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Without Branded Packing Tape

A Plain Brown Box Story

By Jason VanHallePublished 3 years ago 6 min read
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“Naaaaaaaaa, what’s in the box!?”

“Seriously, Dave? That hasn’t been funny since 1994.”

“Marty, ‘Seven’ came out in 1995.”

“Yes Dave. I know.”

Marty’s flat stare was just as pointless at 2 AM as it had been at 11 PM, when their shift started. Dave just wasn’t the type of guy to know when he was being insulted. And while that made him the perfect man to sit in a guard shack and make sure nobody drove through the barrier gate, it left a lot to be desired in someone you spent 40 hours a week with in tight quarters.

Not for the first time, Marty wondered who Dave was related to at the company to have gotten this job in the first place. And, more importantly, how he had managed to blackmail someone well enough to still have it.

‘But at least my parents get to brag about me at Thanksgiving!’ He thought to himself sarcastically. ‘Seven credit hours short of an engineering degree, and proudly protecting and serving the security gate at AdvanTech Bioware for minimum wage.’ His chin sagged in disappointment. ‘Can’t wait to hear about how many adorable little puppies Mary saved this year.’

He and his sister had always had a good relationship, despite the occasional teasing that went too far, but the obvious pride their parents had in her was a struggle for them at the best of times. Trying to shake himself free of his morose mood before he wound up blaming his sister’s successful veterinary practice for his own failures, Marty did something he almost never dared to do.

“So’d you see any good movies this week?”

Dave’s face lit up with excitement, and Marty wondered if he had made a terrible mistake. He enjoyed going to the movies, as much for the popcorn as the film half the time, but Dave harbored an unhealthy obsession with all things cinema. On any other night Marty would have tried to steer the conversation away from the newest releases, lest he become victim to one of his co-workers overly detailed analysis of what was in theaters.

And, inevitably, everything was always terrible in Dave’s eyes.

“I saw the new Christopher Nolan this week!” He said, leaning forward in the already cramped space. “And it. Was. Horrible.” He leaned back, then forward again. “Hor. Or. Ible.” His smile telling a completely different story, Dave leaned in to his twelve part analysis of why Bolan was the most overrated director of the modern era.

“...and all these buffoons think his work is so deep and nuanced. Bah!” Marty found himself amazed that he worked with someone who had just used the words ‘buffoon’ and ‘bah’ in a sentence without irony. “...he might as well be adding his character notes to the screen with CGI!”

Marty started to tone Dave out, looking again at the package in front of him on the desk. Plain brown paper, addressed to him, dropped off by the big brown truck earlier that day and left for him to find when he sat down at the desk.

“And if he isn’t making a big deal out of something you had better believe it’s a big deal!” Dave scoffed, sitting back again and shaking his head. “The only thing more obvious about his movies than the supposedly ‘big reveal’ is when something is about to explode. A toddler could see it coming if it was entertaining enough to actually keep their attention.”

“Yea, toddlers. Makes sense.” Marty replied, his eyes still fixed on the box. He was only mildly surprised none of his co-workers had opened it for him, assuming it was something he was trying to hide from his girlfriend. Which would of course be interesting, and possibly valuable. Or at least worth teasing him about.

He worked with a bunch of jerks.

Marty didn’t recognize the return address, or the name of the company that had sent it. Having moved it when he first punched in, he knew it to be surprisingly heavy. He’d had to slide it carefully off the desk to get his fingers under it, and the cheap laminate countertop that served as their desk creaked ominously when he put it down.

“Ok, seriously,” for the first time, possibly ever, Dave’s voice was serious when discussing something other than movies. “What’s in the friggin’ box?”

“Dunno.”

“So open it!” Dave reached for the box, and Marty held up a hand to forestall him.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” He started to push it around, examining it from different angles. “Something feels off to me about this.”

“Something feels off?” Dave blew a raspberry loudly enough Marty side-eyed him into silence. “Yea, ok, sorry, but seriously: something feels off about this box to you?”

Marty nodded, still poking and prodding at it gently, the feeling of unease growing the longer he examined it.

“So open it!”

Dave seemed oblivious to the danger, reaching for the brown paper again, only to be rebuffed, again.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Marty turned in his chair to face the other guard. “I think we should call Mr. Murrah down.”

“Oh the hell with that! He’ll come down here and ream us out for having not restocked the pens or some other stupid filler work dayshift should have done. No thank you!”

“This doesn’t seem suspicious to you Dave?” Marty asked, incredulous. “Unmarked brown package, heavy as hell, came from a weird company and is just waiting here at a security gate?” He shook his head, resigning himself to making the call to Al when Dave left for a 45 minute ‘smoke’ break.

Until the larger man lunged for the box with a letter opener, managing to cut the packing tape holding the lid shut before Marty had realised what was happening.

They both froze at the resounding BEEP from the box as the lid popped open. Marty, afraid to turn and see a timer ticking rapidly down. Dave, twisting his face away from their pending doom, his eyes squeezed shut.

A whirring sound filled the booth, and Marty knew this was the end. He was about to become a name on the news, his remains identified by the pieces of his teeth they were able to find mixed in with Dave’s. There wouldn’t even be any DNA left for a positive…

“Happy Birthday Little Brother!”

Sarah’s voice filled the small room from the box, an instant before it did, in fact, detonate.

A glitter bomb. His sister had mailed him a glitter bomb. At work. For his birthday.

As soon as he found a new job, assuming he could after his obvious pending termination (with cause) he was going to make her life hell.

Short Story
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About the Creator

Jason VanHalle

Full-Time Automation Engineer, Part-Time lots of other things. Married to the love of my life and doing my best to survive with 5 kids at home.

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