The Box

It is essential to this story that you understand we can only surmise what happened on 24 August 2005. As no one else was present, these details are taken from accounts presented by neighbours and associates, the diary of the deceased, as well as police reports and forensic evidence. However, we could also say: we may never know.

22 August 2005
It had been a long day, a day of humping boxes from my parents’ house to my new apartment. I was tired and my limbs were aching; I felt as if I’d spent half the day being beaten by strong men. I needed to sink into my comfy new couch and sip a glass of red wine, right away. The unpacking could wait.

I lit some candles and sat back to watch the flickering shadows dance across the room’s white-washed walls. Life was getting to be good. The red wine flowed and I felt the exhaustion of the day’s events take over. Soon I fell asleep, curled around a cushion.

23 August 2005
I was woken by the sun rising over the apartments opposite. I hadn’t yet got around to installing my blinds so the window let in the glare of the early morning sunshine. I squinted my eyes against the brightness, rubbed at the crick in my neck from where I’d slept awkwardly on the couch.

Surveying the room, I realised that I had a task ahead of me in clearing the many boxes stacked around the walls, some piles going back four boxes deep. With a sigh I pulled my aching body to its feet and began methodically sorting the boxes according to which room the various contents belonged. I stopped briefly to eat some breakfast, but chose not to get dressed or washed up until I’d moved each of the boxes to the correct room; the job of sorting them could come later.

This first job didn’t take long, as I’d had enough foresight to write the final resting place on the upper flap of each box. I tried to ignore the fact that I was, slowly but surely, turning into my mother. Somehow, I’d kidded myself that I wouldn’t, but no matter how much I tried to forge my own way I was still following in her footsteps. Shaking my head, I rose to my feet and began the arduous task of unpacking each box, of finding a place for everything in my new home.

It was dark before I’d finished unpacking. I took a shower, ate a small meal of scrambled eggs on toast and crashed out on the couch with another bottle of wine for company. Within minutes I was asleep again.

24 August 2005
This morning I was woken again by the first hint of the sun’s rays glinting through my window. I was determined to get some blinds up to shield me from these rude awakenings; it was my first task for the day, I had decided. After the weekend, I needed to get back to work – the mortgage wasn’t going to pay itself, as my father was fond of saying.

The cardboard boxes were piled up against the far wall, waiting for me to take them to the communal rubbish chute. I cursed as I realised I would need to rid the room of all detritus before I began to hang my screens. I manhandled the cardboard boxes out of my apartment and dragged them unceremoniously across the landing to the chute opening that led to the communal rubbish area housed beneath the building. I opened the flap to the chute and immediately my nose was bombarded by the stench of rotting food. I gagged slightly as I tipped in my own rubbish, finally letting the flap clang shut so I could breathe the sweeter air again.

No sooner had I shut the door when I spotted a lone box out of the corner of my eye. I could have sworn it wasn’t there but five minutes ago, that it had materialised as soon as my back was turned. I called out to see if anyone was in the apartment – I had after all given a key to my parents so that they could satisfy their own curiosity that I wasn’t living in a crack den or prostituting myself in order to pay the rental charges. No one answered my voice. I made a quick tour of the apartment, mostly to convince my own brain that I was alone, that no one had snuck in behind me and was waiting, sharpened knife in hand, to slice me up.

I looked again at the box. It had nothing written on the top or the sides that faced me. It had no branding printed on it, no postmark. It was blank on all sides. A thin line of brown parcel tape held the flaps down. How it had got there I had no idea. Approaching with caution, I took my time in bending down to pick it up. I shook it carefully, but it gave me no indication of what was inside. I knew it had something in it, as I could feel the weight of something, of whatever secret this box held. My heart was beating faster than it would after a workout; throat dry and legs that quivered I carried the box over to the small table I’d rescued from a thrift store two weeks’ previously. I backed away, deciding to leave the box for a day or two until I knew my interest would be piqued to such an extent that I would rip it open and discover its contents.

But, I couldn’t leave it alone. I needed to know what was contained within this cardboard shell. I thought about whether there was something I was missing, something that I hadn’t yet unpacked and put away in its designated place. I could think of nothing. I had this feeling that the box was urging me to open it, that somehow it had command of my body, my mind. It seems stupid to say that, but that’s how it felt.

Again, I approached the box with caution. There seems no reason for this unnerving feeling, but it’s as constant as my breath or my pulse. I watched, detached, as my hands grasped the box, a nail slipping under the tape that held it closed. I pulled up a corner and drew back the tape, my hands trembling as I pulled apart the top flaps of cardboard.

The top was open; I was able to look right in. Nervously, I stepped back, expecting some horror to explode from the box. Nothing happened. The clock I had mounted earlier clicked through each second. I held my breath. The urge took me again and I stepped forward, my face looking directly into the box.

Nothing prepared me for what I saw, the horror of it. I felt the sickness rising from my stomach, burning my throat. My legs gave way and I vomited on the floor.

It was out and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it, to prevent the inevitable disaster.

Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?