The Box

My little sister got this box for her birthday, and it hasn’t left her side since. It’s like the thing is attached to her. She barely hangs out or talks to anyone anymore—not even her friends. Honestly, it keeps her out of my hair, so why should I care?

But lately, it’s been… weird.

The other day, I was in my room when Mom told me to call her back into the house. I didn’t feel like getting up, so I shuffled over to the window instead. There she was, sitting on the curb, clutching that box like it was some prized possession. She wasn’t playing with the girls down the street, though—they were busy with double Dutch. No, she was just sitting there, whispering to the box. Her eyes were glued to those girls, and the look on her face… It wasn’t right.

I almost called her name when I heard a loud CRASH. One of the tree branches had snapped and fallen right on top of the girls. I froze, watching in shock as one of them screamed while the other ran for help. Panic surged through me as I looked back at my sister, but—she was gone. Just vanished.

Heart pounding, I bolted downstairs, faster than I thought I could move, and threw open the front door. I saw one girl still screaming, the branch pinning the other one’s legs. A man in a hardhat was rushing over to help. But all I could think about was my sister. My eyes darted up and down the street, looking for her.

“Looking for me?” A voice whispered from behind.

I nearly jumped out of my skin. I spun around to see her standing in the doorway, her face calm, completely unaffected by the chaos outside. I let out a shaky breath I didn’t even realize I was holding.

“What happened?” I asked, trying to make sense of it all.

“Nothing,” she said flatly, as if a girl wasn’t just crushed by a tree branch.

“How did the branch fall?”

She shrugged. “How should I know?”

“You saw something, right? You had to.”

“Nope,” she said, turning on her heel. And just like that, she walked away, as if nothing had happened.

I stood there, watching her leave, a cold knot tightening in my stomach. Something was wrong, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

And that was only the beginning.

The next morning, I was running late for school when I realized I’d left my keys upstairs. Cursing under my breath, I jogged back to my room. The keys were under the red cup on my windowsill. I grabbed them, but something outside caught my eye. I glanced out the window, and there she was again—my sister, walking down the block with that damn box in her hands, holding it out in front of her like it was a crown.

Then the phone rang.

I picked up, but before I could say a word, the voice on the other end was already talking—a woman, frantic.

“There’s been an accident—at the school. It’s bad. Oh my God, almost everyone is dead! Your sister… she’s missing!”

“What?” My stomach dropped. “Wait, slow down—what happened?”

“I… I can’t—I don’t know how to—” She was cut off by a piercing scream, and then the line went dead.

I whipped my head back toward the window, but my sister was gone. I ran downstairs and flung open the front door. And there she was, standing on the porch, her face blank.

“What happened?” I demanded, heart racing. “Your school called, they said—”

“And?” she cut me off, her voice flat.

I didn’t know what to say. “But—”

“I’m going to bed.” She brushed past me and headed upstairs, not a care in the world.

I stood there, stunned. There had been a disaster at her school, people were dead, and she came back like it was nothing. I didn’t know how I was going to explain any of this to my parents.

I had to find out what was going on with her—and that box.