Big Mystery Box
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It was a long, dark winter night and the snow crunched under my feet as I made my way home. As I trudged through the deepening snow, something caught my eye in the distance—a flash of light that glowed orange against the heavy white blanket of snow. It was so bright it hurt to look at, but for some reason, I couldn’t stop myself from staring.
For a moment I thought someone had set off fireworks on their front porch across the street, but then I realized there were no houses on this stretch of road. And even if they had been, fireworks wouldn’t have lit up the whole sky like that.
I turned my head towards home and then back again. The light wasn’t moving anywhere; it just hung motionless in the middle of the street, glowing brightly as it did. My curiosity got the best of me. With a shiver, I began making my way toward the source of the light.
The closer I came, the more I realized how big it really was. The light seemed to be coming from a box that sat halfway between the sidewalk and the curb. There was no one around, not even any cars parked nearby, which made sense since it was late enough that most people would’ve already gone to bed.
It appeared that whoever owned the house was out of town because the lights inside the home were off.
For a moment, I wondered what exactly this box was, why someone had left it here, and whether it could possibly contain anything valuable or dangerous. Then I shrugged and decided to find out.
As I approached the box, I noticed something strange about its size. To judge by the length of the box, it should have fit perfectly on the sidewalk, but instead, it was sitting half-on and half-off the ground. When I looked down at my own feet, I saw a similar anomaly.
My shoes were almost too small, causing them to rub uncomfortably against the tops of my toes, but when I looked at the bottom of each shoe, both appeared the same size. How odd…
I glanced back at the box and hesitated, wondering if maybe it wasn’t safe to approach. But before I could reconsider, I stepped into a foot of fresh powder and slid forward until I reached the edge of the box’s lip.
Then I carefully leaned over the side and peered into the mysterious container. Inside, all I could see was darkness, but for a moment I felt an overwhelming urge to reach out and touch whatever lay within.
What is it? What am I supposed to do? I asked myself. No matter how many times I tried to talk myself out of it, the compulsion wouldn’t go away. So, after doing a quick inventory of my clothing, I took a deep breath and reached out with my hand.
After a few seconds of groping around blindly, I finally located a lumpy object near my wrist. It was hard and smooth, yet somehow familiar. With a jolt, I realized it must’ve been something I’d seen in the box before—a piece of wood.
I pulled it free and stared at it for a moment. It looked like nothing special, just a chunk of wood shaped somewhat like a finger. But as soon as my eyes fell upon it, I knew something important had happened tonight. Maybe it had something to do with the other things I saw in the box.
Whatever the case, I didn’t want to think about it anymore and quickly retreated from the mystery box. As much as I wanted to know what this thing was, I couldn’t get myself to return for another look. Instead, I hurried home, eager to tell my mother everything I’d learned.
After I returned home, I told my mom about the box and how I’d touched it. She listened attentively, her face growing more animated as she heard the story, but I could see that even though she was interested, it wasn’t quite the reaction I’d hoped for. She seemed more intrigued than excited.
When I finished telling her everything, I paused to let my words sink in. “You’re not worried about me, are you?” I asked, hoping to get a better response.
“Of course I’m worried!” she replied. “Why would anyone leave a mysterious wooden object outside our door like this?” Her voice grew louder with each word. “Who knows what kind of trouble we might’ve gotten ourselves into if I hadn’t been here.”
She was right—if I’d stayed out a little longer, there was no telling what might’ve happened. Even if I had been able to get back home safely, who knew what I would have found next morning? This wasn’t just my mother’s fear of talking; I believed she was truly concerned.
“That’s why I came home earlier,” I said, trying to calm her fears. “But I don’t understand. Why would someone leave a weird wooden thing here in the first place?”
My mother took a moment to reply. “Maybe they thought it was pretty and didn’t want to lose it. Or maybe they wanted to give us a gift without being too obvious about it. Whoever it was, they probably meant well.”
I frowned. Since she’d already dismissed my concerns, I decided to try something else. “Mom, where did you say this box came from?”
“Oh, I bought it in town. It’s made of metal, but it looks old. The guy at the shop told me it used to belong to some rich guy called Joseph Merrick. Apparently, he had it specially made, but then his doctor told him he was going crazy so he gave it away. He must’ve had good reason to make such a drastic change.”
At last, I got a reaction from my mother. She jerked her head toward the table and raised her eyebrows as if to ask, ‘What’s wrong?’ When I shook my head, she lowered her hands and returned to her meal.
Instead of dwelling on my mother’s reaction, I took advantage of the lull in the conversation and quickly changed the subject. “So, have you finished shopping?”
“No,” she replied, looking up from her plate with a smile. “There are still a couple more stores left. Do you mind if we finish eating before we run out?”
With a nod of agreement, we both continued with our meals. Afterward, we retired to the living room to watch TV. I sat cross-legged on the couch beside my mother, and I watched her intently as I waited for her to mention the wooden item again. But instead of giving in to my curiosity, she relaxed against the armrest and gazed at the television.
The day passed uneventfully. After lunch, my mother went to do a bit of shopping while I stayed behind and helped my dad with chores around the house. Later that evening, when my mom returned, we all gathered in the living room to watch a movie. We cuddled close together to stay warm, and by the time the credits rolled, I felt secure in my family and happy to be home.
As soon as the lights were turned off, I crept to my bedroom. My mother and father lay snuggled up on their bed, but I wanted to avoid them completely. Instead, I crawled under the covers of my own bed and pulled them tight over my head. I didn’t want to see anyone or anything. Not tonight. I needed to hide.
And then, after a long pause, I heard my mother whisper, “Good night, sweetie,” right next to my ear. It was soft, barely audible, yet still unmistakably real.
All at once, the weight on my chest vanished, and my breathing slowed. I knew from experience that whatever I’d just imagined would return with the sunrise, and in the meantime, my parents would be fast asleep. As far as they knew, nothing had happened. And as far as I knew, I’d been sleeping peacefully in my bed.
***
It was a few days later that I finally remembered the wooden box.
As I lay in bed, my eyes closed and my mouth open, I tried to think back to that night. I stared at the ceiling and concentrated on every detail. Then, slowly, I began to recall the sound of my mother whispering in the dark. At first, it was faint. But gradually, I could hear her voice clearer and clearer until it filled my ears.
“Sweetie, wake up.”
My heart pounded painfully in my chest. Was my mother really calling me? Had she woken up in the middle of the night and somehow managed to find me in my room? If so, how had she gotten past the door? It wouldn’t have opened unless I unlocked it. Unless…
My eyes flew open. Did I imagine it? Could I possibly have dreamed that whole thing?
I let out a deep sigh and closed my eyes again. There was no way my mother could’ve known I was in my room. That was impossible. I hadn’t even been there an hour before she’d started talking.
Then, my mother’s voice rang in my head like an alarm clock.
“Sweetie, wake up.”
Something inside me snapped. I couldn’t sit still. So, I threw aside my blankets and jumped out of bed. I ran to the door and looked through the small crack between the top and bottom hinges.
I gasped.
Downstairs, my parent’s bedroom door was open wide enough to allow two people to pass each other comfortably. And standing directly outside the door, my mother looked up at me. She smiled and waved. Then, she turned and disappeared into the hallway.
“Mom!” I shouted. “Dad! What’s going on?”
There was no response. My mother had gone back to her bedroom and shut the door behind herself. All I could hear now was the faint sound of my dad snoring.
Feeling foolish, I sank onto the floor and leaned against the wall. Just because my imagination had tricked me one time didn’t mean it could happen again. Besides, why would my mother want to hurt me? The last thing I wanted was for her to go to jail.
But this wasn’t about what I wanted. This was much bigger than my selfish wishes. Something terrible had happened. A person, a monster, whatever it was, had murdered someone and escaped. And my mother was the key to finding him.
That meant the only choice I had was to go to sleep and trust in my mother. I had to believe that she would protect me from any danger as long as I did my part.
So I did. I climbed back into bed, closed my eyes, and pretended that none of this ever happened.
***
Every morning when the sun rose, I awoke to the same question: Why am I here? For months, I’d spent my waking hours trying to figure it out. Why did I live in this strange place? Where was I supposed to go? And most importantly, who was the man who’d left me alone in an empty house?
A few weeks into my new life, I’d come across an old letter in my father’s desk drawer. Written by my grandfather, the letter contained a single sentence: “The world is full of monsters.”
For some reason, reading those words made me feel better. Maybe Grandpa was telling me not to worry. Monsters were all around us, he said, and we should learn to accept them. But if I truly believed in the things I saw, surely I’d never be afraid again.
Why, then, did I always wake up shivering in the middle of the night? Why was I unable to sleep without worrying about something horrible happening while I slept? How could I manage to eat breakfast after hearing gunshots, or walking down the street to see bloodstains splattered on the sidewalk?
Some nights, I woke up completely convinced that I’d glimpsed a stranger in the darkness. On others, I thought I heard my parents arguing late into the night. Still, other nights, I found myself staring at the ceiling, certain that the man I’d seen earlier that day was watching me from the shadows.
And yet, despite all these thoughts and fears, I continued to pretend everything was normal. I even went as far as to tell my friends at school that nothing unusual had happened to me. The truth, however, was that I was constantly on edge.
When I finally told my mom about the letters and the voices in my head, she simply replied, “Maybe you’re just having bad dreams, sweetie.”
If I asked her how she knew, she’d say it was obvious. We both lived in a house with no electricity. During the night, there were several times when I’d heard odd noises coming from downstairs. When I called out, there was no answer. Nor had anyone spoken to me since the day I arrived.
I really didn’t know what to do.
The End