Now, I should clarify. The box didn't feel
evil or like it was actively something that needed to be removed necessarily, like a tumor. It didn't feel like a weapon that blew up the buildings, or a mental tap created by an evil organization.
Imagine buying a vanilla ice cream cone, taking a big bite, and tasting chocolate instead. It looks like vanilla, smells like vanilla, but tastes entirely different.
That kind of wrong. Like a guy with an umbrella on a sunny day. Like the sun at midnight. Like a competent starting quarterback for the Cleveland Browns. Just
wrong.
The box was made of fine wood--oak, perhaps? I'm not sure Miriam knows much about wooden furniture, but Oak sounds about right. It was elegantly carved, with patterns and spirals etched all over the surface of the box. It was about the side of a trunk or chest of some description--not, like, a shipping box, but a full storage space of some kind.
Another sign was elegantly hand-carved into this one, clearly labeling it.
- Code: Select all
06211201030820140113151818091507081401
Son of a....
There were also three very large, complicated looking padlocks keeping said box closed.