THE BOX

A large cardboard box sat on Alex's doorstep. He wasn't expecting anything, and no postage marks appeared on its brown surface.

Alex bent over to examine the box. It was taped shut. He was tempted to unpeel it and see what was inside, but feared the owner would come back and be angry with him. Though it'd serve the owner right for leaving it there in the first place.

As he placed his hand on it, someone from behind said, "Whatcha got there?"

Startled, Alex spun around to find his neighbor, Ethel, standing at the end of his walkway. She was an old woman who made it her business to know everyone else's.

"I said," she repeated, "whatcha got there?"

"A box," Alex replied.

"Who from?"

"I don't know."

"I wouldn't touch it," Ethel warned. "You don't know where it's been."

With that, she turned and walked away. Alex heeded her advice and crept carefully around the box. Fumbling with his keys, Alex looked back to make sure the box remained still. Once inside, he peered through the peephole to find the box in the same position.

"If I ignore it," Alex said, "it'll go away."

While changing out of his work clothes, he did his best not to think of the box. As far as he was concerned, there was no box. Never had been, never will.

Instead, he thought of dinner. There was some leftover roasted chicken in the refrigerator, which would go great with a can of his favorite mixed vegetables. His mouth watered just thinking about it.

Alex worked at a factory located at the end of his street. His job consisted of pasting labels on cans of vegetables. The job paid well enough for him to afford his little house, and the amount of free vegetables he received was astounding.

The hall closet had ten shelves filled with canned vegetables. An entire row was devoted to mixed vegetables alone. There were three different mixes, Alex's favorite being the one with beets and cucumbers.

He grabbed a can, tossing it into the air as he headed for the kitchen. He froze before the front door. An urge to check on the box almost overcame him.

"No," he stopped himself, "I don't have to look because I know it's not there."

He ran into the kitchen and began preparing his feast. With the chicken in the oven and the vegetables on the stove, Alex paced the kitchen. Moments later, he found himself standing before the front door again.

"It's not going to be there," he said. "I don't know why I'm even bothering to look."

He looked.

The box was still there.

Alex ran back to the kitchen and stirred his vegetables.

Dinner was ruined by this uninvited guest. The thought of the box looming outside spoiled Alex's appetite. The garbage disposal ended up devouring the greatest portion of the feast.

As night fell, only darkness appeared through the peephole. Now Alex couldn't be sure where the box was.

He could turn on the outside light, but the box might frighten his neighbors. Instead, he retired for the evening, hoping the box would leave of its own accord.

Sleep would not come to Alex, so he stared at the darkened ceiling. The sound of a heavy downpour filled him with relief. Surely the box wouldn't remain out there in this horrible weather. He turned over and quickly fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.

Alex woke at the crack of dawn without fail. After a glass of fruit juice and some toast, he shaved, showered, and dressed in his usual brown slacks and yellow dress shirt. He prepared a tuna fish sandwich for lunch, packed a few snacks, and was ready to go.

Checking for his keys, Alex headed for the door. He swung it open and stepped outside.

The soggy box stood before him; the stench of wet cardboard hit his nose.

Alex crept around it. Maybe it'd be gone by the time he got home.

His day was haunted by the thought of the box left unattended at his house. While he was working yesterday, someone for some unknown reason had placed that object on his doorstep. What if they returned with another box today? And one tomorrow? And the next day? Soon he'd be unable to get into his own house!

Alex's productivity was the lowest it had been in years.

The box, now dried but spotted with mildew, still sat on the doorstep.

"Still there, I see," Ethel said as she came up behind him. "What are you going to do with it?"

"I don't know," Alex said, "I was hoping the owner would come get it."

"You think there's an owner?"

"I would assume so."

"Never assume!" Ethel snapped. "This thing is your responsibility now. It's a nuisance to the neighborhood."

"I could take it inside," Alex said reluctantly.

"Are you crazy? You've no idea where that thing's been? It's probably infested with germs."

"You're right."

"But get rid of it," Ethel said as she walked away. "It's an eyesore."

Alex thought about moving it to Ethel's doorstep, but that would involve touching it.

Regardless, he had to do something about the box. He needed to think. The only place he could do that was in the tub.

Alex ran the bath water and undressed. He climbed into the steaming water, leaned back, and tried to clear his mind. All he could picture was the box sitting on his doorstep, keeping him prisoner in his own house.

An idea popped into Alex's head. He got out of the tub, dried himself, and got back into the clothes he had just removed.

He ran to the basement and searched through his summer supplies -- he loved to barbecue. The thought of juicy slabs of steak cooking on the grill, accompanied by a summer mix of vegetables, made Alex's appetite return.

Picking up a can of lighter fluid, Alex raced up to the kitchen to get some matches. At the end of the summer, the house was filled with them, but now he couldn't find any. Finally, he found a book of matches with just one left.

He ran to the door, pulled it open, and came face to face with the box. Quickly, he squirted every inch of it with lighter fluid.

Then he struck the match.

The wind blew it out.

In anger, Alex threw the useless match at the box. Its tip was still hot enough to set the box ablaze.

He watched as the box was swallowed by flames.

Ethel said to someone in the next yard, "Don't people around here know how dangerous it is to light fires."

The box disintegrated into ashes. Black wafers of burned cardboard floated around Alex's front lawn. He watched until the last piece of cardboard glowed red and turned to ash.

Alex was so relieved that he decided to go out for dinner. There was this great little barbecue place down the street. He grabbed some money and headed for the restaurant.

While he ate, he missed the phone call from an old friend, wanting to know how Alex enjoyed the box filled with Superman comic books he left for him on his doorstep the other morning.

"The Box" published in PBW #37, June 1997.

©1997