The Mystery Box

Moving a heavy box, A teen wiped sweat off their forehead. For three hours they have been moving box after box, cleaning their grandparents' attic out. They had always been something like pack rats, keeping anything and everything imaginable. The attic was now completely full of clutter so it was about time something was done about it.

After moving one particularly large box, the teen was attacked by an avalanche of cardboard, that particular box apparently acting as a support for the towers of boxes. Loud crashing echoes through the attic as a fog of dust erupted into the air. A coughing fit ensued as the dust clogged up their lungs, the teen left hacking with a sore throat once it was all said and done. Taking a deep breath that wasn’t full of dust, they examined the damage.

Most of the mess was contained by the cardboard boxes, and by the sound of the crash only one of the boxes had glass in it, which was a bonus. One object had tumbled farther than most, a small wooden box. It’s very ornate looking, its wooden sides having seen its years of wear and tear, it was actually surprising that the piece was still intact considering the fall it just took. A small latch kept the contents hidden away, locked with an equally sized padlock.

It’s very fancy considering how small it was, being barely bigger than the size of a softball. The obvious question comes to their mind, what’s inside this small box? Could it be jewelry, a special memento, some fancy hair pin? Glancing around the room, there didn’t seem to be any kind of key in sight, and they for sure weren’t going to find it with how cluttered the room was. What could be seen was a small hammer. A thought immediately came to mind, but it’s just as quickly dismissed. They couldn't just come up here and start braking their grandparents' things, it just didn't feel right. Placing it back down, they do their best to forget about the box and go eat dinner.

Now with food in their stomach, they return to the attic, and immediately go for the hammer. Only a few hits and their curiosity could be quenched. It’s been up here for who knows how long, it's probably been long forgotten about anyway. Carefully aiming the hammer, the sound of striking metal twangs but it glances off, striking the table. A few more rounds of this caused the teen to get agitated, slamming down recklessly at the lock. A loud twang rings out as the lock breaks, clanging on the table. Satisfaction washes over the teen’s face as they place the hammer down. With an overt nimbleness, the latch is flipped open.