The Black Box

Gabby double checked the address in her phone as her small Toyota climbed over rocks and roots down Orchard Road. After confirming she was indeed going in the right direction, she squinted at what appeared to be a massive, ivy covered, red brick building in the distance. The morning sun was cutting through just enough autumn fog to allow her to see it must have been built ages ago. The brick was crumbling, the ivy stretching, the windows coated with dusty memories. 

She had received an email giving her a heads-up that a very worthwhile estate sale was taking place Saturday morning. She often received announcements from realtors, and was on several lists to be notified when local sales would be taking place. 

Gabby had a keen eye for antiques, and the ones she didn’t hang on to, she sold for top dollar. It wasn’t so much the money she was interested in, but in being able to earn enough to keep investing in more treasures. 

Every old vase held memories of flowers long gone, perhaps given by a doting husband, or an enamored lover. An antique sewing machine hummed its stories of a struggling mother, making clothing for her children in the late night hours after a full days work. Depression glasses were filled with the tears of hungry children, opening the boxes of Quaker Oats to find the free glassware placed inside as an incentive to buy their products. So many stories, so much history. It was the people Gabby had in her heart, their lives and what they had to say.  And she wanted to know all of them, all their stories. 

She slowly pulled closer to the once majestic home. It surely was a sight when it was cared for and maintained. Now, the grass was overgrown, the flower beds filled with weeds, and the shrubberies threatened to overtake the entrance. 

Gabby pulled all the way up in the long driveway adjacent to the house. She must be the first to arrive, she thought to herself. Which was just how she liked it. Gabby was not a haggler, or one to try to outbid another interested party at estate sales. It just wasn’t her nature. She had the mindset that if it was meant to be, it was meant to be. If she was the one meant to take home a piece, then she would. 

She closed her car door, and began to approach the front door, an old wooden one with cracked paint and splinters spiking out, daring one to knock. 

From the corner of her eye, Gabby thought she saw someone move past a second story window. Likely the person in charge of the sale. 

Gabby lifted her hand to knock on the worn door, but it seemed to open before she could make contact. Just as well, she thought, she probably would have ended up with wood in her knuckles. 

“Hello? Anyone here?” 

Gabby slowly took a step inside, and tried to adjust her gaze to the dimly lit rooms. She looked to her right for a light switch, just as a voice echoed down from the long stairwell in the foyer. 

“Good morning, Gabby. Thank you for coming today. I knew you’d be interested in this sale,” the voice called out. 

Slowly, a figure descended the stairs, almost appearing to float downwards. 

“Oh, hello! I received an email about the estate sale today. It seems I’m the first to arrive,” Gabby replied to her host. She extended her hand in greeting, and the old woman accepted it with a wrinkled smile. 

“The first, and only. I’m Genevieve. I’m taking care of my sister’s estate now that she’s passed. Helen has a house full of very special, very unique things. Why don’t we look around.” 

“I’m so sorry for your loss, thank you for having me here today.” 

“No, thank you for coming. Let’s get started,” Genevieve said and began to make her way into the parlor. 

Gabby followed, and gazed upon a room filled with paintings, china, handmade blankets and quilts, and…something caught her attention on an end table. 

Gabby walked toward the table, and glanced back at Genevieve. 

“May I?” she asked, gesturing to the table. 

“Please do.”

Gabby picked up an ebony box, crafted of wood, with ornate patterns carved into it. Despite its age, it was far from faded. 

“African Blackwood. Open it,” Genevieve instructed, as she soundlessly appeared at Gabby’s side. 

Gabby opened the Black Box, and inside found a mirror on the inside of the lid. The interior of the box was lined with black velvet. She ran her fingers over the smooth material, seamlessly attached. 

“This is gorgeous. Such a treasure…is it part of the sale?” Gabby hopefully asked. 

“Yes. I was hoping you’d like this piece. It was very special to Helen. I believe you will find it special, as well.” 

“How much are you asking for it?”

“Not a thing. Only the promise that you keep it, and use it as Helen had. That will become clear soon,” Genevieve said, closing the Black Box in Gabby’s hands. 

“Are you…sure about this? I really don’t mind paying you what it’s worth,” Gabby said, taken aback by the thought of having the Black Box for free.

“It is as Helen would want it. Please, on your way out, stop in the garden where her memorial stone is placed.” 

“I most certainly will do that. Thank you so much, Genevieve.” 

Gabby left the house, Black Box in her hands, and saw the memorial Genevieve had told her about. She stopped to read the words written in the stone. “Our Beloved Helen” was clearly visible. But then, something underneath appeared to be written backwards. 

“How strange. I wonder what that says…” Gabby whispered, as she traced her fingers over the cold stone. Then she realized something. 

“Wait! Maybe if I…” 

Gabby opened the Black Box, and used the mirror to read the cryptic writing. She saw in the mirror, “Our last secrets, secret no more.” 

What could that mean? 

As Gabby furrowed her brow in thought at this message, she heard something coming from the box. 

Quickly, she looked inside. Rather than the mirrored message, she now saw a face. It was the face of a woman who had a striking resemblance to Genevieve. Could this be, Helen?

“You’ve discovered the secret of the Black Box, Gabby. It’s a very special box indeed. It reveals the last thoughts, the last words, our loved ones wanted to share right before they left the world. To use the box, simply allow the mirror to reflect their picture. They will appear, as I am now, and reveal the last thoughts they have for their loved ones. This box will help with healing after a loved one passes on, and Genevieve and I knew you were the one to have it. She will be gone soon too, and will join me. It’s now up to you to help others,” Helen said. 

“But, why me? Why did you choose me?” Gabby asked, not knowing if she was experiencing reality or a dream of some kind. 

“We’ve known you since you were a child. The mirror has let us see your life, just as you will see the life of the one who should inherit the Black Box next,” Helen gently said. 

“How will I know who needs my help? Who needs closure?”

“The mirror will show you that too. Once you see who is in the mirror, you will find them and ask for their loved one’s picture. Only you will be able to hear their last words. Then you must tell their loved ones,” Helen told her. 

“But what if they don’t believe me? What if they think I’m crazy?”

“Trust me, they won’t. This will be what they need, how they can move on. And they will only be thankful to you for giving them that gift. And now, take the Black Box and trust in yourself. Goodbye, Gabby.”

And with that, the box closed. 

Gabby sat staring at the box in her hands. Did that really just happen? She stood up, and tried to collect her thoughts. 

As she went back to her car, she saw a white light start to slip from the carving in the front of the box. Gabby opened the box, and saw an image in the mirror. It was not someone she recognized. Then, as if someone were writing on it, she saw the name “Charlie Gardener” appear below the image. 

This must be the first person she needs to find. Gabby closed the box. She started her car, and set out with her new responsibility. One that she felt honored to now possess. 

Gabby paused on Orchard Road, typed “Charlie Gardener” into her phone, and found an address. Placing her hand atop the Black Box, she drove to the main road. 

It was time.