The Red Box



I must say, when I was told crime doesn’t pay, I didn’t think this is what they ment.

It’s a trivial expression, its one of those short simple expressions that have jammed down your throat ever since you were able to comprehend them (remember the DARE program? Ect. Ect.). I remember sitting through what seemed to be days of some guy in a jumpsuit and a shiny badge showing picture after picture of first a normal guy. Next would be some form of drug (something you as a kid, might never have even known of untill now but I digress). Next they would show the same man, from picture 1, but he would be in the act of stealing a purse (or some other petty crime), and doing this for drug money, as he is now poor But no matter who the person was, the final picture was always the same, some feature of a prison. No matter who the guy was, what he did, where he did it, they always ended with the perpetrator caught, crime doesn’t pay. Well, I can assure you, crime doesn’t pay, but boy, you don’t know what I would give to have made it to jail.



I didn’t grow up poor, not by any strech of the imagination, in fact id be willing to bet you would scoff at me for complaining about how I grew up. Ive got two parents who are still together, a part time job (though as a pizza delivery driver), and was going to colledge without dropping a dime on classes. I know some of you would kill for what I had, however, its not so much as I grew up. For those of you who don’t know, Naples, Fl has both an overwhelming number of old rich people. And I don’t mean a little rich, I mean so rich that if you didn’t drive a bently or an porche, you might as well have been driving a rolling shit wagon (needles to say, my 95 corrola might as well have been putting sirens playing ice cream truck music through a pink rolling shitwagon). It was this, it was the constant flandering that everyone around me had better things then me, watches, phones, shoes, hats, clothes, no matter what I did, they were always screaming in my face that they were better then me. This is where the hate came from, it simmered for a long time, slowing bubling inside my heart like sticky black tar, every day festering and growing a little hotter, a little darker. It was this hate that finnally compelled me that I had to find a way to get even, and it was then that I realised what I had to do. I had to steal from them.

Its not nearly as hard as you probably think it is (as I said, from a very early age we are brainwashed into thinking that the law wins, every time, no matter what you do). It also doesn’t help that most criminals are, to put it nicely, dumber then rocks. The key is you need to be patient, observent, and above all blend in.

The gated community is the greatest false sense of security ever concived to grant the illusion of saftey. Those gates with the “secret passwords” on the phone dials, we have them, all of them, they are availible to anyone online. And your gate gaurds? If you think they really care about not letting people through, your sadly mistaken. Couple this with a population that doesn’t even live in these houses sixth months out of the year, and you can see how easy these things were for the taking. So my first year of being a theif, I waited, and watched. I learned when the owners were around, who set their alrarms and what kinds they used, and who liked to take trips out for special occations t, whenever they were out of town. I learned their names and social networking info and studied their life like a textbook. And let me tell you, my reserch paid of. My second year of being a theif, I made out with over $50,000 worth of gold.

Its in my third year of being a theif where my ego exceeded my abilities, though to think back apon all that has happened since, I still have trouble believing it happened, that is untill the scab begins to itch where that goddamn… I digress.

Over the summer of my third year, I decided I would be much more efficiant to hit one mansion, while the family was on vacation, then to risk multiple exposures at smaller targerts. Just south of downtown naples is one of the richest part of the town (to give you an idea, the land costs more then the houses, and all of the houses cost millions). I ended up chosing the house of David Davidson, a retired investor, who had a net worth of over 67.8 million dollars, and was known as a hoarder of precious metals. After a few weeks of research I discovered that Mr. David would be in europe for an extened vaction. It was then I made the decision, it was time to pull off a big one.

It was a brisk october evening the night I decided to pull the heist, and to be honest with you, I was this close to chickening out and just abandoning the whole plan, I went over to my friend maynards house to drink a few beers, and talk over the plan a few more times with him to try to work up the guts to do it (always good to bounce ideas about entry points to construction workers), when, and whether it be forces beyond my control, or just plain bad luck, I find out that maynard had been on the construction team that had built that house! Not only that, he told me that when they built it, they were instructed to dig down over 60 feet, and that some sort of “pod” was lowered into the hole, and the entrance to the tunnel that lead downstairs was somewhere in the billards room (fucking rich assholes). This pod has to be his vault! Now knowing this (plus a little bit of liquid courage), I decided to ignore that gnawing in the back of my mind that this was a bad idea, and headed out to the house.

There was full moon out that night, though normaly not the best for burgluries, the thick cloud cover negated it, and made the night inky black. A quick snip of a security cord and one open window and im inside. I know what your thinking, and open window? Really? Like I said, im not sure whether I was unlucky, or just being bated along like a fish on a hook, but at the time I just thanked my lucky stars it was that smooth.

Now that im inside, I relax a little, and look around to see the most extravagent living room ive ever seen, Ceaser himself would have felt spoiled. But I wasn’t there for stuff, I was there for gold, so I decided to head out to try and find the billiards room.

I exit the living room into an almost comically long hallway, like something you would see in scooby doo, with doors stretching on for forever (it was only 6 in retrospect, adrenaline plus nerves can play tricks on your mind) I walk down, quickly checkin in each room, looking for a pool table. Strike, strike,s trike, then, I glance in the next door and see what ive been looking for, though the first thing I notice is the books. Every visibile square inch of wallspace was covered, floor to cealing, wall to wall with shelving, and crammed onto each shelf were thousands and thousands of books. As I entered the room I felt just the faintest cool breeze kiss my body, I was only for a second, but it made that voice that I had been supressing suddenly seen much louder. I muffled it down once again and steped into the room, and to my dismay, saw no door, just a cold fireplace, a billards  table, and a few lavishly overstuffed leather chairs next tot the fireplace.

I sat in one of those padded chairs, 50% just out of frustration, though I will admit, I did want to feel how sof t they really were(orgasmic). It was there I thought and brooded, had I been tricked? Why would maynard give me bad information? What should I do? It was pondering that one when I felt it again,a cool breeze, just for a second from the left. I shine my flashlight in the direction of the breeze and see nothing at first. I walk over, slowly(im terrified of this I don’t know why my heart is beating faster its in my head) tword the bookcase and see one of them is slightly further extended out past the others. I run my fingers along the gap, and feel cool air feathering out of the crack. Bingo. I start ripping books off the shleves, like a dog digging for a bone. And suddenly, one sitcks. I push it in confusion, and the book slides seamlessly into the back of the shelf, leaving no hole or any trace of ever existitng. Stepping back startled, I saw the whole shelf sunddenly seem to melt into the floor, revealing a wrought iron tight spiral staircase into blackness.

My fear is overwhelmed by excitement as visions of riches flash through my head, even though that same cold is billowing out from the portal. I check my flashlight, and start down the staircase. At first im hauling ass down the stairs, like a kid on christmas. But as I decended, I felt the darkness getting thicker and thinker all around me. At first I thought it was only my imagination, but I could feel it. It was in my lungs, clogged my throat, and burrowed into every pore, with ever increasing pressure (and I swear, the flashlight beam of light seemed weaker and weaker). After and eternity (and almost in a sheer panic). My legs jolt up into my chest, as happens to someone when they think there is one less step then there really is, and see a black metal door, with a bright red knob.



It is at this point in the story, my friends, that I must apoligize for you is impossibly difficult to accuratly describe with the words of this language, or any language (at least that you could speak). I will do my best though to render an accuate description of what happened.

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<p class="MsoNormal">As I approched the door,I saw myself mesmerised by the knob. As drew closer, I could see I had a slight (sickly) glow to it and even seemed to be pulsing(fresh hot blood in a new heart). I could feel my hands trembling as I reached it forward. As I did, my mind was flooded with visions of all those I have stolen from, their ghost swarmed my mind, and as I grabbed the knob I felt a white I hot pain shoot up my arm and hit my dead in the heart (blood transfusion lightning bolt). I jumped back in sheer pain and swore loudly. I looked up and saw the door slowly opening inward, as if the darkness iteself was inviting me in. having gone too far to turn back now, I winced in pain with each step (the right half of my body was on fire from the jolt), and limped inside.

<p class="MsoNormal">And what I saw was something straight out of a cult film.

<p class="MsoNormal">The wall, the floor, and the cealing were all made out black glass, which seemed to have(tentrils) reaching out and permiating the air. The only light source in the room was alight from the celing, pointing on a platform about 5 feet from the center of the room, and on the platform, a glowing handprint, the same glowing red color of the doorknob.

<p class="MsoNormal">I step cautiously inside, the second my foot touches the floor, a path illumates on the floor, straight to the platform with the hand, with that same red (liveblood) glow. And once again, my fear is evaporated by a sense of curiousity, and to get that big payday I had been in serch of. From the glow of the floor I see that the black glass behind the (handscanerlifedrainer) was slightly elevated, in about a 5’x5’. I reach the scanner and look cautiously at my hand.

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<p class="MsoNormal">“are you ready for the big prize?” I hear whispered into my ear

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<p class="MsoNormal">“yes” I say back, and cover the glowing hand with my own.

<p class="MsoNormal">Once my hand brushes the surface of the smooth glass the light flashes and the scanner melts into the floor, as colums that reach to the cealing on the corners of the elevated square illuminate with that same red glow as, and god, the image still gives me terror. The box accended right out of the blackness.

<p class="MsoNormal">It was a yard in each direction, seeming to made entirely out of the glowing pulsing red glass. As it raised up, it reaveled fractalous images of tourture (scenes of death makking up scenesd of death). The images seem to bleed and pluse, move and breathe with every pluse of the red glow within it. It came out to be well over 6 feet tall, each corner adorned with a mask of dispair, that appeared to be crying some sort of black liquid that evaporated the second it was airborne. with a large slit running rightdown the middle, the slice was the source of the pulsing I can feel it. I reach to open it, and feel that same chill from before say goodbye to me, as the box swings open and shows me its content.

<p class="MsoNormal">My hear sank as I found myself seeing nothing but my reflection staring back at me, no gold, no riches, just a look of dissapiontment that seemed to flicker and pulse with every throb of the red light. Full of dissapointment, I walk up and start pressing against the mirror, hoping for some sort of secrect lever or handle, I had gone so far, would have hated to have to leave empty handed after all this effort (terror). The mirror was supprisingly warm, so warm (living flesh), and seemed to pulse ever so slightly wherever I touched on it, though I didn’t appear to move. I caught a glimpse of my face, the red pulsating bloodlight caused shadows to run acrross my face, seeming to shift and meld my features around into some horrible dark piccasso. It was then I first saw it.

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<p class="MsoNormal">Its composition is still a mystery, it was somehow both completely transclucent, yet as soild and real as the blackened barrel of a war rifle. In the mirror, I saw, decending from the celeing (out of my point of view, alas) was a thick, black arm(tentacle) that was hanging from the cealing and connected to the back of my head. I could see where it penitrated my skull, the would was not clean, I could seemy brain(blackas death) through cracks in my skull. All the skin around the wound had fallen off, and the bit that was hanging on was tepid and festering, with every vien pulsing with that black filth.

<p class="MsoNormal">What happened next, in reality, probably took about 2-3 seconds, but in my mind, dime dialates, making it feel like hours. Out of sheer horror at what I saw in the mirror, I first brought my head to the back of my own head, to see if the reflection held true, while I pushed off(an effort to get myself away from whatever was in the mirror as fast as possible.  My hand to the back of my head wins the race, feeling relif flood over me as I felt nothing but my shaggy brown hair, no wound.  Simoultainiously,  I felt the tips of my fingers finnally leave the surface of that terrible mirror(portal).  The instant they leave the surface, a low deep (eternal) vibration (deepest earth subwoofer) flooded the room, penetratating to my core, shaking every organ I have.  Then I saw, to my horror, the tentacle from my relections head had dislodged itself, and my reflection was no longer longer mimicing my movements.  It was just stanting there, head cocked to the side in an almost mocking way, with a pittying smile on its(my) face. While transfixed staring at it(me)I didn’t even notice the shadow arm had friends, and they had snaked through the mirror(portal). Ive never felt an octopus, though I would imagine that their tentacles would have a very simmilar feel. The first one wraps around my wrist that’s closest to the mirror, it feel cold, strong, but most of all wrong, things of that composition just should not exist in our plane of existence. The second grabbed me around the waist, and instantly crushed the breath out of my body and filled it with what felt like dry ice. Things started to go fuzzy as a third wrapped around my neck. As they began to pull me in (so strong) my visiont gew dimmer and darker, I embraced the blackness as the arms pull me into their home.

<p class="MsoNormal">I came to with a jolt, like waking from a bad dream, as the events that have happened to me flood back into my mind, I steady myself, and slowly open my eyes. To my dismay, even though that tentacled thing was gone, I still see my reflection in the mirror, with that same smirk on its face, though the entire room is now coated with the dark red throbbing, though now its like looking through tinted glasses, rather then from outside sources of illumination. I saw myself move my hand in the mirror, and rub the back of my head, and to my horror, I felt my own arm, as if it were under someone elses control follow suit. I crept my hand up my neck and my skin felt dried, cracked and broken. Once my hand reached my skull I realized there wasn’t even any skin, and then I felt it, that being(monster,evil), had shoved its tentacle into the back of my own head. I tried to grab it, but to my horror I felt my arm move back down, and I turned to leave the room.

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<p class="MsoNormal">It is the strangest feeling ever, to be your own reflection, its like my entire being was soley existing in my skin. I was being worn, like a fancy costume, I had no control of any of my actions, I was powerless against the force that held me captive. I couldn’t stop it when it headed back to my house. No matter how hard I struggled I couldn’t stop it when I picked up the kitchen knife, I couldn’t even whipe the smile of my face as I sank that knife deep into my mothers throat before disembowling her. Couldn’t even shed a tear as cut my father up in front of my baby sister, before I turned the blade to her. I couldn’t even stop it from calling the police, and turning myself in. During my entire trial I couldn’t say a single word, to explain what has happened as the words “guilty” and “electric chair” were sentensed apon me. I couldn’t cry, as I was about to die, strapped into a chair for a crime I didn’t commit, I just sat there with that same smile on my face. As I saw the exicutioner walk to the switch that would end my life, I felt that same deep bass vibration thundering in my head. It grew louder and louder and he placed his hand on the switch until it was a deafaning cacophny of destructive sound, and right as he pulled the switch, I head, from the monster that held me hostage, a slight chuckle, and the tentacle drew me in.