Harpsichord

Anthony's heart trembled as he used the rusted crowbar to pry the nails out of the large shipping crate. The postmark had nearly been torn away by the elements. The only word that could be recognized from the sender was "England". The large wooden panels began to fall away as he continued his furious-near frantic- releasing of his prize.
it wasn't uncommon for a large box to arrive for him, but this one was special. Ancient runes and strips of warding wax coated the entire inner case. He grinned and pawed at them, pulling them off like a kid unwrapping Christmas presents. The wax was still warm, and small "piffft" sounds marked the breaking of the wards. It would only be a matter of time before his long wait bore fetid fruit. Those who'd tortured him, belittled his studies and insane attempt to contact the other world would all have their pathetic notions shattered once he unearthed his treasure, and mastered it's unknowable secrets.
He'd found it by accident, an estate sale by uninterested children. The old man's stuff was old and musty and boring and they were glad to be rid of it for whatever price anyone would pay. S, on that rainy September day he'd purchased a few trinkets, a few assorted boxes but this...THIS...was his prize. The other purchases were to throw off those who would try and claim it for themselves. He'd known there were others, but they'd had the nerve to stay home, leaving this all to him.
Oh, the price of shipping it home was murder, but money would be a minor bother once he'd released the true nature.

He grinned, pulling the last of the wax off the case. Here it stood, in all it's majestic glory. Anthony awed at it, feeling the power within. With a shaky hand, he gently lifted the old, weather-beaten lid. The whole thing looked like it had been wrecked long ago, or build from aged driftwood. There was an ominous creak as the lid lifted, a final warning to the dark power within. He pulled up a stool and placed his hands gently upon the keys. His fingers resting ever delicately on the old cracked and jagged ivory. His eyes drifted closed as in his throat, ancient words formed, infusing the beast with life once more. It had been too long, and Anthony could feel the hunger within drawing his life into it. It was a willing sacrifice. Anthony remained chanting even as his fingers bled onto the dark brown bars. The Harpsichord would once again play it's music, the damned melody of a hundred thousand years. The dulcid tones would waft over every inch of the earth, compelling his will into form and remaking all of reality to his whim. The little men who'd been master before had limited vision, petty desires. they knew only the basics of the power they touched, and in the end, thier ignorance consumed all they were. Good riddance. They deserved thier short-sighted oblivion. The lives taken, destroyed by this infernal machine only urge Anthony to give more. He was its master, its lord, and tomorrow, he would be more. Tomorrow, he would be a god.