The Man in the Box

A boy is given a small box on his birthday, little does he know of the horror that lurks within it.

It’s the night of a young boy’s twelfth birthday and as he sits on his bed reading his comics, he hears a faint knock at the door. Without looking up of even acknowledging the sound the boy sighed as he rolled his eyes. After a few moments the door creaked open and standing in the warm light of the hallway beyond, was the boy’s parents, both of which were smiling at the sight of their young son who remained hidden between the comic book covers.

 “Did you have a good birthday?” their silhouettes asked from the doorway

He does not answer.

“You haven’t opened your present yet” said the Father as he walked into the room and took hold of the cube shaped present which sat upon the boy’s bedside table between the mass of sweet wrappers and next to a half eaten bar of chocolate.

 “Well, once you have opened it, be sure to place it under your bed as it will bring you good luck and keep away bad dreams” his Father said with a smile to which the boy scoffed and rolled his eyes as he shuffled in his place in order to turn away from the sight of his looming Father. The fact that both his parents were being so false and would not stop smiling made the boy cringe, they had not acted like this in a long time and the only time they really did was either on his birthday or Christmas, and it was on these days the boy tried his very hardest to keep as far away from the pair as possible.

The problem the boy had with them both, and indeed most of his relatives for that matter is that they just didn’t understand him and he didn’t even want them to, but what angered him most is when they all tried to understand him. All he wanted was to be left alone and that was the real reason for all of his acting out, for all the times he argued or broke things, for all the times he got into fights were purely because he was tired of explaining himself, for standing up for himself and he couldn’t wait for the day that he was rid of them all.

 

“Well, good night sweetie. Have pleasant dreams” said his Mother from the doorway as his Father exited the room.

“Good night son” he said caringly as he closed the door, leaving the room in silence once more.

Once they had left the boy’s eyes returned to the door and in a split second he had thrown the half eaten chocolate bar right in the place they had stood.

“Idiots” he said half under his breath and half wishing they had heard from beyond the door.

He sat upon his bed for over an hour before sighing and looking over at his alarm clock.


11:43pm.

 
He adjusted so he was sat at the edge of the bed, his bare feet flat on the cool wood of the floor but after a moment he stood feeling agitated at the stupidity of his parents. It was his twelfth birthday and they had treated him just as they always had, like a baby.

He rounded the bed and stomped to where his parents’ present sat under the light of the desk lamp.

He snatched it up before looking at it for a moment, a pitiful smirk on his face.

He tore the paper away before staring wide eyed at the object in his hands. It was a dark, wooden box, almost black in colour with unusual markings carved all over it. It was heavy but at the same time light in his hand as he easily passed it from hand to hand before laughing to himself.

“What the hell is this?” he said to himself but at the same time he did not want to put it down. The wood felt warm to the touch, probably from being heated under the desk lamp he thought.

He ran his finger along the edge of the box until he found the small golden latch which kept the lid fastened shut. He flicked it and opened the box lid with a small creak. The interior of the box was dark, but more like a void as if no light could penetrate the small space within.

He cautiously reached his hand into the cube and instantly gripped hold of something small and which felt fragile.

He pulled the object out and found that it was small, wooden figurine which was wrapped in an old piece of worn and slightly ripped paper, as if it had been well thumbed over many years. He unravelled the small figure from the piece of paper before turning it over in his hand. The model was made from a piece of charred wood, its surface blackened and cracked from fire but upon its round face was carved a grinning expression along with small, painted white orbs for eyes. The boy found the appearance unnerving and put the model back in the box before reading the small piece of paper.

 

Place me below your bed,

So I can chase away the nightmares in your head

 

The boy laughed and scrunched up the paper before throwing it back in the box which he closed forcefully as he felt the familiar feelings of pity and anger towards his parents return.

He knelt down and with a shove, he tossed the box into the darkness beneath his bed.

 

Not one hour later and the boy was fast asleep in his usual position. His bed covers were partly thrown from himself and draped limply from the end of the bed, his arm and leg dangled from over the edge of the bed, his hand gently brushing the ground as he breathed heavily in the darkness.

His eyes awoke suddenly in the darkness of the room, he did not move he only lay motionless with his senses on alert. He did not know what had woken him, he only knew something had done so.

He listened for what felt like long moments and just as he was about to put it all to his young imagination, he heard something.

 

It was faint at first but quickly grew louder. It sounded at first like scuttling, or like something sharp being dragged across the wooden floor from somewhere in the room. Then from somewhere in the corner, the floorboard creaked loudly causing the boys’ heart to begin to race but even as it did, he felt as though he could not move, he did not want to move and hoped whatever he was hearing was within a bad dream he was having.

As the sound grew louder it seemed to become like that of creaking branches, as if someone was twisting and bending an old, withered limb of a decaying tree.

The boys’ breathing became more and more rapid as his eyes darted from shadow to shadow as he remained on his stomach and as he did so, he felt the sheets beneath him become damp with his sweat.

 

The boy tried to locate the source of the sound. A creak came from below the window but when we looked he saw nothing but shadow. Then another creak came from behind him, as if someone was standing next to his bed, watching over his prone body.

The sound then changed to that of a groan, but prolonged as if the thing was in pain and the boy was sure it was stood over him. He moved his eyes and looked at his alarm clock, its chrome frame gleaming even in the darkness and in the rim around the numbers, the boy saw something dark looming behind him. In an instant however, it was gone and the creaking in the room resumed along with the scraping of sharp nails on the wooden floor.

 

The boy listened, his body trembling but unable to move and it was then that he realised where the sound was coming from.

 

It was coming from under his bed.

 

The boy lay still, but as he did he felt his hand become warm as if something was breathing on it from within the darkness beneath the bed.

With that, he suddenly willed himself to move and jerked his hand away from the floor but as he did he felt a strong hand with rough and flaking skin grab him around the wrist. The feel of the thing was like sand paper and as soon as it grabbed him, a chill ran through him and he could hear the twisted groaning from beneath the bed combined with what sounded like rough wheezing.

The boy yanked his hand from the things grip and hurried himself into the centre of the bed, pulling his leg away from the edge of the bed with such determination that he slammed himself hard into the headboard as his breath came in ragged gasps.

 

The boy sat motionless hugging his pillow close to himself as he waited and within seconds the twisted moans -as if branches of trees were being twisted- sounded from beneath the bed.

At the edge of the bed he saw blackened fingers slowly appearing as they began to claw in the area in which the boy’s leg had been moments before. The rasping wheezing echoed around the room before turning into a dull and slow laugh.

As he sat there, the boy noticed that the room had gotten much darker, the area around the edge of his bed becoming almost like an abyss in which whatever was tormenting him lurked.

The blackened hand continued to grope with long, pointed fingers that looked almost like spiders legs with splits and cracks all along their length. The hand then stopped for a moment before beckoning with one, spear-like finger for the boy to come to the end of the bed. He found himself instantly shaking his head and as he did the cackling laugh started again.

The boys’ eyes found the door which looked a hundred miles away in the dark. He closed his eyes and hoped for it all to go away but deep within himself, he knew it wouldn’t.

 

When he opened his eyes he saw no charred hand at the foot of the bed, nor did he hear the groaning from the darkness below him.

 

All was quiet.

 

He looked around, his eyes adjusted to the darkness around him and in an instant he scrambled across the bed, hesitated for a moment at the foot of it before looking at his destination �"the doorway on the far side of the room.

He placed both feet quickly on the floor and started to run. He hadn’t even taken one full step before he fell heavily to the ground, his foot tangled in the bed sheets.

He spun to look behind and as he did he could see underneath his bed and into the shadowed darkness.

Lurking there were two white eyes looking right back at him along with a wide and twisted grin. Sharp teeth gleamed from within the shadows as the thing scuttled forward like an enlarged spider, screeching as it did. Within mere seconds the thing had emerged from beneath the bed and as it did so, it slowed in its approach and the boy �"frozen in place as he tried to scream but with no sound able to escape his lips- saw that it looked like a twisted form of a man with blackened and charred skin which looked more like that of a burnt tree with white, orb-like eyes and whose face had been ripped around the mouth as it opened its maw ever wider.

 

 The boy felt the iron grip of the thing’s hand on his ankle and the next thing he knew, he was being dragged forcefully back and into the shadows beneath his own bed. It was then that he finally howled a long, prolonged scream of utter fear.

 

The room fell into silence.

 

After a few short moments, the door to the room creaked open as the boys’ parents entered gingerly. The mother looked around the room, her hands held together under her chin as she was followed by her husband.

They looked at each other after their gazes had surveyed the room and realised their son was gone. The boys’ father walked forward and crouched on one knee as he peered under the bed before reaching his arm underneath and retrieving the box they had given their son, its lid now tightly closed.

 

He stood and looked over at his wife and could see tears glistening in her eyes. He looked back down at the box before looking back at his wife, his hand gently stroking the surface of the wooden box which still felt warm to the touch and as he did, a smile began to crease his face.

“It worked” he said.

“He’s gone”

His wife smiled as she nodded before hurrying forward to embrace him.