Boxes

John sat at the table, his elbow resting on the laminated particle board surface. The dim lights of the combined kitchenette and dining area gave the scene a greyness that suited his mood. Before John, on the table, sat a simple 6-inch cube of cardboard. It had been dumb luck that he'd even seen the drone dropping it off, a novel delivery method if ever there was one. Must have cost a fortune to get it delivered that way, but its not like he paid for it. Either way, he wasn’t expecting a package, even with the holidays coming on.

John wasn’t normally the social type. Mina was always haranguing him about it, taking him with her to parties and social events.

Well, it could be a surprise from Mina. She was far more gregarious than he was. She was always talking, laughing, looking for new people to meet and new places to visit. Kind of the opposite of John, really. Many of their friends had wondered how the two of them ever got to dating, much less engaged with a wedding set in the spring. He wondered that too. She was far too good for him.

She would have been smart enough to leave the return address off.

She also likely knew he’d made out with Louisa at the party last Saturday, which explained why they hadn’t talked in a few days.

John grimaced at the memory, even as he reacted in other ways. Louisa was incredibly hot, and he’d have to be seriously messed up to not want a piece of that. Which of course means he was, and had, seriously messed up. Mina was no third stringer herself, and they’d been together for three years now. She was everything he could want in a woman, hot, smart, sassy, and completely taken with him.

And he repaid that with a quickie at a party. Some fiancé he was. He could blame being drunk, maybe the E or the coke, but he knew he’d been thinking with the wrong head.

So, maybe not her. Unless she meant to cook his goose with a joke present that outed him as a cheat.

John wasn’t sure, and that scared him.

The box, of course, sat there mocking him and his fear.

It had been sitting on the porch when he got home from work. It wasn’t especially heavy, and only as warm as the sun had made it sitting there by the door. No noises, no smells, no movement when he shook it. His address in tight, neat script. No return address anywhere, and a postage mark from any of the dozen or so post offices in his hometown.

And now it sat on a dime store dinner table in a low rent apartment mocking a starving artist.

John thought about throwing it out. Seriously considered it for like the 5th time. Decided once more against it. He could almost hear the box laughing.

Man, I gotta be some kinda coward. John snorted the thought away. He reached out and turned the box.

Maybe it was from Louisa. She did know where he lived, had seemed pleased with their encounter. Could be she meant to repay good work with a gift.

John didn’t know if he’d been that good though. It would explain the lack of a return address, but it didn’t seem plausible.

Yeah, best to eliminate her too. The idea she’d done it seemed creepy and narcissistic.

So, John could sit here guessing all day who sent it, or he could open it.

John went into the kitchen and grabbed a dull steak knife. He sliced through the postage tape with ease, cutting the edges and then the center seam. Amazingly, the box didn’t pop open, seeming to require permission to reveal its contents. John pushed his fingers under the flaps and forced them up. The cardboard resisted, stiff and unyielding. It almost pulled back against him, like it wanted to stay closed.

Had to be in his head. I’m just tired from work.

John forced the box open. It was definitely stiff. When it opened, there was a noise, not unlike a moan, and wind, and the lights flickered…no, just his imagination. Blinked, window open, imagination at play.

John laughed, chiding himself for being a spooked little kid.

Inside was a white jewelry box with an embossed symbol, not unlike a multi-pointed star in a circle. Too big to be a ring, thank God. Long, like necklace box. Weird how it hadn’t rattled when he shook the package. There was not padding, no peanuts, nothing to keep it still.

Okay, that was weird. John shook his head, reached in, and pulled out the jewelry box.

Which was weirdly heavy.

John nearly dropped it, not expecting the weight. He plopped it onto the table pretty quickly, not sure what the hell was going on.

He sat back down. Now it was the jewelry box mocking him.

What the hell was it with him and boxes today?

John shuffled his feet, stretching his legs away from the chair. He tried to relax, but the weirdness was making that impossible. He reached out and pulled the lid from the jewelry box. Inside, reflecting the dim light, was a slightly beaten gold pocket watch with a brassy chain. It sat neat and undisturbed, as if it had never been moved. Like he had never nearly dropped it or plopped it onto the table rather unceremoniously.

That did nothing to lessen the weirdness factor.

Or the new question: Who in the hell sent him a pocket watch?

The pocket watch had the same embossed symbol as the box, a multi-pointed star in a circle, with dots between each set of points. Six dots, six points. John picked up the top of the jewelry box and looked at it closely. Sure enough, the embossed symbols were the same, down to the dots. John had no idea what the symbol was. He’d have to look it up later.

He set the box top down, pushing it aside. He reached out and picked up the watch and chain. They were definitely heavy, the metal warm to the touch. John offhandedly noted that detail, just one more in a batch that made no sense. He held the chain between his thumb and fingers, letting the watch dangle freely. As it swayed, John was mesmerized by the motion, the symbol seeming to draw him in as it moved.

“Check the time, John.”

John shook his head, stopped looking at the watch. What the hell was that? He pulled the watch into his palm and stood up. Who the hell is in my apartment? John turned, looking around.

“Who’s there? You better show yourself!” John suddenly felt naked and vulnerable. Someone had snuck in, and he hadn’t noticed. That damned box, that damned watch, was really screwing with his day.

No answer. He stalked around his one-bedroom hovel, but no amount of looking turned up another person. He was alone. Not even anyone on the outdoor walkway, hanging off the railing and smoking a cigarette. Which was only slightly weird.

Damned imagination again, and yeah, all because of that box.

John closed the door and sat down on the couch. No need to be at the table now since he had the contents in hand. He dropped the watch out again, letting it swing, letting it glint in the somewhat brighter light of the end table lamp, letting it sway…

“What time is it, John? You should check.”

John shook his head again. Okay, that was twice he’d heard that voice. Accent less, deep, commanding. Had to be in his head. No one else was in the apartment, no one even nearby. Imagination was good, but this was ridiculous. He didn’t have time for this. John pocketed the watch and chain, stalked into his kitchenette, and made dinner. He came back to the couch, ate, turned on the TV, pulled up Netflix and started a binge of The Ranch as background noise. He’d watched it all the way through once but liked having it on. Probably two or three episodes in, John dozed off.

“You should really check the time, John. It’s not like you don’t have a watch.”

John snapped awake. He warily scanned the apartment, fearful. The show was still playing, the leftovers on the plate were cold, and he was alone.

Only then did he notice his pocket was warm. Warmer than it should be since he had a metal pocket watch in it.

John pulled the watch out, and it had definitely gotten warmer. Maybe it was holding his body heat in the gold frame? Whatever. He filed the thought away. He put the watch next to his ear but didn’t hear it ticking. He tried winding it, but nothing happened.

So, he pressed the release and opened it. Just then the power flickered, John jumped, and nearly dropped the watch.

Holy shit am I jumpy today. John shivered slightly, then pulled the watch up to where he could see it’s face clearly.

Damned thing is broken. The glass on the watch face was cracked and pushed in, the arms stuck where the glass hit them. Motionless and unworking. Stuck forever at 10:05. It did have a set of date dials on it, also stuck, at 11/27. November 27th.

Now that is freaky…November 27th is today.

John now classified himself as officially creeped out. He glanced through the single door between him and his bed, where his alarm clock sat just in view.

It was 10:04 PM.

No, that couldn’t mean anything. John looked back at the watch, half-waiting for something, anything to happen. It would be par for the course.

Looking back at his alarm clock, he saw it was now 10:05.

And the sound of ticking made him jump again, this time dropping the watch, which was now ticking away quite merrily on the floor.

John’s jaw dropped open. It was broken, he couldn’t wind it, and now it was ticking like nothing was wrong with it. He trepidaciously reached down to pick it up. He pulled it up to eye level, staring at the broken face, and listened for the ticking he’d just been hearing.

The watch was silent and broken in his hand.

John grunted, suddenly angry at his fear. I need sleep. That was too much anxiety for one day. Gotta be me feeling guilty about Louisa and Mina. Or maybe shit I do at work. Wow am I messed up today.

John walked into his bedroom, dropped the watch in the nightstand drawer, and stripped to shower. He had barely crossed the room to the bathroom when the ticking started again. A little muffled, but definitely there. He stopped short. The ticking was coming from the nightstand.

John went over and pulled the watch from the drawer. It was dead silent but open. He closed it, stuffed it into his sock drawer, and took his shower.

The ticking started again right after he got out.

John jumped again; the ticking was so sudden that he was unprepared for the noise. It didn’t help that it was much louder this time, much more insistent. John didn’t even bother drying. He went back to the sock drawer, pulled out the watch…

And the ticking stopped. What in the actual…

John took the watch to the window, opened it and dropped the watch. Third floor to the small knot of grass and bushes behind his building. No more watch, no more bullshit ticking, peace and quiet with no more imagination. No more drugs either. He hadn’t even taken any today, but these had to be some damned side effect of ones he had taken recently. No way the ticking was real.

It had to be in his head.

John dried off, pulled on a pair of sweatpants, and lay down in his bed. He was just starting to nod when it happened.

Ticking, impressively loud ticking. In his apartment, just outside his bedroom door.

John jumped out of bed and nearly ran the short distance to his table. Sitting there, impossibly, was that damned gold watch. John grabbed it, ran out the door, and overhand threw it across the railing and into the parking lot below. It was good throw, and he watched with grim satisfaction as the watch shattered on impact, scattering its guts across the pavement. Smiling darkly, John went back into his apartment, closing and locking the door behind him.

He went back to bed and had barely settled in before the ticking started again.

Jumping out of bed again, John could only stare in horror. There it was, back on the table, back in his apartment, back in one piece.

The watch he had just thrown, just shattered, was whole and ticking away. Impossibly.

John snatched it up again, put it back in the jewelry box, and the back in the cardboard package. He found some tape, sealed the package back up, and walked it across the parking lot to the complex dumpster. He dropped it in and practically ran away from it. He was still jittery when he got to his apartment, but there was no box inside, no watch, no ticking. Just peace, and The Ranch still playing on TV. John pulled a wine bottle from his fridge and sucked down half the contents to quiet his nerves. Only when he felt the buzz start did he lay back down, passing out quickly.

Ticking woke him up again. Loud, impossible, insistent, nearby.

John screamed, threw himself out of bed. The package, the jewelry box, and the watch were all on the table. All back where they had been before he got rid of them. Like he’d never touched them.

Like he had done nothing, and nothing was all he could do.

It only shuts up in my hand. Fine, I’ll just hold onto it. John was desperate now, needed the sleep, needed to recoup his mind. He grabbed the watch and fell asleep holding it.

The ticking stayed in his dreams. John sleep like shit, the ticking making his dreams nightmares.

He had no idea how much time had passed, but John gave up on sleep. He’d just take an upper to push through the day. John decided to grab an early breakfast from somewhere, ditch the watch on the way, maybe have a better day.

As he dressed, he looked at his alarm clock.

It was 10:05.

John did a double take. He’d seen later times. Knew time had passed. Had gotten out of bed, come back several times.

Yet his clock said 10:05. Just like the watch.

Still sleeping. Gotta still be sleeping. John pinched himself, trusting that old movie trope to wake himself up. It hurt, he closed and reopened his eyes. Looked back at the clock.

It still read 10:05.

John had no answer. More than a little scared, he pocketed the watch and grabbed the boxes from the table. He slipped on his crocs and threw on a jacket against the cold.

By the time John realized what he was doing, he was out in the countryside, past city limits, driving by empty fields. He drove for a while, not sure what to do, but now more than ever desperate to be rid of the watch.

He pulled down a lonely two lane road, a barely paved mess of potholes and darkness, stopping next to a grassy field about half a mile down. He put the watch and everything else inside the cardboard box, walked it into the field, and using his hands, buried it in the ground. After packing the dirt back on top, John took a moment to express his spite, and pissed on the disturbed earth, the watch, and the boxes. Tired, he walked back to his car to drive home, hoping he’d get some sleep now.

He made it home without a hitch, Made it to bed without a hitch. Made it to sleep, easy-peasy.

No dreams, no ticking, no muss, no fuss.

His world was all silence and stillness, his dreams empty, his mind completely void of all thought.

He might as well have been in the grave, so deep with was the stillness, the emptiness. It was the best rest he had ever had.

Mina came by later that week. She’d gotten over being angry with John about Louisa, at least enough to talk. It was probably the party favors that did it, and she wasn't any more innocent. She used the spare key to his apartment to get in. The Ranch was still on, playing the final episodes to the silence of the apartment. A plate of cold leftovers still sat on the coffee table, now a feast for flies; a wine bottle still sat half empty on the kitchenette counter. The bedside alarm was beeping away, incessant and uncompromising. Mina went in and reset it. The bed looked slept in, but empty. She checked in the bathroom, but it too was empty.

The whole apartment was empty. No sign of John anywhere. His car was downstairs, his keys on a hook by the door, but he was gone. Also missing were his crocs and jacket, but nothing else. No note, no word, no idea where he had gone. None of which was anything like the John she knew. She scribbled a note to John on an envelope she found in the nightstand, hoped he'd call.

It was then she noticed the box on the table, no return address, but with hers in tight, neat script on the top, by the postage mark.

Just a simple, 6 inch cardboard cube, with a slight hint of dirt on the bottom corners.