The tinkling of bells marked Death’s arrival in our town.

He introduced himself as Mr. Moon. This seemed a fitting name for a man whose hair glowed silver in the soft light of dusk. He took residence upon the castle on the hill. It had lain abandoned for years, ominously glaring down at the town, causing fear in our childish hearts each time we raised our head towards the spire.

The first night he arrived, Mr. Moon hauled a large grand piano into the upper rooms of the castle. Through the open windows, melodic notes wafted through the winter air, reclaiming the warmth that winter had stolen. The visitor's long white fingers graced the piano keys so eloquently, we questioned why such a gifted musician had chosen to reside in our nameless town.

The first to disappear was little Edie Brown.

She lived in the cottage by the meadow, behind the apple trees. Ever since she was a babe, she was enraptured by any note of melody. When the torrential storms battered thatched roofs threatening to drown our sodden homes - while everyone scrambled to grab buckets and cloths - little Edie stood in a trance, staring up at the heavens, joy emanating from her wide blue eyes.

She was only six years old.

After that, our town grew smaller each day. The morning air was filled with screams of horror as beds were found empty, devoid of any warmth. In the evenings, grief drew these souls to the castle on the hill, where the music lured their broken hearts like rats to lye.

We fled on the third night of December. Ma wrapped us in thick wools to protect us from the bitter winds that stung our cheeks. I can only imagine the terror that gripped her heart as we traversed through the undergrowth - a young mother with four small children in tow.

When we finally arrived at Papa’s hut, in the larger village of Midhollow, our eyes shut the instant we lay upon the stone floor. Here we stayed, week after week, adjusting to our new lives far away from home. The price of safety was small. Papa expected little, and was grateful for extra hands to gather wood for the fire. After a while, we forgot about Little Edie, and the castle on the hill. Our lives were brimming with laughter, six bodies working in unison to fill the little hut with food and warmth.

Tonight, I lay huddled on the stone floor, pressed between the chest of one brother and the back of another. Soft snoring envelops my heart with peace. I start to drift off, the lids of my eyes growing heavy from the heat of the hearth.

Suddenly, I freeze.

Fear grips my body, causing wetness to stain my cheeks. For in the silence of the night, a tinkle sounds in the air.