The Babysitter and The Music Box By: Author101

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The Babysitter and The Music Box By: Author101

Post  Author101 on Mon Apr 09, 2012 9:29 pm

The Babysitter and The Music Box

“Hmmm…. Where does this go?” I mumble aloud in the almost empty house. I can’t seem to find where to put this paper I found on the ground in Humphrey’s house. Mr. and Mrs. Humphrey aren’t the friendliest people, but they are paying me to babysit their four-year-old child, Joseph.
Joseph has short, brown hair like his dad’s, bright emerald eyes like his mom, and a petite body formation unlike either of his parents who are both bigger and huskier. Yes, I did say BOTH. Right now he is dreaming away under his train-printed comforter on his “Big Boy Bed.” I love babysitting him, but it does get pretty lonely after he’s asleep.
I look through every drawer and cannot find a single decent place to put this paper. It is a drawing, but definitely not made by little Joseph. Maybe one of his parents drew it? Oh well, I need to find somewhere to put it. I come across a drawer and try to open it up, but it doesn’t budge. I look down to find a lock in the middle of it. “What?” I whisper. I certainly did not want to wake up Joseph.
Not finding any keys in the office withholding the mysterious drawer, I make my way down the hallway. On my second try looking through the kitchen, I look up in desperation to find a little music box on top of the fridge. “Ok, music always makes me feel better. I’ll try that,” I say somewhat loud. In my head I remind myself to lower my voice as I carefully take down the little box.
On top of it in scroll writing it states “To my beloved daughter and best friend. Love, Mom.” That’s so sweet! I think of how I should appreciate my mom more when I hear a thump and a cry. It frightens me so much that at first I drop the box and freeze. But only for a moment. Then I dash up the spiraling staircase to Joseph’s room. I pick his crying form off of the floor and hold him in my arms. I still have goose bumps all over, but start to calm down as he told me that he fell out of my bed. I keep holding him close, but soon I have to let go and check him for bruises and scratches. He has only two bruises from what I can see, and I tuck him back into bed.
Once downstairs again, I pick up the box and inspect that. Nothing’s wrong with it, and I open it up. “Ah!” I gasp. Inside… to be continued …

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