Jack tipped the package to one side and then the other, listening for clues as to what lay inside, feeling the weight of it which was so light it could very well be empty. It was about the size of a shoe box, covered in crisp brown paper with frayed white string tied in a loose knot on top. A small tag – attached to the string with a strip of red ribbon – addressed the package to him: Jack Gardner.

Now who had sent this? There was no address written anywhere that he could see, so it must have been delivered personally. Bit creepy… and curious.

But the most intriguing thing was that handwritten in big black capital letters was the message or command, ‘DO NOT OPEN.’

Very curious indeed.

“What is it?” His wife, Diana, poked her head around the living room door, her blonde wavy hair falling over one shoulder.

“I don’t know.”

“Who sent it?”

“Doesn’t say.” Then he heard something. Ah, yes. If he flipped the box upside down quickly, he could hear that something fall.

“Maybe they got the wrong house.”

“It’s got my name on it and it was put on our porch doormat.” He gestured with his chin at the hallway table next to him. “There’s one for you as well.”

“Really? Let’s see.” She hurried over and picked up her parcel, which was identical to his aside from the name tag reading her name. “We could ask the postman.”

“There’s no postage. No address. Nothing.”

“Let’s open them. See what’s inside.”

“It says ‘do not open’.”

She snorted. “That’s ridiculous. I’m opening mine.”

“What’s that?” Their daughter, Analise, was suddenly in the hallway as well. Jack smiled. When Analise stood near to Diana like now, the resemblance was unnerving in an adorable way. Same inquisitive pinch to the face, same sky-blue eyes.

“A mysterious package,” Diana said, waggling her eyebrows.

Analise giggled. Then gasped, “What if it’s a bomb?!”

“What?!” Jack said, “No, it’s not a bomb!” He sounded sure, but his stance became wary nonetheless.

“Oh just open it,” Diana said.

“Mum, it says ‘do not open’, what if there’s a monster inside?”

“Monsters don’t live in boxes.”

“Why not?”

“They, uh, don’t like small spaces.”

“But—”

“There’s no monster in the box. Don’t worry.”

“Famous last words,” Jack said.

Diana glared at him, “But we can’t just keep the bloody thing forever and not open it!”

“Language!” Analise squealed.

“Bloody isn’t swearing.”

“That’s not what you—”

“Now, now,” Jack said, “Let’s just calm down a minute. We’re not going to open them.”

“And why not?” Diana asked.

“I don’t think we should.”

Diana slid her fingers along the folds of the packaging. “You’re being silly.”

“Di, please, I’ve got a bad feeling about this.” He saw her hesitate at that - she didn’t really believe in his ‘bad feelings’ - but she stopped her questing all the same.

“What do we do then?” she asked, “Chuck them in the bin?”

Jack stroked his black beard thoughtfully. He liked to grow it for winter and it was getting quite thick now. “How about we pop them on the table in the living room for now and we can decide what to do about them in the morning.”

Diana sighed and exchanged a look with Analise, but nodded agreement. As they all settled down on their soft blue sofa to watch the rest of Frozen, Analise asked, “How come I didn’t get a box?”

“I don’t know sweetie,” Diana said, kissing the top of her daughter’s blonde curls, “but it doesn’t matter.”

***

Later that night, a little after the clocks struck twelve, Diana got up to go to the toilet… at least, that’s what she told herself anyway.

The thunderstorm must have woken her up, she thought, as lightning flashed over the cool white bathroom tiles, making the room feel colder still. In spite of herself, her feet did not take her straight back to bed, instead they found their way downstairs and into the living room.

The boxes were still there, right where they’d left them, untouched. She could take a peek now, couldn’t she? Slowly unravel the string and retie it just so. No one would know, unless what was inside was… what?

She slid into the smooth wooden chair and pulled her thick dressing gown around her shoulders. Rain thundered outside and long naked branches from the sycamore trees smacked against the upstairs window panes, casting long-fingered shadows over Diana’s hunched form, shadows that leapt and shook with the wind.

Anticipation tingled her spine as she drew the rough string tight, testing it, watching as the bow’s loop slowly contracted.

A sudden crack of thunder made her jump, yanking the string, unravelling the bow in one movement. Her heart raced and blood pounded in her ears, louder than the storm. Lightning flooded the room in white light and in that instant, she caught her reflection in the blackness of the dead television screen. Don’t do it, her reflection said, the eyes pleading – no – warning. She reached out again to the box, unsure now of what she was going to do…

Even later on that night, long after Diana returned to bed, the storm continued to rage.

***

At seven-thirty the next morning, Jack and Diana sat in shocked silence with their hands clasped on the sofa between them, giving each other the odd squeeze of comfort because that’s what you did in times like these.

The news rolled on, inexorably, like a monstrous avalanche. The stories flooded in from all over the country of mysterious little boxes with DO NOT OPEN inscribed on top. Apparently, opening it gave you a small card with two different pieces of information written on each side. Both were about your future: one was good and one was bad.

A short female reporter, stern in the way only reporters are, spoke into the camera, “I am here with Eileen Ashbury, a young woman who having opened her box has a message for us all. Eileen?”

Diana covered her mouth with her free hand as a young girl with short reddish hair, eighteen though she looked far younger, stared into the camera with bloodshot eyes, “Please, don’t open the box. It’s a cruel, sick joke. It messes with your head, whatever it says. Whoever did this…”

“Would you mind letting our viewers know what your card said?” the reporter asked.

The girl – woman – shook her head, then abruptly squared her shoulders, “It said that I will get my dream job. I’ve always wanted to be a film director so that’s… nice… if it’s true, but… it also said that I will be raped.”

She blurted the last word in such a way that the microphone picked it up too loudly and the word boomed into the homes of everyone watching, slapping them in the face.

“I hope it’s not true,” she said, her arms wrapped around her chest. She started rocking on the balls of her feet, repeating it over and over again, like a chant, “I hope it’s not true.”

The camera panned away from Eileen and fixed upon the reporter.

“So there you have it,” she said, “One box. Two futuristic facts. Hex or hoax? What do you think? Have you opened yours? Let us know by—”

Jack switched off the television and turned to Diana, his voice brooking no argument, “We aren’t going to open our boxes.”

“No,” she said, “No, we aren’t.”

“Ever.”

“Ever.”

“Let’s burn them,” she said, “Right now. So we aren’t tempted.”

He regarded her for a moment before saying, “Alright. Let’s burn them to ashes.”

***

The event became known as The Day of a Million Boxes, The Apostalypse and Boxageddon. Everyone was blamed from psychologists to activists and comedians. At one point, there was even a rumour of intoxicated disgruntled postmen, but that didn’t last long. None of them stuck. The box… thing was too grand scale, too wide-spread. Every single person in the country over the age of eighteen got a box, at the same time, even the homeless.

It was like Santa Claus had taken LSD and gone on a really bad trip.

But, as with most things, after a while life carried on, other news stories took precedence and most people put the boxes out of their minds… until five years later…

Jack stood in their front garden stroking his beard and pretending to examine the hedge, steadfast in his promise not to embarrass his teenage daughter. Obscured mostly by his really quite overgrown hedge, he watched as she safely ascended the school bus to join her friends. Only then did he scratch his head and nod emphatically, hoping to look like a man suddenly deciding something very important, and return inside to join his wife – presumably to discuss the future of said hedge.

However, his footsteps slowed to a halt before he made it to the kitchen table.

“What’s wrong?” Diana held her phone loosely in one hand, but she wasn’t looking at it. Her favourite breakfast of poached eggs and sliced avocado sat untouched, her full cup of tea cooling to one side.

“You remember that girl, Eileen Ashbury?”

“Of course.” Everyone remembered. The press had followed her story, her tragic decline from understandable paranoia to full-blown insanity until she was finally admitted to a psychiatric ward after nearly killing the postman. So much for ‘film director’. Proof, many said, that the cards were utter nonsense. “What’s happened to her now?”

“She’s been raped.”

Jack’s hands fell to his sides. The repercussions swarmed his mind, too many for him to identify one and pick it out of the multitude, “H- How?”

“Another patient did it.”

“Oh my god.” He slumped into the chair opposite, “Does this mean…”

Diana shrugged, “She never would have been in there if it wasn’t for reading that card in the first place so… we still don’t really know what it means.”

He sighed, “I guess we probably won’t until we’re old and crumbly, if we ever do.”

Diana tried to hide it, but he saw her flinch at his words. He kept his peace, reached out, entwined his fingers in hers and gave them a squeeze.

She’d tell him when she was ready.

***

That day came many years later when Analise, glowing with pride, announced that she was pregnant. Jack let the warmth wash over him, excitement churned with joy and love. He ignored the thread of shock and terror he sensed in Diana until after Analise left.

His wife’s tears were not purely of joy, not even close.

“It’s soon, isn’t it?”

“Wha- what?”

He cupped her beautiful face in his hands, “You’ve always been a terrible liar. It’s one of the things I love about you.”

“You know?! Why didn’t you say anything before?”

“Because I didn’t want to know! I don't like the idea that I'm not in control of what happens to me and well, I like not knowing. That's why I didn't read mine, but you obviously read yours and…" He sighed, stroking his thumb across her cheek. "You should see the way you behave sometimes, like you know you won’t get hurt and the way you look at me, so deeply sad it makes me want to cry. It’s like you’re already grieving and it’s hard to pretend I don’t see it.”

Her shoulders slumped. “I tried so hard not to let it show. I didn’t want you to…” Diana bit back a sob, “Oh Jack, I’m so… sorry.”

“It’s OK,” he said softly, pulling her in for a cuddle, winding a lock of her hair in his fingers.

“How can you be so calm?”

“I’ve had a while to get used to the idea,” he said, “However vague.”

Diana couldn’t hold back any longer, tears dribbled off her chin, mingling with Jack’s falling upon her cheek. They shuddered in each others grasp, neither wanting to let go, ever.

They stayed that way for a very long time.

Twenty years ago, under the staccato white light of a terrible storm, Diana carefully peeled back the brown paper, unfolded the cardboard flaps and picked up her card.

The first side she read said, “You will live to see your grandchildren grow up.” Swallowing, she turned it over to read, “You will be widowed before your first grandchild is born.”

***

“I saw ‘The Other Side’ last night, have you seen it?” Analise asked, strolling along, one hand resting on her swollen belly.

“No, what is it?” Jack asked.

“It’s a documentary about the boxes, directed by Eileen Ashbury,” she said. Diana tripped, but Jack caught her. Analise didn’t notice and continued, “Oh, you really should watch it. It was dead interesting. It followed the lives of five different people who opened their boxes, whether or not the things on their cards had happened and in what way. Quite scary really.”

“Were there some things that didn’t come true?” Diana asked. To her credit, her voice didn’t tremble, but Jack slid his arm around her waist all the same.

“Well, yes, but they could still come true. We won’t know for sure until someone dies who didn’t have their bad or good thing happen.”

Analise abruptly stopped, pulling a face. Jack’s stomach twisted as he watched his daughter cast quick looks up and down the footpath, “Annie? Are you alright? Is it—”

“It’s OK, Dad,” she said, shuffling off into the bushes, “I need the toilet.”

“Oh.”

The spring sun slanted through the trees on either side of the footpath. Geese honked nearby and birds twittered as Jack brought Diana in for a hug and a kiss, “How much longer do you think I’ve got?”

“Don’t say that! Please! We burnt the boxes, maybe that means it doesn’t count. And just because it's been true for some people doesn't mean... it's a load of rubbish... I don't believe it.” Her mouth set in a stubborn line. "I won't."

"You're right, of course," he said, "Still, can’t help but wonder sometimes.” He took a deep breath and looked up at the clear blue sky. “Especially on days like this. This wouldn’t be such a bad last day.”

A squirrel suddenly bounded across the path right in front of them and paused for a second at the edge of the footpath before darting up a nearby tree. Branches swayed, marking its passage through the canopy. With a rustle, Analise returned, smoothing her skirts and looked sidelong at her parents, “I know I've asked you before, but you never did open your boxes, did you?”

“No,” Jack said, “We never did.”

“Mum?”

“Nope, never looked. I swear.”

Analise grinned, and Jack actually felt the relief flooding out of her. “Good,” she said, “That’s what everyone should have done, I reckon.” She fussed with her skirts a little more before adding, “Since it doesn’t matter anymore, I have a confession for you both. I, uh, swapped the name tags.”

Jack stiffened, “What?”

“The name tags on the boxes,” she repeated, laughing nervously, “While you were watching the film and I got up to go to the loo, I untied the tags and swapped them. I don’t know why. I did the same thing with the salt and the pepper too, remember?” She laughed again and patted her stomach. “I suppose I’ve got all that to look forward to, eh?.. Mum?... Dad?”

Jack cleared his throat, but remained silent, any words dying long before they reached his mouth. The air seemed to vibrate around them and time lost all meaning.

“Yes,” Diana said at last, breaking the spell. Her voice steady and defiant. She brought one hand up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her daughter’s ear, “Lots to look forward to.”