by Kris Shamloo
Chapter 6 - The Box
The box sat on its small granite pedestal, waiting. I was drunk on sensation; the glowing ice chandelier, the soft whisper of the breeze swirling in the courtyard, the stray snowflake bumping into my arm. Accepting the harsh nothingness of the labyrinth had given me a deep appreciation for my senses. I trusted them. I enjoyed the raw feeling of the snowy courtyard. Small puffs of warm breath escaped my nostrils.
My attention returned to the box. It's the next step. The lid of the box was firmly locked. I tried peering through the small keyhole to no avail. The box off was much lighter than I had expected. Scratched in neat lettering on the bottom of the box was a clue to the riddle; 'The key is in the box.' "Well that's useless." I shook the box. The hollow knock of brass against wood confirmed the hint.
My attention jumped next to the granite centerpiece. It bore four small holes on its surface. I explored its features thoroughly. The smoothness of the stone was refreshing, the jagged brick of the maze still fresh in my mind.
I tried moving it. Nope. It was firmly rooted to the floor. I returned the box atop the pedestal and paced slowly around it. I was a painter eying his subject wondering what brush would best suit the task. I stopped. Something felt wrong. I've forgotten something. I searched my mind. The journal!
My belt was empty. Did I lose it in the maze? I turned to the bench, relieved at the sight of the black leather patiently waiting. As I tucked the journal back into my belt a strange urge hit me. Well let's just check, couldn't hurt.
I sat down on the bench and opened the journal. I flipped past the first three entries. The scrawled 'DON'T LEAVE ME' sent a stinging chill down my spine. I turned to the next blank page. Only it wasn't blank, nor was the next page, or the page after. Seven more entries had appeared. The box can wait.