Curiosity

“Don’t touch the box on the counter.”

That was Marrian’s motto, from the moment the tawny little cube had arrived. There was no address label on any of the six sides of the box, so no one knew where it had come from or how it had ended up at the house. His regular postwoman even claimed that she didn’t drop it off. It simply… appeared. On the front steps of the house, as though it had been materialized there out of thin air

He hated that. He couldn’t stand the itch of curiosity that not knowing created in his mind. He could open it, of course. He could simply open it and make the nagging itch go away.

But that was far too risky.

He’d searched on the Internet for days for boxes the same size, for the type of paper that the box could be wrapped in. He had lifted it in his own two hands, brought it to his ear, and gently, oh so gently, shook it. Whatever was inside the little box rattled and made a quiet squish against the side of the box. When he stilled, there was no more noise.

Just the sound of his own trepid, labored breathing.

Marrian’s head swarmed with thoughts of what could be in the box, beyond the add wrapping paper. He wanted to know, but he absolutely refused to remove even the little bits of tape keeping the paper held down into the shape of the box.

Then there was the wonder at how the box had been wrapped. The paper all straight, set in clean lines that never even crinkled when he rotated it in his hands. Day after day, he would set the box back on the table when he was done with it. No one was allowed to touch it, whether he could see it or not. He could sense when someone had moved it, even if they put it back in the right spot.

When his little brother and sisters found that out, they stopped touching it.

Knowing that someone had moved the little parcel would send him into a frenzy. He would grow restless and fiddle with the box for hours. It made him queasy, made his mind reel with the thought of the box being opened. Initially, he thought it was because he so badly wanted to know what was in the box. So badly that it kept him up at night.

Why not just open it?

The voice seldom popped into his mind… at first. It was a little chirp, happy and light and inviting. He pushed it away as though it were little more than a gentle whisper at the back of his neck. A soft caress of a phrase that raised gooseflesh on the back of his neck and made his fingers tremble with the prospect of opening the little package.

It grew harder and harder for Marrian to fight off the sweet little voice that beckoned to him. It grew louder, and came to him even more. Its reasoning became more convincing as it bounced around in his head. And, when he attempted to push it away, it wouldn’t leave. It quieted, but there were the lingering, giggled whispers like a contented child.

Just a peek won’t hurt. It’s natural to wanna know what’s inside.

What’s the worst that could happen?

He found himself holding the box and attempting to hook a finger beneath one of the folds of the paper. It made the most satisfying crinkling noise as it threatened to give beneath the pressure. He’d felt possessed, driven by some unseen force that commanded his hand as though it were their own. A trill rendition of his name snapped him to before the ripping and curiosity had consumed him completely. His youngest sibling’s pestering broke him from the trance, and he set the parcel on the counter once again.

Day after day, he fought the little voice whenever it told him to attempt to rip the paper from the parcel again.

He wouldn’t let himself fall for it again. He wouldn’t even give himself the chance.

He set it on a shelf, the highest one he could find in the house. The little ones wouldn’t be able to reach it, and, without a step-stool, neither could he. He hoped to forget about it eventually.

For years, he refused to even look at it. Visitors would see it and comment on the cute little “art deco”-style trinket. But his family listened to him and didn’t touch it.

Until a few years later.