Rattle.

Such quaint flat-top houses in the middle of the desert were not few, but were certainly far between; that only made it more unbelievable that the peculiar little package turned up by mistake.

Yet, the name -- so printed in a neat, Times New Roman font -- read Edward Albrecht III (who was most certainly not the owner of that Sonoran Desert house). That was a rich man's name, and Daniel Flores was simply nothing of the sort.

A mousy little impoverished hermit, Daniel was. Certainly not someone whose name might evoke visions of grandeur. He was surely not a third Daniel, and even if that had been the case, it wouldn't have been anything to brag about.

But standing before that simple-brown-wrapped package, something inside him compels the man to bring it inside. "It might melt if I leave it out here," Daniel reasons. "Who knows what this heat is capable of?"

It's light, he comes to find out. The box hardly weighs anything in his hands, despite the fact he anticipated something weighty with a name like Edward Albrecht III on the front. Something expensive. But he supposes that really, it's none of his business; after all, it's not his package.

For the next few days, the little brown box finds a nice home on the dining room table (which doubles as storage, considering Daniel never really sat down to eat at it anyways). He chooses to ignore it, as one does. A small moral conflict, no matter how seemingly insignificant, prevented Daniel from opening the box. It's not his mail, and it's not his business. He reminds himself that his only reasoning for bringing it inside was because he didn't want the rich man's order to melt.

Curiosity perpetually nags at his soul, though. It eats away at his resolve -- one that had more or less been eroded by avoiding people for half a decade -- but sight is drawn to it each and every time he walks by it, no matter how hard Daniel may fight to ignore the urge.

On the end of the first week proceeding the box's residence in his home, Daniel truly begins dreaming about the things that might be hiding away under that boring wrapping. "Drugs, maybe," considers the man. Daniel is not exactly interested in that kind of thing, but the package is huge, and he's certain that, should he sell it, he might fetch quite a pretty penny.

He has not touched the package in just over a week, Daniel internally reasons. Perhaps if he could have just one touch, not even to open it, his curiosity might be sated. So he does; pale, spindly fingers tentatively grab hold of the box, holding it so carefully as if it might shatter into a million pieces on his dirty carpet.

It feels so good in his hands. It fits perfectly, thumbs easily sliding across the soft brown paper whilst not being overly slippery. The preceding feelings of timidity are long gone now that he has it in his hands. He feels as though the box was intended for him - despite the name on the package saying otherwise.

Then, with trepidation only in consideration for what might happens to the box's contents, he begins to shake the box ever so lightly.

The rattle that comes from inside is less of a pleasant tinkle and more of a dull thud, but nonetheless Daniel's face lights up in optimistic, childlike glee. There is no one around to witness such a delightful expression, but it does not matter. In fact, he prefers it that way.

He is the only one to lay hands on the box.

Instead of returning it to its previous home in the dining room, the box instead finds a seat on the end table beside the living room armchair. Daniel flicks the television on and switches it to a local broadcasting channel; he's not really paying attention. His mind fixates on what it could be that thuds around so lowly in that box, whilst being so light. Interest had stirred anew in him, adding onto what Daniel had already considered to be his latest obsession.

It's none of his business, of course. But so desperately, he wishes it was.

Days passed and the pleasant presence of the box soon became accompanied by a less-than-pleasant odor. Shamefully, in his eyes, Daniel begins to hide the box away (in places that can easily be accessed if he so desires, of course). His efforts were all but futile, seeing as though within a few more days the entire house stunk of rot.

The next time that Daniel decides to watch the news, a name appears that he recognizes. seeing that name, "Edward Albrecht III", triggers a deep pang of unease in his gut. A disappearance, he notes - one that suggests the man in question might not be turning up any time soon, let alone alive.

There is a pregnant pause in the room when the television is flicked off via remote control; Daniel spares a glance towards the box that is seated beside him, and he finds himself growing more and more curious about its contents. The box seems to absorb any positive feelings in the air, and the room grows cold. He struggles to look away from it, but eventually tears his gaze from the object and absently stares at the powered-off television instead.

The smell. The name. Everything about this box makes him question just why it had turned up on his doorstep. The news, however, evokes unsteadiness and stigma surrounding the box. Suddenly, despite the curiosity he had for it, Daniel realizes; He wants nothing to do with it anymore.

Within a few hours, he's decided to rid himself of the wretched thing. In the dead of night, a hole deep as he is tall is dug right behind his garden. One might think he's burying a body (and to him, it nearly feels that way), but instead, Daniel's only purpose for the pit is to bury the box with which he was burdened.

He wipes the sweat from his brow, chest rising and falling with a deep sigh of exertion. the shovel finds its place by his back door once again, and Daniel makes a move towards the inside of the house to retrieve the box. When he takes it into his own hands, his mind twists; nearly, he is compelled to keep it. Why would he ever want to get rid of it?

But fear and anxiety take hold of his brain, and he is convinced to dispose of the package.

With little care for the box, he tosses it into the deep hole and immediately begins to rebury it. Daniel drags the shovel to his side and heaves a heavy pile of dirt onto the box, working as quickly as possible to finish his tiring task and forget that the last few weeks ever happened at all. After this, Daniel could return to his average life as a hermit, avoiding anyone and everything, including mysterious packages, once again.

When his job is done, the long spade is dropped at his side, and Daniel's gaze is fixated on the mound at his feet. He wills himself to forget everything, his obsession, the news, the name Edward Albrecht III. It still weighs heavy in his mind when he returns inside, and in his dissociative state he forgets to return the shovel to its place. He can do it in the morning, he reasons after finally remembering misplacing the object.

He goes to sleep that night, rather easily despite his worry. He's tired, and his body wills him into slumber.

As for the box, it remains five feet and five inches underground; slowly, it is forgotten.

It will only be one less piece of evidence in the disappearance and possible murder of Edward Albrecht III.