The nursery wallpaper peeled away in tongues of faded pink velvet. Ayla jammed a rusted hairpin into the music box mounted above Lila's crib, her breath fogging the dust-caked mobile overhead. Plastic stars dangled on fishing wire, their surfaces pocked with what looked like bite marks.
"Clockwork or cursed?" She yanked the pin sideways.
The music box shrieked a warped lullaby. Three octaves too high. Glass rattled in the windowpanes as the crib's mattress split open, vomiting up twin silver bells strung on a blackened umbilical cord.
Erik gagged from the doorway. "That's… biological."
"Poetic," Ayla corrected, dangling the bells by the cord. Their surfaces swirled with engravings—not floral patterns, but scars. "Look familiar?"
He edged closer. The largest scar mirrored Lila's collarbone burn.
(Downstairs, Lila froze mid-step. The floorboards hummed with a frequency that made her baby teeth ache.)
II. Reverse Lullaby
The bells chimed when Ayla shook them. Not a sound—a pressure, like thumbs pressing against eyeballs. Erik's tattoo blazed ashy gold.
"Put those down," he hissed.
"Relax. It's just Selena's version of 'rock-a-bye baby.'" Ayla spun the cord, letting bells graze Erik's wrist. His tattoo sprouted thorns that drew blood.
"Harm's embrace," she read from the engravings. "Cute family motto."
The mobile began spinning counterclockwise. Stars snapped off, hitting the walls with knife-sharp pings. Ayla ducked as one embedded itself where her head had been.
"Lullaby's pissed," Erik muttered, staunching his bleeding wrist with a handkerchief that smelled of chloroform.
Ayla pocketed the bells. "Wait till it hears my singing."
III. Ghost Waltz
The music box escalated to dog-whistle frequencies. Erik collapsed against the doorframe, hands clamped over ears. Blood seeped between his fingers.
Ayla grabbed his shoulder. "Where's Lucas?"
"Ghosting the perimeter. Or whatever he does when—"
A tremor shook the room. The wallpaper peeled faster, revealing charcoal sketches beneath:
Selena cradling Lila, both swaddled in barbed wireA wolf pup chewing through its own leash
Then Lucas was there—not quite solid, not quite smoke—his residual heat warping the air. He gripped Ayla's waist, forcing her into a waltz stance.
"Subtle," she snorted but followed his lead.
Their boots crunched glass shards in arrhythmic time. Lucas' form flickered with each misstep.
(In the foyer, Lila pressed her palm to a wall etched with Selena's teething marks. The house inhaled.)
IV. Frequency Break
"Left shoulder dips trigger high C," Lucas murmured, his voice fraying at the edges.
Ayla rolled her eyes. "Just stomp on my feet like a normal partner."
They pivoted. Her heel smashed the music box. The remaining stars exploded.
Erik stared from the floor. "You… planned this?"
"Planned?" Ayla stepped on Lucas' incorporeal foot. "Honey, we're improvising trauma."
The bells in her pocket began harmonizing with the house's groans. Lucas spun her sharply toward the crib.
"Now!"
She hurled the bells into the collapsing mattress. The cord pulled taut, slicing her palm. Blood splattered the mobile.
For three seconds, silence.
Then the nursery door slammed shut. The walls bled lullaby lyrics in Selena's looping script:
Hush now, specimen dearMama's sewing hooks into your ears
V. Cradle's Maw
Erik pried the door open with a scalpel. The hallway beyond had mutated—floors sloped like a funhouse, walls textured with calcified umbilical cords.
Ayla examined her bleeding palm. The cut formed a perfect treble clef. "Charming decor."
Lucas' residual form flickered near her ear. "Bells are trackers. She knows we're here."
"Knew that when Lila's baby teeth started humming." Ayla kicked aside a cord blocking their path. It writhed like a severed artery.
(Below them, Lila stood in Selena's childhood bedroom. The closet door creaked open, revealing a cavity filled with porcelain doll heads—all singing.)
Erik's tattoo pulsed in time with the house's vibrations. "We need to destroy those bells."
"Destroy?" Ayla grinned, holding up her treble clef wound. "Darling, we're going to remix them."
Somewhere, a crib mobile spun faster. Somewhere, a doll head's glass eyes cracked from the strain.
Postscript: First Breath After Coma
That night, Ayla dreamt of Lila's infancy. Selena rocking the crib with one hand, the other wrist-deep in a wolf pup's chest cavity.
"Shhh," teenage Selena cooed, bloodied fingers stroking Lila's cheek. "Big sister's making you a guardian angel."
Ayla woke with treble clefs carved into her bedsheet. The house still hummed.
Always humming.