“Macy, wake up!”
            Above me stood my younger sister, Maya.
            The sun shone brightly in through my white, billowing curtains and lit up my bright yellow room.
            As I blinked sleepily, I grumbled, “What’s up, Maya?”
            “It’s your birthday, Macy, remember?” she replied excitedly.
            “Oh, yeah,” I remembered, “how could I forget?”
            Every year on our birthdays, we woke up to a grand breakfast.  Once our breakfast was eaten, we were allowed to open one present.  The rest would be opened at dinnertime.
            I half walked, half fell downstairs to the dining room in my monkey pajamas.  After pancakes, eggs, sausage, and fresh orange juice we children ran into the family room, with our parents trailing behind us, where a sign hung that read “Happy 12th Birthday, Macy!”
            I chose a small rectangle shaped object to open first.   As I tore off the paper a wooden music box lay in my hands.  A tiny carving of a canary was engraved in the top.   When I opened the box, music started playing.  The sound of singing canaries filled the house.
            “Happy Birthday, Macy!” my mother exclaimed.  “When your aunt Elizabeth canary died, she wanted you to have this.”
            I barely remembered my Aunt Elizabeth.  All I remembered was her beautiful, golden hair, her lovely face and her amazing voice.
            When my aunt was 33 years old (I was 6 years old at the time) tragedy struck.  On the night of June 24th my aunt went to bed as usual.  The next morning my mother went to my aunt’s house for a visit.  My mother found her lying in her bed.  Dead.  White marks on her throat stood out like stars in the sky.  She was obviously choked.
            That night, after my birthday celebration, I brought my aunt’s old music box up to my room.
            As I was drifting off to sleep, I heard a sobbing sound coming from the direction of the music box.  I looked around my room, but I didn’t see anything.
            The next night, I woke up when I heard the sobbing sound again.  This time I saw a beautiful woman with golden hair and sea blue eyes whose wispy, white nightgown flowed around her as she wept.  Once she saw my widely opened eyes, she stared at me for a moment and then just disappeared.
            “Aunt Elizabeth is that you?” I gasped.
            The next day I nearly forgot about my vision of Aunt Elizabeth. But that night as I crawled into bed, my memory returned.  I decided to stay awake so that if Aunt Elizabeth came again I would be there to see her.
            Sure enough, at 11:26 P.M. I heard the weeping sound again.   I looked up and whispered “Aunt Elizabeth, what’s wrong?”
            She looked at me blankly, as if she didn’t understand what I had said.  Then her eyes shifted from one side to the other and finally she took out a crumpled piece of paper with the stub of a pencil.  She scribbled:
12 o’clock.  Friday night.  Robbery
Charles Voight.  Choked me.  Forgive him

            Friday?  That’s tomorrow.  I shivered.
            She disappeared, leaving the paper in my hands.
            I tried to forget the note, but I kept looking over at the spot where my aunt had stood.  The next morning, I asked my mother if I could have a sleepover with my friend Darcy.   My mother agreed, but Darcy could not.  I was stuck in the house.
            At bedtime I lay down cautiously, remembering my aunt’s prediction.  I composed myself for my duty.
            When the clock chimed 12, I heard the front door open.  I felt a shiver crawl down my spine, my mouth went dry and my sweat glands overloaded.
            I walked slowly out of my room, my heart racing 500 miles per hour, but I knew that I had to do this.  It’s for Aunt Elizabeth.
            I paused.
            “Go!”  I heard a silvery voice.
            A cold gust of air made a space in my hand.  I looked next to me and saw my aunt standing there.
            “Let’s go,” I whispered, more to myself than to my aunt.
            As I walked down the steps, I felt like I wasn’t walking down those stairs, but as if my aunt had taken my place.
            I saw the door open, as if in slow motion, and a man walked through.  He crept to the stairs and looked up as I took another step down.   He looked shocked.
            I took a deep breath.  “Charles Voight?”
            He nodded unsurely.
            “Elizabeth Canary forgives you.”
            His mouth dropped wide open.  He started backing away, astonished.  Once he got to the door, he turned and ran out.
            I walked slowly upstairs again.   Because I was so thirsty I went into the bathroom to get a drink.  What I saw in the mirror amazed me.  My once-short brown hair had turned long and golden.
            “I just need some sleep,” I told myself.  Once I laid my head on the pillow, I was fast asleep.
            When I woke up in the morning, my hair was brown again.  My room looked the same, except the canary music box was closed.   “I thought I opened it,” I thought to myself.
            After I woke up completely, I lazily walked over to the music box.  When I opened it, I heard the music play as usual, but then something else caught my eye.  A small piece of crumpled paper rested on a picture of my aunt.  The paper read:

Thank you, Macy Elizabeth

            “You’re welcome,” I whispered.