The Holy Light Of The Cardboard Box

It began in a small corner of a cardboard box painted iridescent white. It belonged to Mr. Anaheim of Montague, and was situated under a bridge which always caught the sunlight. He was the local eccentric, who led everyone to smile with his outlandish ways. His stories were convincingly rich and relevant, as if he had lived many lifetimes. Though no one was sure if any of them were true.

He painted his cardboard box iridescent white to give him a sense of spaciousness, an allusion to the American Dream of the white picket fence. A holy grail of success, signifying we made it after all, as sure as each dream comes true.

Speaking of holy grail, Mr. Anaheim went so far as to carve out a round hole on the “roof”, unphased by possible thunderstorms, to reveal a sunportal. This way he could get his daily Vitamin D.

For a man who lived on the streets, he sure knew a thing or two about domesticated living. He took care of himself, as a dignified man of “Montague” would.

People would speculate his origins. What truly was his past. Moreover, what exactly happened to him? Stories of his loneliness, acute illness, a horrific car accident, or how he turned his back on his wealth would casually surface. No one really knew.

We assumed he exchanged his past for a life that, from the outside, looked meager, yet delightful at the same time. He did not come across as a man who was hoping for another route. Quite content with the holy light of his cardboard box.

One day there were two children in town, sisters, who were walking around, no parents in sight! One being 14, the other five. They seemed to be foreigners. Vague details were known: they were on an adventure, making their way home.

As they explored, it was inevitable they’d gravitate towards Mr. Anaheim’s locale. In his cheerful manner, when he was in the mood, he greeted them as if he were the mayor, and they carried on.

A few hours later, on a memorable afternoon, the sun glowed through in a haze, adjacent to the moon in the sky. Everyone within radius heard the most blood-pulsing screams! This was not a boy crying wolf. Something had gone terribly wrong.

The youngest sister ran to the town square, sounding like the highest trill of a mockingbird’s song. She zipped past the bridge were Mr. Anaheim lived. We understood she was screaming for help in her native tongue.

When the little girl, named Elizabeth, calmed down--in broken English, she managed to tell us what happened. Her sister had fallen and hurt her leg, when a gang of thieves decided to bring her to their lair as some sort of rite of passage.

The younger sister managed to escape, when her older sister told her to run. We can only imagine how terrifying that must have been. After praying, Mr. Anaheim realized there was a serious commotion going on, and he shuffled his way over to the square.

Seeing the young girl, he got down on one knee at eye level, and began to speak in her tongue. The little girl instantly felt relief, and recounted what happened through tears. Mr. Anaheim got up, and took the girl by his hand, commanding everyone to retrace her steps.

The town was familiar with thieves, but no one had ever seen them, as they usually came out at night. Rarely, if ever, did they commit crimes at this hour.

The entire time Mr. Anaheim never flinched. Never hinting concern or fear. As if he had been preparing for this moment his whole life.

He and Elizabeth carefully outlined their path, and when they got to where the older sister, Rebekah, was kidnapped, Mr. Anaheim got down on his knees. Only this time with his nose to the ground. “What in the world are you doing?” exclaimed the girl!

No one ever questioned Mr. Anaheim. Not because we didn’t have them, but it took courage to converse with him even though he was mostly friendly.

He did not answer, though he began resembling more of a hound dog than a human at this point. He spotted a short trail of blood, assuming it was Rebekah’s considering she had taken a fall, alongside the struggle that must’ve taken place when the crime occurred.

Elizabeth began crying again, imagining the worst had happened. To think their day started with adventure. At this point, their parents, who were staying a couple towns over, had been notified. They were used to quiet, albeit ample, provincial life, and never imagined their lives would collide with a horror story.

The search grew, but Mr. Anaheim was sharply focused, and Elizabeth seemed to trust him with her sister’s life. We wandered through a vast field, where we found more clues. Most suspiciously a black notebook Elizabeth recognized, but had only seen once.

She recalled Rebekah blushed as bright as rubies when Elizabeth caught a glimpse of it awhile back. Remembering their time in Barcelona, she began crying again as she grew nostalgic of memories on the coast. Mr. Anaheim, as concentrated as he was, exuded empathy towards Elizabeth, and would pause to comfort her like a grandfather or a seaborne captain.

It was as if the world stopped for a moment to hold her. It’s marvelous what happens when moments ask us to take down our stone walls, to let another person in. To connect and survive, moving towards a common center: saving Rebekah’s life.

Elizabeth wiped away her tears, and hunkered down, knowing the mission must go on. She also had a commanding presence, demonstrating bravery much more than any of us, as she stood alongside Mr. Anaheim.

No one dared to open the book, until we came across a stream of running water. Refreshing to all those who needed rest. Elizabeth didn’t sit, though she halted along the edge and stared off into the distance. Communicating something in a trance way.

Mr. Anaheim felt it too. They knew we were getting closer. The rest of us had no idea what was going on, but at that point, we trusted those two more than anyone else. The fear was dissipating, and the “telepathic connection kicked in”, is how they described it.

Elizabeth took the book out of her sleeve, one of those slender, pocket-sized journals detectives carried!

When she opened it, the book seemed to take a life of its own! As the page opened up, and fell on to the rocks, her eyes glared, as the map that was drawn, projected itself from the pages. It showed us exactly where we were.

None of us had seen such a thing. People had talked about seeing moving lights in the sky, and electricity was fairly new at the time. None of us had ever seen anything like this.

Elizabeth picked it up from the ground, and even though it was tiny, the projection was larger than light. Not knowing what it would show, Elizabeth wanted privacy, and the only place offering that was to stand behind a tree.

After a few minutes, as we listened to the tranquil forest, she came back, further relieved. She brushed a clearing through the air, took a long stick, and began drawing what looked like symbols and diagrams, as miniature clouds appeared. When she drew a circle around it, the symbols projected a new image over the water.

Mr. Anaheim took one look at it, and his eyes opened as wide as his sunportal; a side of him we had not seen before. He marched forward, and told us he knew exactly where to go.

With the most amount of gusto I had seen in a man, he took the young girl’s hand, gently though with fervor. He began talking in a way that seemed to be less of the character he usually portrayed. He was speaking to us as a person, and began recounting his formative years.

Speaking very quickly, he told us the thieves who took Rebekah were not criminals, but in fact, his family. They were getting ready for a marriage ritual, as they usually find a young girl, take her back and cast a love spell. We understood now why he kept his past a secret, and perhaps why he and Elizabeth got along.

We got there, and stood in front of a massive building that looked exactly like his cardboard box. A monolith, complete with the sunportal on the roof of the structure. No one seemed to be on the property, though Anaheim took us around, where we walked down a precarious staircase that led to the ocean and a cave.

He was the first to walk in, and told us to wait, including Elizabeth, though she struggled at first. What felt like hours passed. None of us had eaten at that point, but with all the action, no one was keeping track. A few of us in the group were fishermen, and were skilled enough to jump in, and catch a few with our hands.

Along the coast, lemon trees grow in the wild, so we cut open a few, making sure the fish was clean to eat whilst raw. When we took our first bites, Mr. Anaheim came back out, with a look of reluctance and determination, as if he had eaten a worm.

Worms back in this time were said to increase lifespan, though you had to eat it alive. One can only imagine the look of confusion and distaste at the same time. Turned out he had eaten one! Apparently, it was also customary for the bride and groom to serve their guests worms, as a provision and blessing on their lives.

Elizabeth stepped forward, and with great courage, she opened the book. Despite her fear, she decided to turn the page.

As soon as the paper landed, everyone appeared in a parallel wedding, this one being bright and joyous. We were all a little older too, or at least everyone’s hair had turned iridescent white with the sun gleaming a holy light on everyone. Mr. Anaheim was the priest, dressed in ivory entirely. Much like his home, he had a white cap over his head. A different kind of sunportal.

He officiated Rebekah with her groom, and they seemed forever and utterly in love. As he turned the page after the ceremony, he smiled to himself quietly, as there was a paper memo with a note for $20,000 and a “job well done, thank you.”