, and slammed it shut. A blast of cold air whizzed by him, centering on the box, then dissipated. His daughter collapsed. He ran to Natalia’s side and checked her eyes. They were normal. After putting her back in bed, he took the music box to his room and hid it in the closet.
***********
Peter saw Natalia off to school the next day. She seemed normal and unaware of her possession by the Rusalka. He took the day off from the docks, and while he could not afford to lose the pay, he needed answers. He would not have some ancient Russian ghost haunt his daughter! As soon as he retuned home from dropping her off, he dug the music box out of his closet, his eyes caressing it, trying to understand it’s power. Again, he felt a hungry chill tease his flesh. The Rusalka wanted him to open the box – so it could breath again.
“No,” Peter choked.
Perhaps Sophia from the antique shop would know what it was. She appeared knowledgeable in Russia’s past, before the Romanovs. He clutched the box tight and raced for his car. The spirit tugged at him, cajoling him further to open it. Peter felt an unnatural hate swirling around him.
Recklessly, he drove to Nevsky Prospekt, barely heeding the traffic signals until he came to Sophia’s shop. He had to solve the mystery of the music box. Nothing was more important than saving his daughter. He wouldn’t lose her like he lost Anya. He had enough pain and loneliness in his life!
The shop was still dusty and vacant of customers as he burst through the door. Spying that familiar light to the rear of the shop, he raced toward it.
“Sophia! We must talk! Now!”
The lithe, dark-hard woman with haunting exotic features appeared at the doorframe. She cocked her eyebrow at him and he guessed she picked up on his irritable state. “You know, now matter how hard I try, I can’t keep this shop dust free…” she mumbled.
He walked right to her and grabbed her arms, his eyes boring into hers. “I could care less about this shop! What is a Rusalka?”
“Where did you hear that word?” she gasped, her lips parting slightly.
“From the spirit in the music box!” he spat.
She swallowed. “How can that be?”
“What is it?” he demanded.
“It is the soul of beautiful maiden who never knew true love or possibility that of an unbaptized child, spurned by its parents,” she answered.
“And who is Ivan – Czar Ivan?” Peter pressed, his eyes blazing with need.
“There were four Ivans in the Riorikovich dynasty.”
Peter grit his teeth. “Was one married to a childless woman?”
Sophia pursed her lips. “I don’t know.”
“Fine, then you will know the horror of the Rusalka as I know it!” Peter exclaimed.
Once dirty and unkempt, the music box was now polished and immaculate as he pulled it from his jacket pocket. He held it between them and tore open the lid.
The background of the antique shop faded away, and the box transported them to what was an eclectic room, littered by Persian rugs with Novgorod myths painted on them. The incense was heavy, seductive. Urns decorated with scenes of Tartars and Cossack battles were placed on the heavy mahogany tables. A bed was in the middle of the ancient room - an odd combination of silk sheets, topped by a heavy wool covering. They were tussled and strewn about.
He was spent and breathless, naked after coupling. Sophia was also nude, her hair limply hung over her shoulders, and she bled from a cut to her lip.
“How many times must we couple before I get you with child?” he railed.
“You must have patience, Ivan!”
“If you are not with child in a month, I will divorce you and take another woman to wife who will not waste my seed!”
“I love you, Ivan!”
“Then give me an heir!”
As he looked at the beautiful woman before him, Peter’s eyes fluttered as the realization of who he was dawned on him. He was playing the part of Ivan III, the most ruthless Czar of the Riorikovich dynasty.
He lunged for his wife, but she was gone. Collapsing on the floor, another vision took over him. He watched as his soldiers led her away to an Orthodox nunnery.
Sophia fell next to him. Her eyes were wide - stunned by whatever she was seeing. In an awkward jerking motion, she cupped Peter’s head in her hands. “Look…” she choked.
He felt connected to her in a way he had never been with another person, let alone a woman. Sophia’s memories as Ivan’s wife, played out before him. Eight months later at the nunnery, Ivan’s wife died giving birth to a son. The baby died as well. They watched together as the soul of that unbaptized child fled into the wife’s music box – a present from Ivan to her on their wedding day.
“Noooooo!” Peter cried, his heart breaking for what he had just witnessed. How could Ivan have known? Why hadn’t he had any patience with her? He pushed Sophia away, breaking the connection between them.
The antique shop was back, but it was warm – too warm.
“The Rusalka! It’s gone,” he muttered.
“Where could it go?” Sophia asked, pushing her raven tresses away from her face. Her voice was full of concern.
“Natalia!” Peter’s heart sank. He grabbed the box and raced for his car, Sophia nipping at his heels.
“Why are you following me? Natalia is my daughter,” Peter barked, as Sophia flung open the passenger side door.
“I care. We were connected back there – you can’t deny it,” she said, slamming it shut.
Peter grunted as he shoved the key in the ignition and drove, headed for his daughter’s school. “We were, yes…”
She put her hand over his arm. “I do not want the Rusalka to harm your daughter. I feel somewhat responsible. I had no idea the music box held such a creature.”
He nodded his head, his eyes focused on the road as he drove, diving in and out of traffic. He still felt the lingering effects of his intense connection to her. Her beautiful body remained in the peripheral of his mind. Ivan’s love for his wife had been powerful, and when tainted with anger and frustration, had warped into something unhealthy. “We will save her.”
It didn’t take long to get to Natalia’s school, which wasn’t that far away from Peter’s house and the docks. However, as he pulled up, he spied her teacher running through the schoolyard, looking frantic. The yard was blocked in by a metal fence, yet Peter noticed that a gapping hole had been ripped in it.
“Mr. Kirkhof! Is something wrong with Natalia? She was working on her lesson when all of a sudden she bolted from her chair and ran out of the room. She made the hole in the fence and ran away,” Natalia’s teacher explained, pointing toward the docks. “I tried to follow her…”
“How long ago?”
“Five…ten minutes?”
Peter grit his teeth, looking in the direction the teacher indicated. He never felt such primal fear in his life.
“Let’s go,” Sophia snapped, grabbing his arm.
They took off in the direction of the docks. Hurried breaths of air filled his lungs as he ran down the cobblestone street. The booming echoes of large cranes and metal crunching on metal could be heard as he got closer, running up to the dock worker’s gate. Peter stopped only long enough to ask the attendant which direction Natalia was headed. The attendant was surprised Peter wasn’t at work. Natalia claimed she wanted to see him. Peter scowled. Sophia grabbed his arm.
“Rusalkas need to die in the soul of a baptized child. It will bring them freedom.”
Peter nodded his head, cursing under his breath. “Let’s go.”
Sophia followed him to the loading docks where he worked. To his horror he spied Natalia standing on the top of stone embankment, ten feet high, that divided the docks from the water. A dockworker, Gregori, his friend, was climbing a small stepladder after her.
“Natalia! No!”
Natalia’s eyes snapped to face him. “Rusalka! You understand, don’t you, Father. Now, I will take from you what you took from me – my family,” Natalia’s boyish voice announced.
Peter had to do something! He was too far away and Gregori might not reach her in time.
“Son of Ivan, rest in peace!” he yelled, throwing the box against the cobblestones of the docks. Then he proceeded to stomp on it, further smashing the box to bits. His daughter swayed as a white stream of wind left her body. Gregori reached the top step and lunged out, catching Natalia in his arms. The wind swirled in a cloud above the smashed music box before breaking apart.
“Papa!”
Gregori helped Natalia down the ladder and she ran into his arms. He hugged her tight, thankful he was able to stop the evil spirit from drowning his only child. Then he felt Sophia’s hand on his shoulder, and he opened his eyes, looking up. As she smiled at him for the first time in a long time, he felt hope for the future.
When Goldie Silver receives the wrong shipment of antique Russian samovars at her shop in Juneau, Alaska they sell quickly but people begin to die. What makes those tea dispensers worth killing for?
