MY POSTMAN LOOKED TERRIFIED WHEN HE HANDED ME THE WOODEN BOX
I signed for the package, my hand brushing the cold, splintered wood, his eyes wide and unfocused.
He practically shoved the heavy parcel at me, muttering something incoherent over the sudden gust of wind that whipped past us. His usual cheerful demeanor was completely gone, replaced by a pale, twitching anxiety that radiated off him, making me instantly uneasy. “You absolutely shouldn’t have accepted this one,” he choked out, voice barely a whisper, before practically sprinting back to his truck, leaving me stunned.
The box itself was a brutal, dark-hued timber, roughly hewn and bound with heavy, rusted iron straps that looked ancient and foreboding. It felt impossibly heavy, straining every muscle in my arms as I slowly lugged it inside, dropping it with a dull thud onto the cold kitchen counter. A faint, cloying scent, metallic and sickeningly sweet like old blood mixed with decaying flowers, already clung to my hands, making the air thick and profoundly unbreathable.
With a shaky breath, my hands trembling slightly, I found a heavy pry bar from the utility drawer and desperately forced the thick, stubborn lid open. The rusted straps groaned loudly under the intense strain, and the nails shrieked horribly as they tore from the old wood. Inside, nestled on a bed of dark, fibrous material, was something utterly alien, large and pulsating gently, glistening wetly. Suddenly, a loud, insistent rap echoed violently at the front door.
The postman’s face was pressed against the glass, his eyes fixed intently on the opened box.
👇 Full story continued in the comments…I froze, the pry bar still clutched in my hand. The pulsating mass within the box seemed to react to the sudden intrusion, its glistening surface rippling subtly. I didn’t recognize what it was, but I felt a primal fear that I’d never experienced before. Every instinct screamed at me to close the box, to seal it away, to pretend I’d never seen it. But the postman’s frantic expression, the pleading in his eyes, held me captive.
He mouthed something at me, but the glass muffled the sound. I leaned closer, struggling to decipher his frantic plea. Then, I understood. He was saying, “Close it! Close it now!”
Ignoring my own terror, I slammed the lid shut with a resounding crash, the air thick with the metallic scent. The box seemed to thrum, a low, guttural vibration against my fingertips as I secured it. Turning, I unlocked the front door and cautiously opened it a crack.
“What’s going on?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. The postman was even paler now, his face slick with sweat. He didn’t speak, just shook his head vehemently, gesturing wildly at the box. He fumbled in his bag, pulling out a small, worn leather-bound book, its pages yellowed with age. He pressed it into my hand, his fingers brushing mine, cold and clammy.
“Read it,” he rasped, his voice cracking. “It… it explains everything. Don’t open that box again. Ever.”
Then, without another word, he turned and fled, disappearing back into his truck and speeding away down the street.
I shut the door, heart hammering against my ribs. I didn’t move, just stared at the leather-bound book. Finally, with trembling hands, I opened it. The pages were filled with an archaic script, a language I didn’t recognize but somehow, I understood. It spoke of a time before humanity, of creatures that existed beyond the veil of our reality. It spoke of a ritual, a containment, and of a box, just like the one on my counter.
The book described how, every few generations, the containment weakened. It was the box’s purpose to contain this horror. It was only the postman, the last of a line of guardians, and his grim duty to deliver the box to the next. A duty which seemed he had been desperately trying to avoid for as long as he could.
I looked back at the box. It was no longer vibrating, but it felt even heavier now, laden with a weight of cosmic dread. I knew then that I couldn’t simply throw it away. I understood what was at stake.
Underneath the instructions in the book, there was an address. Another house, in a remote location. The next guardian. I would not open it again. I would be next to ensure humanity’s survival. The box was to be delivered. And so, I began my journey, a new and unwilling guardian, carrying a heavy, silent burden to my unknown destination.