Box of Shocks

by Chris McMahen

  “That’s okay,” I say. “Maybe we could give him a lift to school tomorrow morning.”

  “Sure. That’s a good idea,” Dad says.

  The next morning on my way to school, I scan the sidewalk as we drive down the street. I don’t see Diggory. Most days, we pass him on the first block, just around the corner. But not today.

  When I get to school, I look everywhere—checking the spot where Diggory normally leans against the gym wall, the corner of the library where he normally hides, the other classrooms. But I don’t see him. During class, I keep my eyes glued to the classroom doorway, watching, waiting for Diggory to show up.

  But he never does.

  After school, Mom picks me up and I ask her to stop at the bottle depot. I look in through the front door. Today there’s a teenage girl sorting the bottles and cans.

  When we get home, I look across the street. There are no lights on in the house, and the car isn’t there. It’s supposed to be there. It’s 3:20. It’s always in the driveway at 3:20. But not today.

  That night, I sit by my bedroom window resting my elbows on the window ledge, watching and waiting, staring at Diggory’s house. For once I’m hoping that noisy old car will pull up, or that Diggory will walk up the street.

  I watch and wait until it’s way past my bedtime. I wait and watch until my clock radio says it’s midnight. My eyelids grow heavy, so I slap myself in the face. I have to stay awake, because there’s a chance the car will pull into the driveway or a light might come on in the house.

  I lift my head from my arm. My clock radio says 5:38 AM. When I look out across the street, I can tell something is wrong. Diggory’s house looks the same as it did last night. There’s no one home.

  On my way to school that morning, there is no Diggory shuffling along the sidewalk. When I get to school, I check all the usual places, but I don’t see him. All day his desk sits empty.

  At the end of school, I fish a couple of empty bottles out of the recycling bin. On the way home, I ask Dad to stop at the bottle depot.

  He gives me a puzzled look, so I say, “It’s about Diggory. The kid from our old house. He works there…or used to.”

  Dad nods and parks in front of the bottle depot without asking any more. I run to the door and walk in. At the back, where Diggory usually works, there’s an older lady sorting cans and bottles.

  “Excuse me,” I call. “Is Diggory working today?”

  The lady shakes her head and scowls. “Supposed to. He didn’t show up the last two days. Do you need a job, kid?”

  I shake my head and leave.

  When Dad pulls into the driveway of our house, I look across the street. There’s still no sign of life in Diggory’s house. No car and no lights on.

  I skip my usual snack and go straight up to my room. Instead of doing homework, I stare out the window at my old house. No matter how hard I look, I don’t see any signs of life. The place is deserted.

  The next morning, nothing’s changed. The house looks empty, and for the third day in a row, Diggory doesn’t show up at school. I ask Mrs. Franzen if she knows where Diggory’s gone, but she says, “I was going to ask you the same question.”

  Again that night I spend my homework time staring out the window, wondering where Diggory and his family have gone. It would be easy for them to move. They could probably fit everything they own in the trunk of that little old car and drive off into the sunset.

  Later at the dinner table, as I’m lifting a forkload of peas to my mouth, Dad says, “I’m afraid you may have seen the last of your friend Diggory, Ollie.”

  My fork falls with a clatter onto my plate. “Really?” I say. “Why? What happened?”

  “Mom’s boss told her the family never did pay their rent. Now, they’re nowhere to be found. They’ve probably skipped town.”

  “I’m sorry, Oliver,” Mom says. “I know you were trying your best to be Diggory’s friend.”

  When I go back up to my room, I look out the window at Diggory’s old house. Even though Diggory and his family are gone, I can’t help staring at the house and wondering where he went. I wonder if he took Bubbles with him.

  From what I’ve seen and what I’ve heard, Diggory’s got a pretty tough life. But I have a feeling there’s a whole lot more secrets I’ll never know about.

  Sort of like my Box of Shocks.

  At least now it’ll be a lot easier to get my Box of Shocks from its hiding place. I won’t have to worry about people suddenly showing up. I won’t have to escape through the window or hide in the cupboard.

  When I look back on it, sneaking into their house was way more dangerous than trick-or-treating at the Milburn house. His parents were way scarier than Spike McChomp. Too bad I don’t have something from Diggory’s family to put in my Box of Shocks.

  As I finish clearing the dishes from the supper table that night, I say, “There’s something in our old house I have to get.”

  Mom and Dad both look up and glance at each other.

  “Does this have something to do with Diggory?” Dad says.

  I think about it for a second, then say, “Yeah, it does.” If it wasn’t for my Box of Shocks, I never would have gotten to know about Diggory and his life. “You don’t have to worry about me this time,” I say. “I’ve been watching the house. It’s empty. I’ll only be in there a couple of minutes. Mom’s boss won’t mind, will he?”

  Mom and Dad look at each other again. It’s like they’re talking between themselves without words. They nod to each other, and Mom says, “I’m sure my boss wouldn’t mind.”

  “Do you want me to come along?” Dad says.

  “Thanks anyway, but I have to go by myself,” I reply.

  Mom gives my shoulder a squeeze and says, “Just be careful.”

  “Thanks,” I say.

  By the time I’m ready to go, it’s dark. I take my headlamp and a garbage bag for my Box of Shocks. As I head out my front door and across the street, I wonder where Diggory is right now. Maybe they found another place to rent. Maybe the parents got jobs in another city. Or maybe they just skipped town.

  As I cross the street, there isn’t a sound except for the buzzing of the streetlight. No dogs barking or birds chirping. No car engines or music blaring from the house two doors down. Nothing but the buzzing of the streetlight.

  Diggory’s old house is pitch-black. With the family gone, it seems darker than dark. When I get to the backyard, I click on my headlamp, get the key from under the rock and head for the back door. With the house empty, I don’t worry about the back steps creaking. I put the key in, jiggle it, then give it a turn and push.

  This time the door swings open, and a cold breeze blows out from inside the house. I step into the kitchen, my headlamp scanning the floor, the walls, even the ceiling. The cupboards are completely bare except for an empty cracker box. There are a few crumpled wrappers on the floor. Besides that, there’s nothing. The place is so silent, so empty, it seems downright spooky.

  I look in the living room and see their one old lawn chair is gone. Then, for some weird reason, I creep through the hallway and up the stairs as if the place is booby-trapped. Don’t ask me why I walk like this. With no one here, I could ride a dirt bike through the house if I felt like it. But for some reason, I feel like creeping.

  Finally I reach my old room and push the door open. I shine my headlamp around the room and see that the old mattress is gone. All I can see are a few bits of broken glass from Bubbles’ fishbowl. Other than that, the room is totally empty. I cross the room to the closet and stop to take another look around. I can still see the faded outlines on the walls where my posters were. There are kick marks on the wall where my desk used to be. But this isn’t my room anymore. It’s nobody’s room.

  When I open the closet door, I see the wall panel’s still in place. I slip my fingers in the cracks at the top and bottom, give it a wiggle and feel it come loose. I put the panel on the floor and shine my light through the opening in the wall.<
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  There it is.

  Just as I left it.

  My Box of Shocks.

  It’s like seeing an old friend again as I reach in, my fingertips feeling the rough wood. When I pull it out, it feels heavier than I remember.

  I step out of the closet, set the box down on the floor and kneel over it. There’s no hurry. I thought I would be more excited about finally getting my Box of Shocks out of its hiding place. But I’m not. I don’t know why, but I’m not. Maybe when I open the box and look at my shocks, I’ll feel the excitement again.

  I slide the latch open and hold the edges of the lid with my fingertips. Slowly I tilt the lid open and shine my headlamp down into the box.

  There’s the Halloween candy. Beside it is the piece of spike. Next to them, the picture of Mr. Creepy and the wrapper from the Wally Wowzer Burger. One by one, I lift them out of the box and place them on the floor.

  As I lift out the picture of Mr. Creepy, I see some things I don’t remember putting in the box. There’s a piece of cookie wrapped in plastic. Next to that is a piece of broken glass. I can tell by the way it curves, it’s from the broken fishbowl.

  There’s something else in the bottom corner of the box—a rolled-up piece of paper tied with a string.

  I pick it up. For a roll of paper it feels heavy—like there’s something inside. When I pull the ends of string to loosen the knot, the paper unrolls and something clatters off across the floor into the darkness. I lift my head, and the beam of my headlamp shines out. There, sitting on the bare floor, is the bolt.

  I look back at the piece of paper. There’s writing on it, scrawled in blue crayon. It says, Thank you. I won’t forget. From your friend, Diggory.

  I read the note two more times. Then I do something I’ve never done before when I think about Diggory. I smile.

  Carefully, I put all the treasures back in the box, including the piece of broken glass, the cookie and the note. Then I close the box and take it back to the closet.

  It slides back into its place in the wall like it belongs there. I put the wooden panel back up and give it a tap to make sure it isn’t going to fall off. Then I leave the closet, close the door behind me and head for home.

  Acknowledgments

  I am deeply indebted to a number of people who have contributed to this book. My thanks go out to: Sarah Harvey, whose guidance has enabled me to navigate through uncharted territory; our writing group of Hugh, Loyola, Silke, Emily, Geoff and Heather for their encouragement; Rob, who unknowingly inspired this story; Christina, Tyler, Tiffany, Kord, Nathan, Brett, Shelby, Ian, Jared, Morgan, Kingsley, Camrynn, Brittaney, Taylor, Hunter, Connor, Aydin, Hayden, Jayden, Nico, Heidi, Abby, Karsyn and Cason, whose enthusiasm, incredible perception and wild creativity made this book what it is; Emily, Ben and James for keeping it fun; and Heather, my frontline editor and partner in crime.

  Chris mcmahen is an elementary teacher-librarian and classroom teacher in Armstrong, British Columbia. He is the author of Klutzhood and Tabloidology. Box of Shocks was inspired by a friend’s visit to his childhood home.