Anesidora and the Box

Nine year old 'Dora stared at the little box on the parlor desk. Her brow furrowed and she took a small step closer. Father had said he'd left a gift for her to find downstairs. A small surprise from his latest journey. He was a merchant working for the East India Trading Company and was always bringing her little trinkets from his travel. Usually, it was something that they could talk about and maybe look into his books to see if they could learn more. 

The box was small, maybe 4 inches on each side. Whatever wood it was made of gleamed darkly in the morning sun slanting through the window shears. It was covered in carved whorling patterns, each filled with what appeared to be copper to her eyes. A small copper and silver antenna jutted up about 2 inches from the top middle. A soft chirruping noise seemed to be emitting from it.

Dust motes danced in the sun as 'Dora took another step closer, her movement causing them to whirl and jig. Around the box however, no dust moved. She cocked her head to the side and moved forward again. The edges of the dust free zone looked like it was a foot away from the box. Curiosity thrummed in her bones. Another step closer.

She reached up to see if she could feel any wind coming from the box. She didn't know what would cause such a thing, but that was the only explanation that would make sense. Nothing else would cause that strange lack of morning lit dust.

Her hand caused all kinds of fluctuations in the dust outside the zone around the box. But in that barren cube around it, nothing happened.

A small frisson of fear touched the base of her spine then. She glanced up and back, to see if her parents were at the door watching. The parlor threshold was empty. The darker hallway behind it held only the bottom of the stairs she had just come down and the small table that held the tray for mail.

She sighed and looked back at the box. What *was* causing that noise? Crickets, maybe? She had heard of keeping crickets for luck from her father. He'd said that in some of the ports he'd been to that people kept them in small cages. He'd also said that some of the crickets were quite large - as long as the first finger on one of his big hands! She couldn't imagine such a thing, but if the box held such a creature she definitely wanted to see it.

'Dora bent down and studied the little box. Her eyes passed over the dark wood, trying and failing to find any seams. She braced her hands against the desk and leaned in very close, brows knitting further as she looked for the catch or lock or anything that proved that it could be opened. A whiff of something like burnt grass or bread wafted past but she barely noticed except to absently note it.

Her breath fogged the highly polished wood of the desk. A battle scarred veteran, it was lovingly maintained by her mother and the girl they had in on Saturdays to help with the heavy cleaning. Riley, 'Dora remembered. Her name is Riley and she had the most interesting stories about her homeland. Maybe the box contained one of the Wee Folk that Riley was going on about. Maybe that's what was in there instead of a giant cricket?

Curiosity, always strong in her and now beating in her head like a drum, propelled her hand towards the little box. She hesitated a moment, not wanting to muss the glossy exterior with fingerprints. But that pull in her head was too strong. She wanted to see what was in there. Needed to see, in fact. She stood straight and reached out to the little antenna and touched it.

An hour later, Stephen came down the stairs. He had heard 'Dora get up and go downstairs earlier and had wanted to wait and dally with the missus while she was occupied with the Ludo or Draughts board he had brought home. It was a clever thing, made of dark wood and chased around the edges with copper plating. He had picked it up in in the Cap Sing-Moon passage. He knew his precocious girl would be enamored of it. He expected her to be studying it intently, brimming with questions about how it was made and where the pieces were. But when he stepped into the parlor, it was empty. The board lay on the desk as he had left it. The morning light shifted and swirled, making dark shadows in the corners. The quiet lay heavy and palpable. 'Dora was nowhere to be seen.

“’Dora? Where are you girl?” he called. He strode out of the small parlor and into the attached kitchen area. She was not at the table eating a snack nor was she at sitting at the small banked fire, reading. His brow furrowed (an outside observer would have noted the similarity to his daughter’s expression from earlier). 

He turned and made his way back out of the kitchen and towards the small dark hallway. He passed by the stairs and went directly to the front door. Testing it, he found that it was locked and the safety chain still engaged. 

Had he heard her get up? Maybe he had dreamed it and she was still abed. Worry squirmed a quiet knot in his stomach, and he moved quicker than he normally would back up the narrow stairs. 

He pushed open the door to her room and peered in. She had pulled the curtains to so the room lay in shrouded silence. He could see that her bed was made however, the quilt pulled neatly to the top and the pillow centered. 

The worry worm in his belly squirmed again and he stepped over to the bed and knelt down. Twitching back the quilt he bent over and tried to see if she was hiding underneath. Only empty darkness and one stray dust bunny met his gaze. 

Stephen jerked upright. He had thought he had heard something from downstairs. Leaving the bed mussed he darted out of the room and back down the stairs as fast as he could. He could hear his wife complaining about the noise from their room but could not be bothered to respond. He clattered into the hallway and stopped. From the parlor, he heard a strange small click and the humming noise he’d thought he had heard stopped. 

He stepped into the small parlor and looked about. Nothing seemed out of place except for the fact that he could not find his child. The board lay quietly on the desk. He stepped around the desk hoping that she was hiding in the foot well, but already knowing that she wouldn’t be there. ‘Dora was an inveterate giggler and if she had been there when he first came down, she would not have been able to contain herself. The space was empty, as he had known it would be. 

Worry and fear turned to anger and he bellowed in the voice that he usually reserved for crewmates, “ANESIDORA, YOU COME OUT RIGHT THIS MINUTE!” From upstairs, he could hear his wife thudding out of the bed and crying out for him. He ignored it and walked over to the windows and yanked the sheers back to look out into the street. Morning tradesmen and walkers were making their way up and down the street but he did not see his daughter. 

From behind him he heard that hum again and then another small click. He whipped around and looked around, trying to source the sound. Nothing. Just his small parlor, where they kept his desk and small trove of books on a shelf. He glanced at the surface of the desk and then did a double take. 

On the flat scarred surface of the desk, where the board had lain, was now a small dark box. Or rather, almost a box. As he watched, what had been the playing board folded the last corner up and tucked itself neatly into place, forming a cube about 4 inches square. It emitted another small hum and then disappeared.