Something about a box. I woke up with a gun pointed at my head because of something about a box. All of this had to do with some stupid, unimportant box. Some random box, Ace had said.

Well, sort of. First off, I had decided to mix things up a bit and take a walk through town and then this guy had cornered me on the corner of Main and 1st Street, on about something about a box. It was Saturday, November 4, 2006 and according to my wristwatch; it was 4:27 P.M., when this guy approached me and said, “You have something of mine.” So I said, What?

A box, he told me.

A box?

He nodded. “It’s made of this black stuff. Metal rims and corners.”

And I have it?

He nodded.

Alright, I said.

Call me Ace, he said. When he talked, the cigarette in his mouth bobbed up and down with his lips. I hadn’t noticed it until that point. I’d been more concerned with getting mugged or murdered than his appearance. I wondered if Ace was his real name.

He pulled a business card out of the chest pocket of his shirt. His shirt was a white button up, I noticed. He wore it untucked. Black pants, and nice shoes. If he had a briefcase on him, he could’ve been on his way to work, but first he had to stop and find me because I had his most prized possession. Something like that.

I took the card from his hand.

Remember, he said. Shadows suddenly seemed to darken his face. As soon as you find my box bring it back to me. Don’t open it. Understood?

I told him I understood.

I looked at his ‘business card’. It was really an index card folded in half. So I unfolded it. It read:

Ace

1785 Oak Way

701-359-8476

in messy cursive. I could hardly read his number.

“An address to visit, a number to call, and a name to yell,” he grinned. Clever, I thought. He hit my shoulder and then turned and walked away flicking his still-lit cigarette into the street.

Check the attic, he told me as he left.

4:59 P.M., my wristwatch told me.

—–

Fast forward, next morning. Sunday, November 5, 2006. 9:04 A.M. my alarm clock read.

The night before I had finally remembered to shut the blinds, due to waking up with rays of sun lighting up the room. That morning when I woke up I was blinded my sunlight. I sighed tiredly, and shoved my blanket to the side. Maybe I should get curtains, I thought. I sat up, squinting at the window. Or I could just move my bed. I sat there for a good, solid three minutes with a blank mind. I stood up, stretched and headed downstairs in my robe and underwear.

I stepped into my kitchen, and started to brew some coffee. I grabbed a random, white and probably still dirty coffee mug from the cupboard above. I leaned back against the countertop as the coffee machine hummed the dull tune of coffee brewing. Outside, birds chirped as if to welcome me to my very boring and ever-so normal life. Inside, the coffee machine beeped as if to say “Your coffee’s ready.”.

I poured myself some, blew on it and took a sip. Coffee, coffee, coffee, I thought, the most important meal of my day. Then, I took another look outside and I thought about how exciting it must be to be a bird.

The box. I had almost forgot.

On my dining room table sat Ace’s business card. I set my coffee down. Looks like I had plans for today after all.

—–

Ace told me to look in the attic. So I looked in my attic. I had never been in my attic before. I just kind of expected Ace’s box to be the only thing in there, maybe a ray of light and some dust particles floating down on it. Instead, my attic was filled with boxes and papers and even one of those creepy antique dolls, made with real hair. But mainly dust. My best guess was most of this junk was from previous owners.

I started sifting through things. Boxes had thick layers of dust and cobwebs on them. The papers were old and delicate with ink smeared all over. The doll’s hair was falling out. The floorboards creaked underneath me.

I ended up losing track of time. I had also found some girl’s diary. Nothing interesting; maybe the doll belonged to her. I found Ace’s box. It was behind another box. A bit redundant, I thought.

It was just like Ace said it would be. Black, metal rims. It was about the size of a shoe box. It didn’t look like anything special, more like something I could’ve bought at the 99 cent store. Okay, I thought, don’t judge a book by its cover, in this case a box. I had been expecting a lock or something, considering Ace had told me not to open it. I guessed that’s why he told me to bring it straight to him.

I headed back downstairs with Ace’s box. I put the box on the dining room table, next to his business card. My plan had been to take the Ace’s box straight back to his place, like he said, but by the time I had got downstairs it’d been pretty late, like already dark out, late. So I went to bed instead.

—–

I slept great and woke up to my usual morning routine: wake up blinded by sunlight, grab a cup of coffee, some old bread from the cupboards and make a slice or two of toast. I really need to make a trip to the grocery store. With a plate of stale, plain toast in one hand and mug of coffee in the other I walked into my dining room. The box sat on the table staring at me. I had forgot about it.

I decided I would take the box to Ace after I ate breakfast. Maybe take a trip to the store on the way back. I managed to eat the toast and drank half my coffee before it got cold. I dumped the plate and cup in the sink and headed upstairs to shower and change.

Forty-three minutes later I was finishing tying my shoes. I ran back downstairs, grabbed the box, my keys, and Ace’s card and headed out the door all in one swift moment. Then I hopped into my car, placed the box on the passenger-side seat and started the engine. I grabbed the business card with my index and middle finger and read the address. 1785 Oak Way, I thought. Okay, I know where that is.

—–

I’d never intended to open the box. I had hit an unexpected speed bump a little too fast and the box flew and crashed into the dashboard, then hit floor and opened itself. A small piece of paper folded into fourths fell out with it. I pulled over. Ace’s “don’t open the box” had abandoned my memory. First, I picked up the box.

The inside was wooden, the bottom of it had this thin, smooth, carpet-type stuff. Inside was a small, wedding ring size box. Okay, I thought, a box inside a box. Cool. I opened the little box. There was a movie style red button inside, so naturally, I pressed it. Nothing happened.

So I pressed it again.

And nothing happened.

I picked up the note and unfolded it. It read: Please, don’t look any further. Thanks. It was in Ace’s nearly unreadable handwriting. Yeah, that was a little freaky. I almost regretted pushing the button. I put everything back into the box the way I felt it would’ve gone and started my car again.

I arrived at Ace’s, which was some crummy, old house that didn’t look very habitable. I knocked on the door, hoping everything wouldn’t come crashing down on me like a badly made play-set. I stood there for four minutes before wondering if I should knock again or leave when the door swung open and Ace stood there in nothing but his underwear. He groggily said, “What?” It’s one in the afternoon, I thought.

I said, I found your box.

He asked what again and I held up the box. Oh, he said. He grabbed it from me. You didn’t open it, right?

I nodded and told him I never even gave it a thought.

Okay. Good. Thanks. He shut the door in my face, causing the window ten feet away to rattle.

——

The next day when I woke up with a blast of sunshine again, and I had to squint to read my alarm clock. I watched it change from 10:05 A.M. to 10:06 A.M. and I shot up in bed because I was about forty-five minutes late for work.

And of all the things I’d been expecting to see, a man who I’d never seen before in suit and tie with a handgun pointed at head and Ace sitting on my dresser at the right with his box and another lit cigarette in his mouth would’ve been nowhere near anything on my top-ten list.

The first thing I said was good morning. The man with the gun told me to can it and Ace said, “I told you not to open the box. I even left you a note.”

Technically, I said, I didn’t open the box. But yeah. I looked inside it.

The man with the gun had his eyes and his pistol locked at my head. Ace, unamused, put his cigarette out in my window-sill plant and sat back on my dresser. I said, Thanks. He nodded.

I figured he would give me some big, last-moment-of-your-life speech on integrity and how opening the box could’ve ruined his life, and how he trusted me, but instead we sat there for a few minutes. The only noises I heard was my heartbeat and the birds chirping outside, as if nothing was going on. Somewhere along the way, I knew I’d never get to have my usual morning cup of coffee that day.

I broke our beautiful silence by asking who the man with the gun pointed between my eyes was. Ace told me he was a co-worker.

Some people in any type of situation like this, might’ve been crying, begging for their life, terrified – petrified – out of their minds. I wasn’t exactly, calm, but I knew I was going to die. Besides, all I really had to live for was a crap job at Walmart and the $2016 dollars in my bank account. I wasn’t suicidal, I was realistic. I was boring. This story, my story, it might’ve made a side article in the local paper for two, three days, a week tops. I looked at my alarm clock.

10:34 A.M.

What now? I asked. Ace’s co-worker cocked his gun.