The black velvet jewellery box was the only thing in the bedroom that wasn't tinted to grey by the dust. It always stayed in the same place on the table, in front of the mirror, that had long since been transformed from glass to silver by the cobwebs, which hung like a veil over it's cool surface.
An ornate silver key, studded by a single sapphire, lay on top of the jewellery box. It could unlock the box, so that the lid would open, and the tiny porcelain ballerina inside, clad in a sparkly-black, painted-on dress, would spin around to the simple tune that played.
The box was opened one day, by a young girl of about eleven years old. The music was too high and sinister, like the music in a horror-film. The girl slammed the box closed, but it re-opened, all by itself.
And inside lay a human finger, the nail still painted fire-engine red, a silver and sapphire ring on it, and a small splinter of the bone still sticking out at the end...