I do not often walk alone at night, but this particular night I did. It was summer and there was a pleasant cool breeze coming in across the bay. The moon hung low in the sky, its light dancing on the ripples of the water. The streets were unusually quiet, save for the occasional rustling of leaves or the distant hum of a car engine. I had no real destination in mind, just a vague desire to clear my head after a long day.

[p]

As I walked, the scent of saltwater mingled with the earthy aroma of the trees lining the path. I passed familiar landmarks—Mrs. Hargrove’s bakery, its lights still glowing faintly from within, and the old clock tower whose chimes had long since stopped working.

[p]

The further I wandered, the more the town seemed to fade into shadow. Streetlights became sparse, and the houses gave way to open fields stretching toward the horizon. A peculiar stillness settled over everything.

[p]

That’s when I noticed it—a faint sound, almost imperceptible at first, like the distant tinkling of wind chimes. I stopped in my tracks, straining to hear. The sound seemed to drift on the breeze, growing louder with each passing second. It wasn’t wind chimes, though; it was a melody. Soft, haunting, and impossibly beautiful.

[p]

Drawn to it, I veered off the road and into the tall grass. My heart raced—not from fear, but from an inexplicable pull, as if

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