On the corner of Pine and Box
Stood a shop all dark and disheveled.
I peeked through the window,
Though covered in grime,
And saw an old man, Mr. Knox,
Twisted and bent over with time.

I pass through rusted hinges and faded teal wood,
To enter the shop where Mr. Knox stood.
Much to my pain, my shock, and my horror,
The scream of a young maiden
Rang through the store.
But no woman was present, save only memory,
And the scream was but the bell above the door.

I ventured still, past potted plants, long since death,
Through the cold corner store with steamed breath.

At once, a strange animal, four legged and fanged,
Ran past me, unknowing, and I was dismayed.
He aimed to besmirch, sat with a crooked smirk,
But the creature was only a statue.

Once again I saw the store a-stirring,
A child of five years waved weapons
But the youth was myth, sat in painting,
And had nothing to disarm me with.

Deep in the back, there was no returning,
I spotted a beast that contented my yearnings.
88 keys, no locks and no doors,
All of a sudden, I had found what I was looking for!

With further inspection, my eyes, pray did not deceive,
Saw 88 fingers as piano keys.
What a twisted contraption
And without further action,
I watched as the piano shifted.
From my feet I was lifted by
A crimson tongue through gnarled teeth,
I was swallowed whole before I could speak.

Mr. Knox approaches with a laugh on his lips,
He reaches for the skeleton keys, too far Gone from his wits.
And his melancholy melodies
Still ring from where he sits.