Click. Click. Click...............Three distinct locks vanquished by a single key: the one hanging heavy from Ava's neck. A pendant, or a shackle.
Through the door, leaving Mr. Quimble behind. Down the hall, dark as can be. Through another door, down a flight of stairs, and into the living room, which is touched with the same slate gray found in the bathroom. It enters this space through a skylight devoid of stars. Against the far window is a Christmas tree decked in ornaments and tinsel but lacking lights. Beneath the tree is many gifts. The only one in the Box.
Come, Pandora, it hisses. Give me the key and be free.
Ava does not look. She continues toward the door, thinking It is ordinary. It has six faces, eight corners, and twelve edges. It ought to remain shut.
As Ava draws near to the door, the insistent knocking is gradually replaced by sporadic, heavy impacts, like someone throwing themselves at the door. She places her hand against the wood and feels the reverberations travel from her fingertips to her shoulder blades.
"Who is it?" she asks. Indeed, at this moment, there is no better question. Is it a friend? Or a monster?
The thumping stops where a man's voice begins. "It's me," the man pants. "I've traveled a very long way."
"Papa?"
"Yes, sweetheart."
"What do you want?" Ava asks, furrowing her brow. She pulls her key out from under her sweater and places the eye of it to her lips. "Truth."
"I want to tell you I'm sorry, and I want you to let me in."
"Then what?"
YOU ARE READING
The Box!
HorrorThe Box is as ordinary as anything. It has six faces, eight corners, and twelve edges, not counting the lid. For now, it is wrapped in a perfectly pleasant shade of puce and bedecked with a bold bronze bow. Like all gifts, the Box is at once giving...
