I'll Tell You a Story

Box of Mr. P

Jade poked her steel-gray eyes, wishing they were just messing with her. A day of no sleep could give anyone quick illusions, she thought. But another glance at the store and it was a certified nightmare for her. Anything less wasn't her taste.

Decrepit. Disgusting. The paint was peeling and the shop sign was faded. Timeless Antique Shop. She hated its name. So ironic. A corner of her mouth twitched in distaste. Besides, who would buy old stuff along the wide desert roads dotted with scrubby bushes? Just pure idiots.

"Mousy, taking so long?" said a husky voice behind her.

It was Jackson, her brother. He squirmed in the driver seat as he wolfed his sandwich, his feet on the center console. He was not a tall man, but his broad shoulders gave him an imposing presence. Those rough features, that unkempt hair, those penetrating eyes. He made her catch her breath, even now when she hated him.

"I'm heading," she replied stoically as she approached the door of the shop.

"Remember, pick the dirtiest. Buyers want that!"

She raised her middle finger in the air, high enough he immediately noticed it. He really knew what could make her blood boil.

She raked a hand through her hair, shaking out her freshly ironed waves before propelling the door ajar. The chimes sang. A slight whisper of air entered. Harder push on the heavy door boarded up with rusty nails. And then the door finally swang open.

Only a few footsteps from the door,
but she was already glancing curiosity across the interior. Bile kept crawling up her throat, but she managed to swallow down her nausea. Her insides were twisted, a blistering rage in her blood.

Darkness almost ate the place, including the squalid and ceiling-tall shelves where the antiques were displayed. Dust hung heavy in the streams of faint light and old cobwebs dripped from the ceiling. The window frames also had trembling spiderwebs attached to them.

The counter was covered in a layer of dust. Also, the writings on its walls were barely readable-"The earth is wet with slaughter." She softly pinched her nose as she resisted the impulse to sniff. Her head seemed to explode as the place filthiness was too much for her to take. Rats the size of dogs loved to be in a place like this. And she had a fear of them.

Anxious, she dinged on the table. Beer cans fell and a magazine fluttered to the dirty floor of what seemed to be a doorless stock room. Footsteps followed. A man, presumably the owner, appeared at the side arch of the door and went to the counter. He looked like a much older man, pensionable even. Tufts of hair was growing at wildly random points from his otherwise bald skull. His skin hung from his face like a wet rag and his eyes were bloodshot slits within folds of gray skin.

"Oh, hi. May I help you with something?" he asked, essaying a small, smug smile. She could smell alcohol on his breath, bright and clear.

She read his nameplate-P. Curiosity was the first one to wave within her, but it immediately gave way to derision. She almost made her guffaw, thankfully he tightly pursed his lips as she struggled to stay serious. She focused on his face. Anything could be hidden behind that smile. She reminded herself to be cautious.

"Are these all on sale?" she inquired.

"Yeah. Except for this one here," he maintained the gleam on his face, hands caressing the top of a box.

Her gaze drifted down a slow perusal that was all-consuming. A box. Wooden but elegant. It was the only thing in the shop that spoke to her. Enigmatic. She couldn't formulate an explanation, but she could clearly hear a voice coming from the box. It wanted her.

"I want that. I will take that," she echoed the voice in her head.

"Not for sale darling. Already told ya," he answered, eyes shining with conviction.

The voice in her head grew louder, giving her an unbearable headache. She cringed before answering. "Name the price."

Silence flooded between them, melded with tension, as in the aftermath of an explosion. Eyes only darting hers. Whatever content she saw in his eyes were directly reflected him. A few minutes later and it felt like it was a game. Her eyes starting to get red and watery.

"I'll just go check other items," she excused herself with all pretense, but the hideous awkwardness was there, and he could feel it.

He only made an approving nod. Lie. He knew exactly what was Jade up to, that his refusal would leave him no real choice. She was no good, and he was already tsk-tsking her in his mind. A part of him was pushing him to dial the cops, but more was telling him he had a better punishment in his hands.

Her eyes never left him, even from afar, so he had to put an act on. His hands suddenly stroking his stomach as violent twinge took an immense grip. He had to use the restroom. The perfect timing, she thought. Just a few seconds after, and he was gone fast as the wind. With a normal gait, she went to the counter and took the box.

Around it was carvings of language man didn't speak. It was more alluring even closer. The small face of a woman in front of it looked like hers. It perfectly fitted her hands. It was made for her.

Her phone dinged, and that was the end of reverie. She rooted for her phone, pulling it from her back pocket. It was Jackson. She slid the box inside her bag but paused midair. She didn't understand why. Something was persuading her to open it like she was under a spell of some eerie energy. She found her hand lifting the lid upwards, slowly as her hands could. She continued until she saw nothing. Pitch black. But it got weirder. It looked like something was beyond inside-an ever-expanding void universe.

A woman in black tribal attire and horns of antelope emerged at her back. Her fingers were vulture claws sinking into her thin flesh. Blood sluiced out of the lacerations. She drew breaths around her, each one blew a stygian line of smoke seemed to chain her body. They were growing, thickening, until she was totally enveloped by darkness. The box tremored, and an unknown force was released, vacuuming the black gases.

A hand closed the lid once the tenebrific smoke was gone, so did Jade. It was the owner. He knew this would happen all along. His smile, winningest and all crapped teeth. Blinding white.

"Another greed, more to go," he whispered as he glanced down at his desk, thumbing through some papers.

He crossed out the word greed in the list of world's ills for this year. The remaining must be returned in the box. All must be locked inside. He heaved a heavy sigh and played Beethoven's Fur Elise on his turntables. He would just wait for the others to visit his store.