"Rock-a-bye, baby, in the tree top~..."

Her voice was sickeningly soft, yet sharp, like grating glass.

The door wouldn't open.

You were trapped in here...

...with her.

"When the wind blows the cradle will rock~..."

The door wasn't even budging–no matter how hard you pounded on the oak slab, it never faltered in its purpose of keeping you stuck.

Good for dead.

"When the bough breaks the cradle will fall~..."

An accidental bump into a nearby dresser sent a clock tumbling to the floor, it shattering on impact.

When you looked back up, she wasn't in the corner anymore.

"And down will come baby, cradle and all~..."

Quick, sharp glances didn't reveal her form–and she was rather humongous, easily towering over you.

Like a tree compared to a twig.

"Baby is drowsing, cosy and fair~..."

A scuttling from beneath the bed in front of you left the pieces of the clock that had broken gone–a glimpse of her hand dragging them beneath said bed all that graced your vision.

"Mother sits near, in her rocking chair~..."

You'd checked under the bed, after a moment of contemplation–only to not see her at all.

"Forward and back the cradle she swings~..."

There was a lamp, you'd found it after a moment of desperate searching.

A light source was better than no light source.

"And though baby sleeps, he hears what she sings~..."

The little cord underneath the covering of the bulb was dusty, and felt rather trail, though it seemed to work fine.

The lamp turning on proved as such.

"Wee little fingers, eyes wide and bright~..."

You felt something bump into your back.

It felt large...

...strong.

"Now sound asleep until morning light~..."