by Benji Colcher (8th)

Inspired by Button Button and Tell-Tale Heart

I’ve always considered myself an average guy. Never stepped out of line. Never tried anything I hadn’t done before. But last Monday was quite a change of pace. It was quite intriguing. A word I have never used in all of my days of working at my company. I was sitting at my cubicle, typing away on my keyboard.

Click. Click.

Boredom was my biggest entertainer. It was hard to not feel pleased as all the numbers came together on an expansive spreadsheet. I recently got a raise, which was pretty nice considering I live paycheck to paycheck. I am often brisk with my work, so I was able to finish by lunchtime. As I was eating my ham and cheese sandwich, I observed the idiosyncrasies of all my coworkers. One of them was busy tap, tap, tapping on her desk. One of them would cough every now and then. I had become so bored I decided to count the rate of the coughs. On average, there was a one minute and sixteen second interval between the coughs.

At around one o’ clock, something odd happened. I felt a cold presence as I looked up, and I noticed my boss was putting his hand out for a handshake. I almost jumped, as I haven’t seen my boss in over a decade. He was usually hidden in his office, a completely dark room with a single desk in the center. I look at his large, sweaty palm. I notice a metal ring on his finger. Interesting, I thought. I hadn’t known he was married. For some queer reason, I refused to shake his hand.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I cannot shake your hand, as the patterns on your palm are just asymmetrical enough to disgust me.” My boss laughed, for some odd reason.

“I like your curiosity,” he said in a flaky voice. “You seem very precise and careful about your work. Therefore, I want to grant you a noble opportunity.” My boss placed a small cardboard box next to my laptop. It was around the size of his palm.

“What is this?” I asked with interest. “Should I open it?”

“No!” He said in a scoff. “Absolutely not. I want you to make sure it isn’t opened by anyone, including yourself. I will take it back by Friday afternoon. Now, be careful, as this is quite a difficult task.”

“How come? It’s just a box.”

“Yes, it is just a box. But I can assure you, curiosity will become your greatest asset and weakness. Remember. You only have to do this until Friday.” I nodded, as it should be a simple task. I am not married, nor do I have children. There is nobody in my home that could open it. By the end of the day, I had gotten in my car and began to drive home.

On Tuesday, I arrived at the office with the box in my briefcase. When I entered, I heard a lot of gossip between my coworkers. I pondered what the gossip could be about. Perhaps it was about our boss, or the company itself. However, I had a slight yet strong suspicion that they were discussing the box. I assumed they were envious of my given duty by the boss. I could potentially receive a promotion, or maybe something even better.

As I was working, I had my left hand right next to the box. A newer intern (around college age) eventually approached me, asking if I would like some coffee. I’ve never actually tasted coffee before, as I fear its addictive properties. Besides, I was already productive as is. I wouldn’t need to rely on a beverage to enhance my already astute work demeanor.

“No thanks,” I reply with my eyes locked onto my laptop. I had felt that I must work even harder, as the boss clearly has some fondness towards me. The intern looked towards the cube, and I clutched it, signaling I would not let her examine it.

“What is that?” She asks with what I assume is malicious intent. “It looks important.”

“It is nothing,” I reply with a sharp tone. The intern was obviously taken aback, as she did not expect my rather harsh attitude. The intern began to scutter back to her cubicle, and I continued my work.

When it was lunch time, I sat alone as per usual with the cube clutched in my hand. I was so nervous about it being taken that I didn’t even eat the salad I had packed. The rest of the day was normal, and I decided to go to the bar that afternoon. It smelt of citrus fruits, which I equated to the daily special, which was a lemon cocktail.

“One beer please,” I said to the bartender, whose shirt was tainted with what seemed to be mustard. The bartender grabbed me a large glass, and I gave him a dollar and a few coins. While I was drinking, a drunk man stumbled up to me. He must’ve noticed that I had the odd box in my coat pocket, as he ripped it out and began to inspect it.

“Give that back,” I said politely. There was no use arguing with an intoxicated man, as they could be both stupid and dangerous. I stood up from the small and uncomfortable stool I was sitting on, and I got real close to the man, whose teeth reminded me of a field of golden maize.

“What’s in it,” he said with vodka breath. My patience began to thin, but I remained completely calm on the outside. I noticed a scar on the man’s cheek, which seemed to be the result of a struggle with an animal. Specifically, a cat.

“The contents don’t matter,” I said, with my breathing heavy. I wouldn’t let this ignorant fool cause the end of my job. I snatched the box out of his hands, and he swore. He began shouting abhorrent things to me, and anger bubbled up inside of me. But I knew that anger would only make things worse. I stormed outside and slammed my car door, and I drove away back to my apartment.

Work the next day was the same. My boss stopped by my cubicle at lunch and made sure that the cube was still unopened.

“Very good,” he said before patting me on the back, which caused me to almost spit out a piece of pasta. The rest of the day was almost as average as myself and my boring job. At least it was Wednesday, the dead center of the week. In two days, I wouldn’t have to stress about this odd box anymore. After dinner, I decided to take a stroll around the city. I was afraid that a cleaner in my apartment would find the box and be tempted to open it, so I brought it with me.

For some odd reason, I felt the sudden urge to take a detour from my normal path. I began to walk down a dark alleyway, which smelt of dead bodies. I was instantly frightened by the slightly uneven pathway, so I decided to walk briskly. I passed by a boy that was maybe around 18 years of age, and he was whistling a familiar tune that I couldn’t decide on what it was. The man looked towards me, and for some reason, my patience began to wane. I felt the overwhelming anxiety of the boy, as if he was going to rob me of the box. I turned back around and put the hand on the kid’s shoulder. He turned around, his face frigid. I confronted him, yelling at him to keep his envy away from my box.

The kid began to run away, and I became fearful again. Why had he been so silent? I remembered that I saw a strange set of bicycles nearby. What if the boy was going to retrieve a sort of gang to rob me of the box? Out of self defense, I began to run towards the boy. I was naturally faster than him. I tackled the kid to the ground, and he began to scream in panic. He tried to resist, but I grabbed a ballpoint pen out of my pocket which had the company’s name on it. I stabbed the pen’s tip into the boy’s neck, to which he screamed from anguish. I jabbed it in again, and again, and again, until the boy stopped screaming and his breath dwindled low. I noticed his face, which was familiar. His nose was somewhat crooked, so I decided to fix it by adjusting the dead boy’s features.

Then I heard it. A haunting piano waltz coming from the building around the corner. I felt drawn to it, despite its mild terrifyingness, as it was still somewhat beautiful. I peered through the window of the building, and I saw perhaps the prettiest young woman I have ever seen playing a dusty old piano. I grabbed the doorknob for the building, but I hesitated before opening it. The song gave me the shivers. I realized that it must’ve been a siren song, trying to lure me in to ultimately steal the box from me!

I think not! I stormed away, running - no, sprinting away to my apartment. Once inside, I locked myself into my room. I put the cube next to my bedstand, and I hopped into my cushioned bed without even thinking about changing clothes.

I woke up the next morning, and I was even more tense at work. My boss wasn’t there, and despite nobody ever seeing him, he was never absent once in fifteen years, which was when his wife was killed. After work, I got into my car and decided to go to the building where the piano was playing. I had a knife in my pocket, with the cube on the passenger seat. I planned to kill the singing woman. Afterwards, I would be safe with the box until the next day. Friday. I was so excited for Friday, as I knew that by keeping my boss’s box safe, he would surely give me a raise!

I slyly opened the door to the piano building, and the woman was sitting on the piano bench, in the same position as before. Now, for some odd reason, music was playing, and in fact, it was the same tune as before. The weird part, though, was that her fingers weren’t moving. In fact, none of her was moving. I didn’t pay much attention to this, however. I grabbed the knife from my pocket, and I raised the blade over her head. When I stabbed the woman with the knife, I was surprised to see nothing happen. No sound, no reaction. There wasn’t even any blood.

Instead, I pulled out the knife, and I realized that it just ruptured not flesh, but wax. I observed the woman, and I finally realized that she was a figure of wax. The piano playing wasn’t from the instrument itself. It was from a lilac music box, which just so happened to be the size of my box. I was so angry in this moment at myself, and I felt that I was letting the boss down. I had to prove my dedication to the task, or else I would just seem like an average employee like I truly am.

I began to trash the very room, throwing sheet music and instruments everywhere. I tore down the pictures on the wall, and I lit my cigar and set the wax figure on fire. I was going to destroy the music box, but I resisted. There was something otherworldly about the box. I felt that by destroying it, a part of me would be destroyed as well for a supernatural reason. Before the building collapsed on me, I ran outside of it, and I hopped back into my car.

I was so angry that my mind drifted away, and the only thing that I could think about was the box. This box had caused me terrible mental anguish, and led to the murder of a man. I began to wonder if the raise was even worth this. No, it must be! But it all depended on what was in the box. So I grabbed the box, and I took out the knife that was still covered in wax. I cut open the box, and I gazed into it.

Nothing.

There was nothing in the box.

Was this a joke? A sick, practical joke? Was it meant to show an example, or worse, a fool of me? That I would commit a heinous crime on humanity just for money?

Had my greed overwhelmed me? Had the emerald veil of envy covered me and caused my sanity’s suffocation? I thought that I only had to wait until Friday, a day of liberation from my duties. Was I so wrapped up in my task that I forgot myself?

As I sat in my car, muttering to myself outloud, I felt as if the very flames of Hell were  coming to pull me down. I am not religious, but at this moment, I felt the need of repentance. I drove to the nearest church, a quaint little building with a large cemetery behind it. As I pulled in, I noticed a group of people huddled around a casket in the cemetery. One of these people caught my attention.

It was my boss, in a black tuxedo with a handkerchief he was using to wipe tears away. I went up to my boss to give him my condolences.

“I’m sorry,” I said to him, despite not knowing who was the one in the casket. “I’m sorry for your loss.” My boss turned around to me, and he let out a strained smile. I could tell he was trying to be polite, but secretly inside he was hurting. An older woman started howling, so I decided that I should’ve headed out.

“I have to go,” I said before I turned around to leave.

“Wait,” my boss said. It caught me off guard, because I would think that he wanted to mourn in peace. “Stay here.” I walked back to the casket and stood next to him. He was much taller than me. If I had never met him before, I would be intimidated. But in reality, he is a gentle giant.

“We weren’t expecting him to go so soon,” he said. For a second, I forgot we were at a cemetery. “He was my son. He was killed yesterday night.” I paused. For some reason, it rarely comes to my attention that somebody is capable of losing their own child. It is a grief I wouldn’t wish on anyone. I realized that this must’ve been the reason he was absent today from work.

“He was murdered while he was walking home from my wife’s old shop,” he said with a runny nose. “He was stabbed in the neck. Culprit hasn’t been caught. But when they do find him, I swear to the lord, I’ll kill that fool myself.” I feel bad for my boss. I had been so ignorant that average people in our average line of work could have such tragic emotions. Had there been a family to the man that I killed? I refused to think about it.

“His mother was a beautiful musician. She could make even the tiniest of birds stop when she played her lullabies. When she died, I maintained rent on the old shop of hers as a memorial. I did it out of respect for the woman I still love so dearly.” He began to sob even harder, and if it weren’t for these circumstances, I would think that he was a futile imbecile for his emotions.

“In fact, I’m going to her shop right after this funeral.” I nodded my head with remorse. I decided to head back home, to give the innocent boy’s family a time for mourning. It might’ve seemed greedy, but I still couldn’t help but imagine the bountiful raise I would get the next day.

Or would I?

The box was empty, which means it didn’t have much importance. But at the same time, the boss has proven to be a generous and kind man. There must’ve been some reason the box was given to me. Perhaps it was a test to see if I was suitable for a higher position. Or perhaps he was measuring my values, of which have been completely destroyed because of my insanity from the box.

I tried not to think about it, and I went to bed. It was hard to fall asleep, considering that my mind was fluttering with excitement for my inevitable praise by my boss the next day. When I woke up, I took the box (which I sealed with tape) and my briefcase and I headed to work. I was about to enter the office when I saw a woman standing outside of it. I walked up to her, and she handed me a check. A million dollars. I was stunned. Did I get this from taking care of the box? This was a handsome reward, and I instantly knew that this Friday would be the greatest Friday ever.

“Mr. Kiask wanted all of his employees to have this,” the woman said. It was odd hearing the name of the boss. He was such a humble man that he hardly introduced himself or praised his own name. “He passed away last night. He wanted to give away his money to all of his employees. He received a massive will when his wife passed away. Despite this, he never wanted to spend it, fearing it would come across as disrespectful.” These words echoed in my mind. I felt as if I should’ve been dedicated, but I didn’t care. I had a million dollars! I realized that this man was the root of all my problems. He gave me the box that caused my insanity. But with a million dollars, I am not insane anymore. Now I am liberated! I had been blessed by the cruelty of life. I didn’t have to work anymore. I didn’t have to worry about my job. I didn’t worry about the box that condemned me to misery the past week, which hadn’t even benefited at all (unless it was a siphon of karmic justice, which I doubt).

But, there was still a lingering curiosity in my mind. I had seen my boss the previous night. I was spooked by the thought that a person who I had just conversed with could go on to face the relentless beast of death just a few hours later.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how did he pass away?” I asked, not attempting to be rude.

“He was visiting his wife’s old music shop. Unfortunately, some lunatic set the place ablaze beforehand. Mr. Kiask, who had already lost everything, only wanted to do one last thing before he died, and he courageously entered the burning building. When he exited his wife’s shop, before succumbing to his injuries, he placed a lovely purple music box on the ground.” Suddenly, my head started reeling. This music box was the same one that was in the building I burnt. The one with the wax woman and the piano. The kid I had killed must’ve been his son walking home after visiting his mother’s memorial. I, the same very person who used to be so average and undisputedly normal, had caused grief for an entire family.

All because of a single box.