The Box

I found it beneath the basement stairs the day after I moved in. A cardboard box, just a foot square. Brown and water-stained, sealed with tape gone yellow and curled and cracked. I found a few other things scattered about as well. A hammer. A saw. Crumpled newspaper, dated five years ago. The sort of junk you find in an old place.

“What’s in the box?” Roy rolled the washer against the wall, then leaned on the two-wheeler to catch his breath.

“Don’t know.” I walked over to the thing and nudged it with my toe. It didn’t move much. Heavy.

“Open it.” Roy pulled a rag from his pocket and wiped his face. “Maybe it’s valuable.”

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