Status: Updated 1-2 a week.
The Hidden Shoebox.
2.-
November 7th, 1938.
1:56 p.m.
The room he entered was almost completely dark, except for a small candle on the windowsill, flickering brightly in the shadowy light. Eyes adjusting to the light, he could now see the contents of the room. There was a queen size bed in the center of the room, a small bookshelf set to the left of it. Next to the window he was entering from was a large desk, with an old wooden chair pushed into it. Upon closer inspection, one could see the walls were painted a light baby blue, matching with the seemingly handmade quilt laid over the bed. The door on the far right was a heavy oak, painted a dark redwood color. The antique doorknob and keyhole confirmed the suspicion that the door was old. Stepping closer to it, the hardwood floor beneath his feet creaked. He wasn't very graceful on his feet, tripping over rugs, running into the desk corners. He wouldn't have been surprised if the owner of the house was already on their way to the room to see who was in there.
After a few minutes of waiting, he had decided that nobody was coming. He advanced towards the door a slight bit more, being more cautious this time. Twisting the door knob slightly, he realized it was locked. Panicking slightly, he began to look for a way out of the room. Going through the desk drawers, he found nothing. The only thing on the bookshelf were several editions of a dictionary, missing only the S and B books. Thinking nothing of the missing books, he continued to look through the room. Under the rugs, In between the pillows, the small space between the desk and the wall, still, he had found nothing. Laying down on the floor, he began to lift up the quilt that was covering the space under the bed.
At that exact moment, the door flew open. The old woman who owned the house sauntered towards the man, who was frozen in that spot. Looking down at him, she hit him with her cane. "Stand up. You shouldn't be here." She ordered him. He slowly rose from the floor, attempting to avoid eye contact with her. She turned and walked back down the stairs. Unsure of what to do, he followed her into what appeared to be the kitchen. She tapped one of the four chairs at the kitchen table, then continued over to the cabinets, rummaging through them for something. He took that as a hint to sit. She finally came up with 2 cups. She pore a small amount of milk Her eyes bore into his own, as if he was questioning his mere existence in this universe.
"I'm assuming you want to know about the shoebox." She sighed. Upon seeing the confused look on his face, she realized that he hadn't known. "That box. Holds many ancient secrets. Not all of those secrets were exactly welcomed into that time." That statement sparked his curiosity once again. Why weren't they welcome? How was the box holding them? Taking a small sip of the coffee she had given him, he let his brain wander. Was she going to tell him anymore? Why wasn't she reacting more harshly to finding him in her home? From above them, there was a large shake. The pictures hanging on the walls shook, threatening to fall. "Now you've done it, boy." She whispered harshly. Her eyes were becoming darker. The shaking became more violent. "Let's hope you know what you're doing." She hissed before dropping dead in her chair.
1:56 p.m.
The room he entered was almost completely dark, except for a small candle on the windowsill, flickering brightly in the shadowy light. Eyes adjusting to the light, he could now see the contents of the room. There was a queen size bed in the center of the room, a small bookshelf set to the left of it. Next to the window he was entering from was a large desk, with an old wooden chair pushed into it. Upon closer inspection, one could see the walls were painted a light baby blue, matching with the seemingly handmade quilt laid over the bed. The door on the far right was a heavy oak, painted a dark redwood color. The antique doorknob and keyhole confirmed the suspicion that the door was old. Stepping closer to it, the hardwood floor beneath his feet creaked. He wasn't very graceful on his feet, tripping over rugs, running into the desk corners. He wouldn't have been surprised if the owner of the house was already on their way to the room to see who was in there.
After a few minutes of waiting, he had decided that nobody was coming. He advanced towards the door a slight bit more, being more cautious this time. Twisting the door knob slightly, he realized it was locked. Panicking slightly, he began to look for a way out of the room. Going through the desk drawers, he found nothing. The only thing on the bookshelf were several editions of a dictionary, missing only the S and B books. Thinking nothing of the missing books, he continued to look through the room. Under the rugs, In between the pillows, the small space between the desk and the wall, still, he had found nothing. Laying down on the floor, he began to lift up the quilt that was covering the space under the bed.
At that exact moment, the door flew open. The old woman who owned the house sauntered towards the man, who was frozen in that spot. Looking down at him, she hit him with her cane. "Stand up. You shouldn't be here." She ordered him. He slowly rose from the floor, attempting to avoid eye contact with her. She turned and walked back down the stairs. Unsure of what to do, he followed her into what appeared to be the kitchen. She tapped one of the four chairs at the kitchen table, then continued over to the cabinets, rummaging through them for something. He took that as a hint to sit. She finally came up with 2 cups. She pore a small amount of milk Her eyes bore into his own, as if he was questioning his mere existence in this universe.
"I'm assuming you want to know about the shoebox." She sighed. Upon seeing the confused look on his face, she realized that he hadn't known. "That box. Holds many ancient secrets. Not all of those secrets were exactly welcomed into that time." That statement sparked his curiosity once again. Why weren't they welcome? How was the box holding them? Taking a small sip of the coffee she had given him, he let his brain wander. Was she going to tell him anymore? Why wasn't she reacting more harshly to finding him in her home? From above them, there was a large shake. The pictures hanging on the walls shook, threatening to fall. "Now you've done it, boy." She whispered harshly. Her eyes were becoming darker. The shaking became more violent. "Let's hope you know what you're doing." She hissed before dropping dead in her chair.