Jenna Michaels feels like she has been working for hours that she wonders what time it is. She checks the clock on the opposite side of the mailroom, and it reads 9:55 pm. Well, she has been here for almost four hours and didn’t even realize. Assorting mail and putting packages in boxes to be shipped out to her fellow NMH students can be quiet tedious and strenuous. At times she finds it hard to focus for hours on end while all her friends are out having fun.
She finds herself as the only one left in the mailroom and the winter darkness begins to set in, leaving the buildings as the only source of light for her reference. Luckily she is been in a heated room with music playing from her phone to keep her company because these lonely nights of work job during the weekends has really become eery for me from time to time.
She begins to clean up and put away the extra tape, scissors, paper and boxes that had been scattered throughout the room from the day. Jenna then realizes she didn’t put away the paper cutter that needs to go back on the shelf above a bunch of boxes and packages waiting to find their rightful owners. She grabs her winter coat, keycard, and phone before gaining her balance as she stands on her tiptoes to shove away the paper cutter. It is a little far from her reach which causes her to wobble and try to use the large tower of cardboard cubes as leverage. She thinks she’s got it in the bag, before she accidentally slips and taking down the dozens of boxes with her. The sound of objects slamming, clinking, and colliding inside the boxes makes her heart skip a beat thinking of the reaction her boss will have if he sees so much damage done.
She gathers herself and begins to quickly stack up the boxes filled with belongings as if nothing happened. Before she puts the last box on top of the tower, she peaks behind the stack. A strip of old birchwood attached to the wall catches her eye in the hidden darkness. She tries her best to slide the tower over slowly without it accidentally tumbling down again so she can get a better view of whatever the boxes were hiding.
Once the boxes clear out of view, she notices that it’s a drawer. A drawer built into the wall that has a corroded brass knob to function as the handle. She also notices that a small, cursive ‘1933’ is carved under the knob. She can see her curiosity staring back at her in the reflection of the knob. She gets down on her knees and gets her face closer to the old, birch square inserted into the wall. It can not be more than two feet in length and one foot tall. Has anyone ever seen this before or was it just her? She lifts her hand and brushes her fingers along the numbers with curiosity. It is so smoothly carved, she thinks, yet the rest of the wood was contradictingly rougher with age. She still continues to run her fingers over the rest of the rectangular surface and jolts back when her finger was pricked with a dangling piece of wood. She looks down at the puncture wound, picks out the splinter carefully, and sees the hole fill with maroon colored blood. She wipes it off on her jacket and focuses her attention back on the wall.
She was sitting back on her knees, examining the undiscovered drawer in the wall carefully. This is so strange, she thinks. What if there’s mail from 1933 in there? What if it hasn’t been opened in years? The questions formed in her brain almost functioning as proof as to why she should open it. She knows it isn’t practical, but her mind is convincing her to lift her hand and pull on the golden knob. She struggles. She tries to pull on the knob once- it doesn’t move. She tries again but only a little harder- doesn’t budge. Is it locked somehow? She uses both of her hands this time and pulls as hard as she can. Suddenly she launches backwards, the drawer flies behind her, and dozens of papers float down to the ground above her.
Shit. Not only did I just break into a hidden drawer, but I made a complete mess in doing so. If my boss realizes he’s going to kill me.
She sits up from her supine condition on the floor, and sighs. She looks around at the papers surrounding her and wonders how he is ever going to clean this up in time. Once she recenters her focus, she notices something: these papers are old. Every paper has brown smudges, ripped edges, and were all inked in cursive. She picks up all the papers and grabs the empty drawer from across the room. She sits in her chair at the front desk and places it all on the surface. The drawer is to her right, and the knob is facing the room behind her.
There are letters, maps, pictures… all dated from the 1930s. The first paper on the stack is a map -- a map of the campus. There is no Hayden hall or Wallace or Upper and Lower mods. It shows what everything looked like 70+ years ago. There is a red X outside of the head of school’s house, and another one in the middle of the woods behind that house.
She shrugs it off then flips to the next paper. It is small and golden with age. It is a letter inked in navy blue.
Dear Thomas,
You should have never seen what you did three days ago. I am surprised that you threatened to tell my wife of such nonsense. It’s false! She is my partner in work and that is all. Don’t be fooled by the talk of the town, for the is much behind it that is unknown to you.
It is unsigned. Who is Thomas and what did he see that he shouldn’t have? She shrugs it off again and flips to the next page. The room is completely dark now, except the one overhead light glowing above her to light up her area of occupation.
Another small letter. This time it is written in pencil. The lead is grained and opaque from age.
Dear Thomas,
I hope to see you at bible study this week. We are in need of your participation and interest to be a part of this community. There may be future consequences if you decide to continue to willingly exclude yourself from our traditional practices.
Speer
Future consequences? She makes the connection that this seems to be a box full of old mail for Thomas. She sifts through a couple more pages and finds a small box. It is a dark wooden box smooth to the touch. She admires the beautifully engraved T.E. on the top of it. The way the T curls at the tips and connects to the E is obviously professionally made. She lifts the delicate, bronze lever that connects the lid to the bottom, and opens it gently. The stench of decaying wood soars to her nose, like it hasn’t been opened in decades. She notices a golden ring lying in the bottom of the box. A wedding band? She picks it up and sees a small ES engraved in the inside of the ring. There is also a date: 1927. She guesses it’s the year this person got married. But why hide it in this box?
She discovers there is an engraved saying in the bottom of the box. Her eyebrows furrow to try to read the small cursive correctly.
“I don’t deserve this. I am sorry. I will always love you.”
Things are starting to come together. A man named Speer did something awful enough that he didn’t feel worthy enough of his wife and had to give her his wedding ring. A man named Thomas had a conflict with this man because he never went to bible study.
T.E…… The abbreviations seem to be so familiar. Wasn’t Thomas something she learned in her history class recently? She pauses. It all hits her at once. Thomas Elder and Elliot Speer were the staff of her NMH school long ago.
Thomas had incentive over Elliot because he saw something he shouldn’t have… Did Thomas want something and Elliot wasn’t willing to give it to keep his mouth shut? Maybe that is why Elliot was killed…
She needs to tell someone. Just as she is about to turn around to leave, she catches a dark silhouette standing behind her in the golden knob. Her heart immediately drops into her stomach. She can’t move. She doesn’t know what to do. She blinks a few times to make sure it’s all just a dream. The man is still behind her. Maybe if she doesn’t move he will go away. He is probably not real. Her doubts are broken by the sound of his breath hovering behind you. Her hands and knees start to shake with terror.
The last thing she hears is the deep voice say, “You should have never opened that.”
No comments:
Post a Comment