Little Box Of Horrors

Thunder boomed in the distance and rain pounded the roof. This was one of the worst storms Aletha had ever seen in her homeland. But that wasn’t what was scaring her. She was reading a book in front of the fireplace when she heard a noise from the attic, like people screaming and running in panic.

That was strange because Aletha was home alone, her brother had gone out and her Grandad was spending the weekend at the neighbour’s farm, across The Meadow and Zephyrus Creek.

Aletha grabbed a flashlight and made her way up the creaking steps of the attic. Aletha had only seen the attic once, but that was with her Grandad and during the day, not alone, at night and during a freak storm.

Everything was dark, broken and covered in cobwebs. The usual spooky attic with loads of junk collected over the years. Aletha spied something glowing under a pile of big, old tattered books that looked heavier than a sack of flour.

Somehow Aletha managed to yank free a small black box, about half the size of a shoe box. It was made or something that looked strangely like black marble, but the box was far to light for that. It was rimmed with gold and etched with horrifying pictures of people dying, killing, and all the other nasty things humans can do to each other and themselves.

A golden glow was coming from inside. Aletha cautiously unlatched the box and was about to open it when her brother burst through the attic door and yelled “Don’t!” Aletha dropped the box in surprise and whirled around to face the bright blue eyes of her brother.

“Why not?!?!” she demanded. Her storm grey eyes flaring. She didn’t like to be spooked like that. Her brother grasped her wrists so tight he stopped to circulation of blood to her hands.

“That’s Pandora’s Box.” He said, his voice trembling with fear.

The End

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