Hit a Lick

Carlos stared at it. He wanted to be sure that if it moved again, he would see, here in person, with his own bare eyes. He was skeptical at first, about whether something like this could actually happen; he wondered if he was legitimately going crazy. His head was swimming as he fully accepted details he realized that he had subconsciously ignored during the first few days of the box being in the house. He was sure now, not necessarily that he wasn't going insane, but that the events of the last week had indeed transpired. It had begun with minor changes; maybe a slightly different orientation, a small displacement that could’ve been caused by the wind, or heavy footsteps, or even him brushing up against it and not noticing. If nothing else had happened he would’ve been fine, but it hadn’t stopped there. Carlos patted around his thighs frantically trying to figure out which of the many cargo short pockets his phone was in. He reached into one and felt the familiar glass screen, nearly dropping the phone as he tried to remove it. He had promised not to call him while he was on vacation, but figured his roommate would rather have chosen to be annoyed for a couple minutes over reading a police report detailing why he had set their apartment on fire.

Carlos could hear the high tempo club music in the background of wherever Roberto was currently spending his night.

“Come on man, I told you not to call me!- No no baby it’s nothing just-” his roommate sounded predictably irritated, but at least he answered.

“Ai, Que hay por dentro?!” Carlos basically shouted into the cell phone.

“De que, huh?” Roberto shouted quizzically.

“La caja!” Carlos said

“Que? This club is loud man, I can't hear you!”

“La caja! ‘The box,’ Roberto, seriously!” Carlos turned his head towards his phone in frustration, looking away from the box for the first time since he had come into the kitchen.

“Yeah, but I didn’t say ‘Call me in an emergency,’ I said, not to call, ‘period’- No baby, I told you I was single-” Roberto was quickly causing Carlos’ fear to turn into annoyance. “‘The box?’ Roddy Ricch? Bro what are you talking about-Oh THAT box?”

Carlos rolled his eyes so hard he thought he might see the folds of his own brain. He had been so excited for two whole weeks without a roommate. “Yes, Roberto, the only box I would be calling you about!”

“Baby wait, no don’t go!- Damn it man! I just put 6 drinks into shorty just for you to block me bro! Don’t worry about the box man, just don’t open it, and if you’re feeling anxious go find something to smoke on.- Aye baby, hold up, you know you want some of this Mocha Madness!- Ai, vato, don’t call me again!”

*click*

“The call has been disconnected, please hang up and dial again.” Carlos felt his heart rate increasing as he stared at his phone screen, his face twisted in equal parts disbelief and simmering rage.

“That asshole! Puto!- Ah!” In his anger Carlos’ phone slipped through his fingers, he reflectively tried to catch it, accidentally smacking the phone higher in the air in a nice controlled arch, a lucky move that gave the stressed out 24 year old ample time to catch the device.

“Oh…” The young man felt his stomach tighten so quickly it had forced the sound out of his mouth. The cell phone fell onto the apartment’s wooden floor, the glass of the touch screen shattering from the descent.

Carlos reflected on everything he’d been through recently. The box had been in his house for exactly a week now. His roommate had told him to expect it, informing him that he would have something delivered to the house that wouldn’t show up until he had already left for Cancun, but Carlos hadn’t expected the package to show up on his doorstep the very next day after Roberto had left for his trip. He had practically stepped on the small paper box when he was leaving to work. The box was maybe seven or eight inches long, and half as wide and tall, and decidedly unassuming. The most noteworthy feature of the box was, ironically, what it lacked. The box was completely sealed, devoid of any openings, or junctions, it was as if someone had put paper mache over a rectangular prism. Other than it’s seamless nature, the only other feature on the box was a small black rectangle stamp, one possibly used for determining which side of the box was the top. When he had first seen it, Carlos had nearly believed the box was just solid cardboard, a notion that he had been forced to dismiss once he had picked it up, feeling and hearing something inside of it shift towards one of its walls. He had shaken the box a few times after, hoping to gauge the size and weight of the item it contained, however, excluding the initial shift, the item inside the box made no subsequent motions. Carlos had set the package on the ‘community stool’ the boys used, an old broken art chair that they threw everything from misplaced laundry to old bills on, essentially the apartment's own purgatory for lost and forgotten items. Afterwards, he had gone about his day, almost immediately discarding the memory of even bringing the box inside in the first place. The sudden appearance of the box, it’s insignificance, and Carlos’ own apathy were the perfect conditions for the boxes first, minute movements to go undetected by all but the most peripheral parts of Carlos’ awareness.

It wasn’t until the box had been on the stool for four days that something notable enough for Carlos to fully perceive happened. He’d been rushing through his living room, a five cheese, six meat pizza he had ordered was waiting for him at the door. In his rush he dropped the money he planned on using for a tip. As Carlos stood back up after retrieving the singles, he realized the box had been dramatically shifted on the stool, being almost perpendicular in relation to its original position. He considered the oddity before disregarding it and paying for his pizza, only to pass the box on his way back to his room, back in the same position it had been when he had first set it down. He had convinced himself that he must’ve imagined it, that his perspective must’ve been off, and it wasn’t until the box’s movements became more substantial that he realized he couldn't deny them.

The fifth day was the most memorable. After a long day of work, Carlos opened his front door and his eyes were immediately drawn to the box. Something had turned it a full 90 degrees again. He felt paranoia creeping into his mind, but the feeling of unease was pushed aside as he realized he had forgotten his cell phone in his car. Grateful for the excuse to get out of the house, he ran to his vehicle, easily finding the device below the driver’s seat, then ran back. He paused at the front door, nerves causing him to tremble slightly the way someone might if you blew lightly on their neck. What are you even afraid of? He had thought to himself. Afraid that the box is going to get you? He shook his head side to side, slowly opened the door, and peered into the house. The box was turned back around! He shut the door again quickly. What the heck is going on?! Carlos had thought to himself, exhausted and on the verge of panic. I just need to go inside and go to bed. I’ll figure something out in the morning. He was sure that his tired mind was just imagining things. That’s it! He had thought to himself before swinging the door wide open again. Just as he suspected, the box had rotated once more. He smiled to himself before going to his phone's camera app, switching it to record, and setting the phone on the outside of the door frame facing the box. He closed the door, then opened it, then closed it again. Once he felt satisfied, Carlos confidently stepped back into the house and picked up his phone. He hit play on the video and felt relief wash over him as the box moved every time he opened the door. Just as he’d thought; the box was so light, the air from the large wooden door was causing it to rotate when it opened. He laughed at his own cowardice, taking the box and throwing it into his roommate's room. He knew Roberto would be upset with him, knowing he’d caught a glimpse of all his anime waifu body pillows, but he couldn't find it in himself to care as he went to bed, ready to put his mind to rest.

On the sixth day Carlos felt so at peace that he wondered why he hadn't just thrown the box in Roberto’s room in the first place. The feeling of tranquility he experienced after a couple of days of light dread left him giddy, a beautiful feeling that lasted him until the morning of the seventh day, and that was when he was sure he’d lost his mind.

At three A.M, after a long night of getting absolutely washed in his favorite video game, “Zombie Bourgeoisie 2: Proletariat Revenge,” he had already been in a bad mood and decided some comfort cereal might turn his night around. Man, those zombies know how to conglomerate power. He thought disappointingly. His feet dragged on the carpet as he went to procure his sugary goodness. When he had gotten to the kitchen, the box was on the stool and not just ‘on the stool,’ the box was angled in a way that defied gravity. It stood balanced on one of its corners, it’s mass resting precariously on the uneven seat of the broken art stool. That’s when he had decided to call Roberto.

Carlos flinched as his phone shattered against the wooden kitchen floor but he never took his eyes off the box. Jagged slits had appeared around the box making it appear like a cat or some other small animal had gotten to it. Carlos prayed the explanation for this was as simple and as inconsequential as a raccoon being loose in his home, or a mouse being trapped inside the box, but those prayers went unanswered as something monstrous unfolded before him.

“No!” He yelled attempting to grab the box, a move that proved to be very unwise. Carlos winced and withdrew his hand, nearly fainting as he gawked at the blood dripping from the nubs where his fingers had been. He had accidentally flung the box across the kitchen along with his severed digits. The slits that appeared on the box began to pulse and swell, as the box began to lightly expand and compress, almost as if it was breathing. He watched as white, sharp bone-like protrusions began to push themselves through the box's slits, some of them covered in his blood. The rectangle stamp, what had previously been the box’s only identifier, began to grow into a long, veiny, black tongue. Carlos screamed as the monstrous appendage began to hungrily lap at the blood he had spilled on the ground.

Roberto walked into his apartment annoyed, carrying in his gold edition “oppai” keyboard. I can’t believe that jackass called me freaking out about the package, just to end up leaving it outside for a week!

“Carlos! I’m going to kick your ass if this got rained on and doesn't work!”

When no one answered, Roberto pulled out his cellphone, scrolled through his contacts, and selected ‘Roomie.’ He looked over at the stool in his kitchen as his roommate's ringtone began to chime from a small brown paper box.