By the old, curtains of the abandoned mansion, the two boy cousins could see the flaming rays of the dying sun kissing the summer mist.
The older boy, smarter and colder of the two, and a former bully, whispered coldly, “Still enemies but, gon’ work together, ‘kay?”
The younger one, timid and bullied, didn’t reply.
Instead, a soft piano tune played.
“Ain’t …” the older trailed off as his eyes went to the clock. Running backward.
Again the tune. Soft and haunting.
This time, the older gasped at the other, horrified. Whenever the younger talked only a soft tune played.