In thrift stores, there is a policy that if an item does not sell within the course of two weeks it is pulled from the shelves. From there it is passed on to the next store in the chain and on and on until the item is bought. As such, determining the origin of an item is near impossible. If a supernatural item is put into the system; its origin can only be determined by the first owner due to the item often being bought, used, and re-donated. Usually, the items should have just been destroyed, but that isn’t as easy as donating it. Donating in many cases is safer for those who fear the violent repercussions of their item. One item, the box, as it came to be called by the workers of these thrift stores; had a special history with thrift store chains.

            The box was an item of no purpose to the passing glance of a person. It was disturbing as well, with its vivid imagery that had been painted onto the sides of the two-inch cube. The six sides had unique images that only corresponded with their opposite side. One side had a regular eye on it and its opposite held a bloodshot eye shedding a single blood-red tear. The next pair was a normal hand and a claw-hand doused in blood. The last two of the six were a normal closed mouth shown only as lips, having an opposite side with an open mouth, sharp fang-like teeth, and was dripping blood. It was rare for a worker to see the box in their time, but the few that did regarded it as if it were a hazard. It was often hidden by the workers behind other items, deep where no one would see it. They didn’t do this to prevent the sale of the box, but instead to keep it out of their sight. On some instances, employees could have claimed the box moved out of hiding on its own, for on some nights it would be hidden and then appear the next morning in front of the other items. While they could’ve claimed the box moved, they wouldn’t, in fear of the judging eyes of their coworkers. Instead, they just avoided the section with the box until it was sold or sent to another store after two weeks. Regardless of the hiding, the box was often left unsold.

            For reasons unknown, or rather, unexplainable; there was never a price tag place on the box. When a customer should decide to purchase the box, they never paid so much as a penny. No one understood why anyone would take the box in the first place. Jimmy Mcisles claimed it spoke to him, but that’s for later in our story. Maybe that’s why Jimmy bought the box in the first place. Or maybe, it was just a feeling Jimmy got from the box instead of an actual voice. That would explain why the workers treated the box like poison, yet never disposed of it.

            Jimmy Mcisles and Mike Austin came to the thrift store in search of a game or a toy to satisfy their boredom. The thrift store was within walking distance of Jimmy’s house, and with their combined total of five dollars, there weren’t many options. When they looked through the toy section, they found nothing as it was fairly picked over.

            “Come on, let’s just go,” Jimmy said.           

            “What are we gonna do? I say we keep looking just in case we missed something.”

            “Fine, you can do that, I’m going to look in another section.”

            Jimmy then wandered through the store in hopes of finding a misplaced toy. In his wandering he went through the knick-knack isle and stopped in front of the box. Whatever it was, a calling or just the oddity in its semblance, something about the box appealed to Jimmy’s senses. He picked it up, turning it in his hand before stopping on the side with the normal eye. He stared into the eye for a long time. People passed by giving him a weird look. The look was the exact same on each of their faces. They must have been thinking the same thing, what is this kid doing with that cube? Jimmy’s gaze was eventually broken by the voice of Mike.

            “What’d ya find?” Mike asked.

            Jimmy looked up slowly, seeming unaware of his surroundings. It was like he had just awoken from a deep sleep. He locked eyes with Mike and blinked a few times, trying to refocus his eyes.

            “It’s a… uh… I don’t really know, but I think I’m gonna buy it,” Jimmy said.

            “I didn’t find anything, we should go.”

            “Uh, yeah… right. Let’s go.”

            They walked to the checkout line and Mike thought it was a little odd that the people in front of them and behind them seemed to be standing a little too far away from Jimmy and him. He looked at Jimmy for a reaction, but Jimmy was too busy looking at the box and clutching it with a death grip. It was as if he feared someone taking the box from him. When it came time for them to check out, Jimmy reluctantly put the box down on the counter and glared at the clerk. The clerk reached out to touch the box but pulled his hand back instinctively as if the box were a hot stove. The clerk looked at Jimmy expectantly and Jimmy matched his gaze, reaching out to grab the box slowly. When his hand finally touched the box, it clutched the box violently. Jimmy then walked out toward the exit with Mike following, confused. Mike asked no questions. He thought he should, but everytime he opened his mouth, he soonclosed it again in fear. It was just something you didn’t question, Mike reasoned, like going to the bathroom or riding in a car. The walk felt long and it consisted of silence and Jimmy stumbling a couple of times because he wouldn’t take his eyes off the box. Upon their arrival at Jimmy’s house, Mike mustered the courage to break the silence.

            “So, what does that box do?”

            “Um… well… it does whatever you want,” Jimmy responded quickly, barely hearing Mike’s question.

            “What do you mean?”

            “Uh… I’m sorry. What did you say?”

            “You said it does whatever you want, and I asked what you meant.”

            “You know how we play pretend? Well, think of a situation.”

            “Um, okay… how about cowboys in a saloon?”

            Jimmy touched the regular eye of the box and closed his eyes. To Mike, it seemed like Jimmy was thinking really hard about something; it even looked like he was straining. Mike stared at him, confused, but after he blinked once he found himself standing next to Jimmy, wearing cowboy clothes in a saloon.

            “Wow, this is amazing,” Mike said.

            They both went to sit down at the bar and Mike fell onto his bottom trying to sit on the stool.

            “Sorry,” Jimmy said, “I forgot.” Jimmy then touched his thumb to the regular hand side of the box. This time, the stools were real enough to sit on. Mike didn’t question the need to press a specific side of the box to make the stools real, it seemed only natural.

            “Well howdy partner. What say you about gettin’ us a tall glass of beer, root-beer that is,” Mike said.

            “That sounds as good as ridin’ round town on a horse. Two glasses of root beer comin’ right up.”

            Jimmy touched the regular hand side of the box. A duo of pint glasses appeared. He then touched the regular lips side of the box and the glasses filled with root beer. Each glass had three perfect-cube blocks of ice in them. They both took their glasses and clinked them together before taking long sips of their drinks. If you were to go out now and drink a glass of root beer, you wouldn’t be about to taste what Jimmy and Mike drank that day. Hypothetically though, if you were able to drink the greatest glass of ice-cold root beer that you could envision in your mind, then you’d be pretty close to those glasses that Mike and Jimmy had. It wasn’t pretend either, it went down their throats as any real liquid would. Mike was too astounded to even speak. Jimmy, on the other hand, not so much.

            “We should ride some horses now!” Jimmy exclaimed mere moments after downing his root beer.

            Jimmy then pressed the regular eye and the regular hand with each of his thumbs. The saloon disappeared and two horses appeared. They weren’t as big as real horses, in fact, they were smaller; built for little kids. Not a miniature horse, but a regular horse that had been downsized. Jimmy and Mike mounted the horses and Jimmy still clutched the box.

            “Race ya to that tree over there,” Jimmy said, pointing.

            “You’re on.”

            “3… 2… 1… Go!” Jimmy yelled.

            The horses sped forward automatically without needing to be compelled by spurs. The hooves hit the ground as they would asphalt, reminding Mike of the box’s limits. He then imagined that his horse was especially bred for street racing and it began to go faster, without physically changing at all. Jimmy didn’t understand why Mike’s horse was going faster; the box was his, and he should’ve been going faster. Jimmy’s heart filled with a pure hatred that of which he’d never felt before. He felt a sudden urge to win no matter the cost.

            Jimmy touched the bloodshot eye of the box and as he did, Mike’s horse made an ungraceful lunge, landing its front hooves incorrectly. There was a sudden snapping sound as the horse’s front ankles broke. Then, while still in motion, it skidded on its side. Mike had been flung safely onto what would have been grass and sustained no injuries worse than some cuts on his knees. Jimmy finished the race smiling and laughing.

            “I won!” Jimmy taunted.

Mike barely heard him. He was too busy looking at his horse. The horse’s right side was ripped to shreds when it slid along the hot asphalt. It was still breathing, barely alive, but in too much pain to move. It leaked blood out from where it laid and looked up at Mike with a frightened stare. It seemed aware of its impending death, but that wasn’t what it was afraid of. Its true fear came riding up on its own horse holding the box. He could’ve just slowed my horse down, Mike thought, why did he want me to lose like this? Jimmy dismounted from his own horse.

“We gotta put the horse out of its pain,” Jimmy said, smiling without a single sign of remorse. Then, he touched the claw-hand side of the box and a six-shot revolver appeared in his hand. Jimmy then fired off all six rounds into the horse’s head. Mike plugged his ears to protect them. Each bullet shredded up the horse until it was no longer recognizable. Mike looked at Jimmy in disgust, but Jimmy continued to smile. Normally, being a kid, Mike would have called Jimmy out on cheating, but in circumstances like this, cheating wasn’t too important.

“What do you want to play next?” Jimmy asked.

“I don’t know. How about you pick?”

“Let’s play king and peasant.”

“Uh, sure,” Mike said nervously.

Jimmy touched the box again on the regular eye. They were then surrounded by cobblestone walls and floors, as well as adorned in the attire of a king and a peasant; Jimmy of course was the king. He then used the box to make a solid gold king’s throne appear.

“Alright peasant! If you want to feed your family, you’re going to have to mop the entire palace,” Jimmy said using the box to make a mop and a bucket of water appear.

“Come on Jimmy! I’m not mopping the floor. This isn’t even a game anymore! Now you’re just making me do your chores!” Mike said.

“If you won’t clean,” Jimmy said, “then you shall entertain!”

Jimmy touched the fanged mouth of the box and turned the mop water a dirty brown.

“Drink it,” He said.

“I’m not drinking that! In fact, I’m done Jimmy! This isn’t fun anymore!”

Jimmy glared at Mike irately. His eyes seemed to burn bright like a fire. He said nothing and touched the box, putting three of his fingers on each of the symbols that had blood. The bucket floated on its own towards Mike’s mouth. Mike was unable to move and he shrieked girlishly for help. The high-pitched squeals were ear piercing, only silenced by the mop bucket. The best way to describe the mop water is foul. It tasted bad, but even worse, it seemed to hold an unholy quality. If there were some equivalent in taste to it in the real world, it would likely be poisonous. As it went down Mike’s throat, it felt like knives clawing into him, tearing apart his esophagus. It made his stomach feel awful as well. Mike thought he should puke, but the foul water never retreated from its resting place. When the bucket dropped to the floor, Mike fell as well, crying softly. In the midst of all of this, Jimmy sat on his throne, grinning. Mike stood up to run away, hoping that the box’s power would have its limits. He would never find out though as Jimmy pressed the claw-hand on the box, causing the doors to slam closed and a knife to appear in his hand. The knife handle was golden with jewels in it. Jimmy leisurely walked over to Mike and upon his arrival, kicked Mike over with strength that was enhanced by the box.

“I offered you great things!” Jimmy yelled over Mike, watching as he cried. “Yet you chose not to follow my guidance. Crimes of this kind will surely not go unpunished!”

Jimmy used the box to lay Mike on his back. Then, he straddled Mike’s legs and tossed the box away. He wouldn’t need it for what he was going to do. Jimmy stabbed Mike without mercy as Mike attempted to shield himself. Each strike was random but not far from its preceding wound. The knife passed through Mike’s hand, moving it away from his eyes. He saw the deranged look in Jimmy’s eyes. There was excitement in them, a sort of ecstasy released with each hit. Jimmy didn’t even stop after Mike died, he just kept going. He was covered in blood as if he dived into a pool of it. When he did stop, Jimmy found himself in the kitchen with a knife from the open drawer behind him. Fear and panic set in, making Jimmy drop the knife and curl into a crying ball in the corner of the kitchen.

“It’s not my fault! It’s not my fault!” He cried. “It spoke to me! I swear! It spoke to me!”

Jimmy repeated this over and over, even after his parents came home from work. What Jimmy didn’t know yet was the fact that no one would believe him. This wasn’t because his story sounded fake. Instead, it was due to the disappearance of the box. The box had taken its rightful place in another thrift store.