Terror Tales

THE BOX

Against a blustery background of a poorly maintained building gaily adorned in an amalgamation of colorful graffiti a little man dressed entirely in black scurries across a courtyard covering his head in the heavy rain with some papers and a large well-loved copy of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. He stopped only for an instant under the entrance archway, stomped his boots to free them from the water then he entered the building through an old mahogany, glass and iron cased door glowing with a rustic patina with the faded achromatic City Pawn scrawled across the glass. Once inside steadily moving he passes through a large gallery of items and then stopped exhausted and dripping in front of a paper filled counter before a large gentleman. "I have found something!" he said excitedly brandishing the rain soaked sheets of paper out in front of him while holding his chest with the other groping for air from the run. "Whew!" He gasped. "I'm sorry I ran all the way here from the city depository, I was going through the archive scripts. and it was there, there big as life, I mean all this time and I couldn't believe it when I found it but it was there and I ran here as fast as I could and it's raining." he rambled, shaking the water from his coat, still brandishing the dripping pages in his right hand. What's there, what the hell is it this time Beery the man asked? Beery was heavy in person and low in stature maybe four foot nine somewhere in his middle seventies, his small reddish pale features, and large nose spotted with age which gave him the almost scary appearance of lady Elaine, although he was good man at heart. Unfortunately although very thorough in his work and a degree from Harvard he retained little to no respect from the others from his private life, or from the city depository where he worked. The depository here has one of the largest retentions of original scrolls, scripts and documents dating back before even inception of the city itself.

The larger gentleman is Benjamin Kronen, a capricious man in his early fifties who had taken over the City Pawn when he was only nineteen, after the death of his father. Although initially a stopover for him until he could sale, the diversion obviously struck a chord within him and he stayed. The constant purchasing of others excess oddments and turning them into a reserve had its little rewards, but not enough as he lived his life one step in front of the bill collectors and his only hope in all of his years has been the box. The old antediluvian box that was mounted to the counter in the shop and had been there, for forever as far as he knew, he knew it was there before his father bought the shop. It was gnarled and knurled, coated in cuts and scrapes, scratches and nicks, from the many who had attempted to open it over the years, perhaps even centuries. Now standing in front of Kronen the meek little man spoke. "It's the way in sir, the missing pages, he said his wrinkled claw like fingers permanently stained with black ink from his years of work as the city recorder still holding out the wet pages with a devious slant of his eye, "Everything sir, everything is here." "What; are you sure?" Kronen said now finally paying attention and grabbing the rain soaked pages from the little man and beginning the tedious task of flatting out the sheets on the sales counter and attempting the deciphering of the script himself, while blotting the wet pages with a tissue and rolling his eyes. This is what he had been waiting all these years for. "It can't be this simple" He said astonished? "It is sir," Beery replied, it's just a matter of timing, all these years and the damn thing it unlocks itself every night at three thirty three in the morning. "Imagine" Kronen said "tonight finally after all of these years, I will be rich, there has to be gold in there, jewels, silver, something, anything." "You mean we will be rich, after all I found the secret." Beery inquired. Kronen looked over at Beery, his expression changing as he walked toward the old man.

Three, thirty three found Kronen standing alone holding a single candle as not attract attention from the street, Beery's lifeless body lay at his feet. Kronen stood there waiting beside the box, waiting, listening. Then at exactly three thirty three he heard a quiet click. Kronen's eyes grew wide in the candle light as he reached out turned the snap and slowly began opening the tattered lid. It creaked as it twisted on its ancient hinges and then the lid swung back freely with a bang. He slowly gazed over the edge of the box, then stepped back for there standing in the box was small live dinosaur. Kronen's heart raced finally something in this collection of trash that could actually make him rich. He smiled down at the little creature, you're going to change my life my little friend. Slowly it turned, blinked its eyes, eyes void, black like the space between the stars. Then to his horror it opened its mouth and let out a roar, exposing long shear like incisors for teeth and spitting saliva within its scream. It stood on its back legs, its haunch muscular and thick, then opening its clawed hands leapt and tore the flesh in large ribbon like chunks from his chest with its talon claws then sunk its teeth and maw deep within the pulsating wound lapping up the thick liquid with its elongated tongue. Kronen fell behind the counter beside Beery's body clawing at his bleeding upper torso trying to remove this parasite as his eyes rolled white with shock. The body twitched once a spastic death rattle, and then he was gone. The creature then climbed back inside the box and screamed out loud as the lid slowly closed silencing its cry.

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This book is the work of fiction, any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictionally. Other characters, places and events are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2015 by David Brown

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