Who's Mystery is This?

As I look down the tracks the flickering light outlines a small box wrapped in brown paper. The edge is torn as though someone had tried to open it, but left in a hurry. I look to the left and right slowly, sending piercing looks in to the dark corners of the station. Where could they have gone? I pick up the box, which is surprisingly heavy. I think I can hear bits of metal or glass inside. Rain begins to fall like gang members intimidating me off their turf. I retreat to the covered area. I don’t think I can track down the owner of the package. Who knows how long it has been here. My car is the only vehicle at the station and there was no one when I pulled up.

The paper on the box says, “You want it, then go ahead and have it!” At least that is what I think it says. It is mostly legible despite some running ink caused by two or three drops of rain. If I leave it here the paper will be ruined by that rain and they may not recognize it if they come back later. For all I know the rain may ruin the box as well. Should I unwrap it? Maybe it has something I might recognize. No, I can bring it back in the morning. Then it will be the manager’s problem. That is the best bet at returning it.

I open the car door and sit down. I felt a warm comfort coming from the driver’s seat. It is welcome considering the oddness of the evening so far. I only came to the station to reflect on my week. Seeing the tracks go out into nothingness and the oppressive silence make me feel positioned for a greater destiny. I usually do this after a shift where a customer accuses me of stupidity. I’m not dumb. Unfortunately, I have to recite the lines given to me. Individualism does not sell at the store level.

I turn the key over and see a wisp of smoke with what almost seems to be a sizzling sound. As the fear moves through me like and a taser to the neck, I pull the key out and open the hood. The engine is cold like beer in an ice chest. Apprehensively I put the back of my hand on the manifold to double check. I put the hood down and notice the smoke is inside the car! The paper on the box is smoldering to ash. The embers crawl like a fiery red millipede sideways around until the paper is gone. The box is square with maps painted on all sides. The metal brackets on the edges are shaped like arrows pointing to the corners. The lock appears to have rusted out of the latch. Above the latch it says, “Open for life, but beware a sudden death.”

Inside there is only a snow globe with a wind-up key. I can’t help but stare into the globe. I make out what I assume is a snowman. All I really see is a silhouette with a face. The face grins at me. Out of nowhere the snow globe shows times square, then it changes to Navy Pier. It keeps changing to everyplace I have ever dreamed of living. With unreal magnetism my hand reaches for the glass ball. On contact my hands begin to sink in like water into the beach sand. I resist by pulling back, but only for a moment. I hear a whisper, “you want it, then go ahead and have it.”