The Box - Face 2

[Paradox 99]

As you may have gathered from the title, I'm going to attempt to wrap this short story up in 6 "faces" making up "The Box".

Anyways, on to face 2 - Any kind of critiquing will, as always, be very much appreciated.

Face 2

It was black, apparently seamless and the size of a portable TV. The boy knelt down and picked it up, and I remember being surprised at how light it looked, which is ironic considering what I now know it contains. He held it close to his chest as he made slow cautious steps toward me, a hint of suspicion showing in his dark eyes. I decided not to offer to carry it for him.

'What's your name?' I asked again as I held the door open.

'Theo,' he said quietly.

He stepped through the door, out of the rain. I followed him along the corridor and watched him enter my world.

'And where do you live, Theo?' I asked, closing the door behind me.

Theo glanced around my workshop, apparently more interested in finding a clear space to put his box than answering my question. I said nothing as he casually brushed a pile of circuit boards and notepads onto the floor, clearing a space. He set the box on the bench.

It was then that I first had an inkling that something was not quite right about this boy. When I saw him standing alone in the alley, I sensed the same thing, but assumed that my feelings of trepidation were created by the drama of the situation. After all, it's not every day you see a small boy being chased by a gang of youths that mysteriously disappear when you run to help.

But no, something about Theo was wrong. If anyone else had thrown my work on the floor like that, especially a child, I would never have tolerated it. Boys at that age, unless I'm mistaken, often have little regard for the affairs of adults - they're more interested in playing war or some other pointless venture. Don't misunderstand me - I used to like children. If my business were not so important, I would have had a family - I'm sure.

But I digress. I didn't say anything to Theo about his inconsiderate attitude towards my work because, I have to admit, I was afraid of him. At the time I didn't know why I felt that way, but as he turned to look at me again, the realisation of my fear became far more pronounced.

'You fix things,' he said.

Again I found myself transfixed by those dark eyes. I was looking at a young boy, but something in his gaze told me I was talking to someone or something far removed from an innocent youth.

'Uh... Yes,' I stammered.

'Can you fix that?' Theo said, nodding at the box.

I glanced at the sleek black cube and before me was yet another pivotal moment. I had no idea how important my response was going to be and I despair now at how flippantly I answered him.

'Sure, Theo, but first I really need to call your parents. What's their phone number?'

Theo's nose wrinkled, as he looked at his box, his frustration evident at my attempt to change the subject. I felt a tingle of fear when I saw that expression.

'I don't have any parents.'

I stared at him, completely stumped by his answer. If he was unwilling to tell me where he lived or who his parents were, my only other option was to call the police again. I considered a moment longer as I watched him. A small puddle was gathering around his feet and thin tendrils of blood mingled into the water. Whether I contacted the police or not, I had to at least dry him off and do what I could about the cut on his head.

'Wait there, Theo. I'm just going to get a towel.'

He said nothing as I went to the washroom to my right. I opened the medicine cabinet, found the first-aid kit, grabbed a towel and stepped back into my workshop. I had spent literally fifteen seconds out of the boy's sight - fleeting moments, but when I returned, he had gone!

I called his name only once. Somehow, I was sure that he hadn't run from the workshop and he wasn't hiding. Instinctively, I knew he had simply vanished, just like the youths that had chased him.

It was then that I began to shiver. It was the cold shuddering of a man suddenly stripped naked before the altar of supernatural reality. Had I seen a ghost? Surely not - the boy seemed too real to be a phantom or a hallucination. Perhaps I was going insane? How would I know? Though I did not believe it, I began to convince myself that I had experienced a paranoid episode, a temporary glitch in my perception of events around me brought on by overwork and the lateness of the hour. In a few minutes, I may have been able to accept that idea were it not for one thing - the box. My eyes settled on the black mystery still occupying my workbench and my hopes of returning to normality were shattered.

I stared at it, feeling the inexorable urge to prise it open and discover its contents, yet wanting so desperately to deny its existence at the same time. I felt like a man driving slowly past a horrific car accident hoping for a brief glimpse of raw carnage and then hating myself for having such evil thoughts.

Holding my breath as if in anticipation of exposing some kind of demonic jack-in-the-box, I put the towel and first-aid kit aside and stepped slowly and silently to my workbench, facing the box.

I touched it.

It was neither cold nor hot, simply room temperature. There were no obvious markings. No engravings, nothing embossed and not even the slightest change in coloration - it was a pure and perfect pitch black. Cautiously I placed my hands around the two top corners farthest from me and gently tested its weight. It was like lifting a cube made of paper, yet it was perfectly rigid, resisting my palms as I squeezed it. Again, the ugly thrill of fear reasserted itself as I grappled with the revelation that this thing, whatever it was, defied natural law. Daring to challenge my beliefs further, I lifted it from the bench and turned it around in my hands not realising that my next action would bring me dangerously close to a gibbering wreck.

I shook it. Not hard, but enough to hear if anything would rattle within. The result caused me to drop the box in a wave of delirium and nausea. I heard nothing as I shook the box, but instantly, I felt an uncanny wave of disorientation wash over me. As if I had been in an elevator on the hundredth floor that had had its cable severed, I felt the floor rushing towards me in a blur of confusion. My head cracked on the concrete and I remember the sharp taste of vomit in my mouth before passing out. Little did I know it then, but that would be the last time my mind would know any kind of peace.

Face 3 coming soon...

[dustinzgirl]

On first glance---lovely, dark, creepy and imaginative...but this paragraph strikes me as needing, well, help:

"It was then that I began to shiver. ...My eyes settled on the black mystery still occupying my workbench and my hopes of returning to normality were shattered."

I think if you broke this down into interior monologue, it would be much easier to read. I just can't reconcile this entire paragraph with the rest of the imagery, for some reason. Maybe the words are too big (LOL)

Aslo, so many paragraphs start with: I, It, And, But.....Try just removing those words and starting the paragraph "short" if you know what I mean.

Example:

" It was then that I first had an inkling that something was not quite right about this boy"

Could easily be: A first inkling came to me. Something was not quite right about this boy.

And:
" But no, something about Theo was wrong. " Could be more forced by: No, something about Theo was wrong.

Since we already know you are contridicting the image of Theo, the but is really unecessary.

And:

"I touched it.

It was neither cold nor hot, simply room temperature." Could be:

I touched it.

Neither cold nor hot, simply room temperature.

I think that would work since you already established "it" as being an "it" But I am not sure how it would work in a literary sense.

[Paradox 99]

Thanks Dustinzgirl. That all strikes me as excellent advice.
"The Box" is my first attempt at First person, so this is very useful feedback.
I had seen elsewhere that first person POV does often drag the inexperienced writer into the "I" and "it" overuse trap.

I'll check through it again with this in mind and get my editing fingers working.

[Teresa Edgerton]

I agree with what dustinzgirl said, both the praise and the criticism.

But I think the first person viewpoint needs a little work. There's a little too much back and forth between what the boy does and how the narrator reacts. For instance:

Theo glanced around my workshop, apparently more interested in finding a clear space to put his box than answering my question. I said nothing as he casually brushed a pile of circuit boards and notepads onto the floor, clearing a space. He set the box on the bench.

It was then that I first had an inkling that something was not quite right about this boy.

It might go a little smoother if you changed it to:

Theo glanced around the workshop, apparently more interested in finding a clear space to put his box than answering my question. He brushed a pile of circuit boards and notepads onto the floor, and set the box on the bench. It was then that I had my first inkling ...

Although perhaps that last sentence could be changed as well. You may be overdoing the foreshadowing a little too much, and the narrator may be doing a little too much "mind-reading" when it comes to the boy's intentions. It's as if you are giving the reader continual reminders that the narrator is looking backward in hindsight, rather than bringing the readers into the time frame of the story to experience it along with him, the same way he experienced it the first time. So it's a little distancing.

[Brown Rat]

I agree with Teresa and Dustinzgrl's comments. There is an excess of "mind reading" and foreshadowing, which makes it harder for me to track the narrator's feelings.

His feelings at any given moment seem more inconsistent than you probably intend. For example, he even though "something in his gaze" tells the narrator that he is "talking to someone or something far removed from an innocent youth," he still asks about the boy's parents. The former makes me scared, the latter undermines my fear.

Another example: "It was then that I first had an inkling that something was not quite right about this boy. When I saw him standing alone in the alley, I sensed the same thing [ . . . ]" --which undermines the previous fear and the current fear, because they're redundant moments. Then you finish the sentence by backing even further away from the immediate moment: "[ . . . ] but assumed that my feelings of trepidation were created by the drama of the situation."

That said, I'm still curious about the box. In fact, I entirely get why this guy, whose life has been devoted to tinkering, and who was leary enough of the box not to even offer to carry it earlier in the scene, now finds that his fears can't prevent him from the irresistable temptation of touching the box. (I think it's cool that you've added this second cause to his downfall: the first scene showed him getting atypically involved with people; this scene shows him falling back on his lifelong habit of tinkering with gadgets.)

And I like that you're got six faces, for the six faces that a box has.

[Oxman]

"Theo glanced around my workshop, apparently more interested in finding a clear space to put his box than answering my question. I said nothing as he casually brushed a pile of circuit boards and notepads onto the floor, clearing a space. He set the box on the bench."

I'd like more to be made of the circuit boards hitting the floor. It's almost an aside and, while I'm sure the boy and his box would be fascinating, wouldn't the clattering sound break the awkward silence or shock the storyteller while he is distracted?

"It was then that I first had an inkling that something was not quite right about this boy."

As others have mentioned, the inkling was there in the first part. Perhaps "Again, I had an inkling/got the impression that something was wrong..."?

"But no, something about Theo was wrong. If anyone else had thrown my work on the floor like that, especially a child, I would never have tolerated it."

I'm not so sure. This is a person who isolates himself from society, working alone and was reluctant and scared to intervene when it appeared the boy was going to be attacked, helplessly outnumbered. Only honourable intentions forced the protagonist act then. I get the impression he's had bullies of various types shove his belongings on the floor all his life. I doubt he'd say anything then, would he even say anything now? - Just an opinion, but it's the picture I get of the main character.

"I used to like children. If my business were not so important, I would have had a family - I'm sure."

Is this the character trying to convince himself? It seems that way to me.

"He said nothing as I went to the washroom to my right. I opened the medicine cabinet, found the first-aid kit, grabbed a towel and stepped back into my workshop. I had spent literally fifteen seconds out of the boy's sight - fleeting moments, but when I returned, he had gone!"

Has the water/blood gone from the floor too? Are there footprints away from the box and to the door, or is it inexplicable where he's gone? Or is the floor so sodden that any possible footprints can't be made out? I want to know!

"I called his name only once. Somehow, I was sure that he hadn't run from the workshop and he wasn't hiding. Instinctively, I knew he had simply vanished, just like the youths that had chased him."

It's too convienient to not mention the wet floor. After all, that's what drew his attention to the fact he had to fetch a towel. Is there any blood elsewhere on the floor?


"simply room temperature."

I'd lose this. It slackens the pace for me.

"turned it around in my hands not realising that my next action"

I'd put a comma after "hands".

"My head cracked on the"

Wet?/Inexplicably dry? (Sorry, I know, I'm like a dog with a bone on this one...)

"concrete"


Overall, i think this is very good. Not quite as good as face 1 (great idea there by the way), but then again, I really liked that part. It's still gripping, and contrary to what a lot of people here say, I actually like the regular foreshadowing. It keeps the pattern from the first paragraph of face 1. Maybe cut down a little bit, but I'm anticipating what could be so deliciously ominous!

Great stuff! Keep it up!

[Paradox 99]

Chronies really are the greatest.
You've all given me some brilliant advice - plenty to justify a rewrite of this part and ammunition to improve the next bits. I won't post the rewrite here (unless anyone is desparate to see it), but hopefully you'll notice a difference in the following "faces".

It seems the most popular observation is that of the First Person POV I've adopted. For that you can blame H.P.Lovecraft entirely (which also explains the similarity to Poe that was mentioned).
I recently read "At the mountains of Madness" in which he continually used this tactic of taking the reader out of current events to tell them just how terrible the climax was going to be. Whilst I found it infuriating to read (because he took so long to get to the point) I also found that my sense of trepidation and suspense was sharpened quite a bit.
Inspired by that particular style, I've tried to do the same thing and overdone it a bit.

Originally Posted by Oxman

"I used to like children. If my business were not so important, I would have had a family - I'm sure."

Is this the character trying to convince himself? It seems that way to me.

I'm really pleased that this stood out to you Oxman. BrownRat hinted at something similar too.
Yes, he is trying to convince himself. Something that's going to be pivotal to the ending is the idea that he's a very antisocial person but with the paradox of high moral standards - he just doesn't really know how to relate to people. Throughout this story, you'll see comments like "Don't get me wrong" and "Don't misunderstand me" straight after he's mentioned something that the reader is supposed to dislike.
Hopefully it should set things up for an uncomfortable ending.

p.s. The water and blood has disappeared with the boy. Truth is, I hadn't thought about that aspect and decided on that just now.

[SJAB]

As promised. And as always just my opinion.

It was black, apparently seamless and the size of a portable TV.

Hmmm... How big a portable TV?? They can go from something not much bigger tham a palm pilot to a 14 inch screen... Maybe give a bit more size wise as you have the boy picking it up. He didn't stretch his arms or anything, and hugged it to his chest. So I get the impression it's small, but later it sounds larger in your description.

'What's your name?' I asked again as I held the door open.

Comma after again.

He stepped through the door, out of the rain. I followed him along the corridor and watched him enter my world.

Don't think "and watched him enter my world" is needed, as it is plain he has done that by going inside.

Theo glanced around my workshop, apparently more interested in finding a clear space to put his box than answering my question. I said nothing as he casually brushed a pile of circuit boards and notepads onto the floor, clearing a space. He set the box on the bench.

This relates to the size of the box, if quite big how did he brush the items of the table, was it a struggle for him to keep hold of the box. You get my meaning???

It was then that I first had an inkling that something was not quite right about this boy. When I saw him standing alone in the alley, I sensed the same thing, but assumed that my feelings of trepidation were created by the drama of the situation. After all, it's not every day you see a small boy being chased by a gang of youths that mysteriously disappear when you run to help.

Errr the first sentence says that was his first inking that something was not quite right with the boy, yet the rest said he felt the same when he saw the lad in the alley. So it is either/ or, not both???

But no, something about Theo was wrong.

repeat of something being wrong.

If anyone else had thrown my work on the floor like that, especially a child, I would never have tolerated it. Boys at that age, unless I'm mistaken, often have little regard for the affairs of adults - they're more interested in playing war or some other pointless venture. Don't misunderstand me - I used to like children. If my business were not so important, I would have had a family - I'm sure.

This paragraph doesn't quite make sense, not sure why, but it seems to ramble.

But I digress. I didn't say anything to Theo about his inconsiderate attitude towards my work because, I have to admit, I was afraid of him. At the time I didn't know why I felt that way, but as he turned to look at me again, the realisation of my fear became far more pronounced.

Going totally into passive past tense here and it is taking the tension out of the scene.

Again I found myself transfixed by those dark eyes. I was looking at a young boy, but something in his gaze told me I was talking to someone or something far removed from an innocent youth.

'Uh... Yes,' I stammered.

'Can you fix that?' Theo said, nodding at the box.

This bit works well, increasing the tension, which is again lost in the passive voice which follows. Think you need to have me tell it as it is happening not reflecting on it, it takes you a step back from the action.

I glanced at the sleek black cube and before me was yet another pivotal moment. I had no idea how important my response was going to be and I despair now at how flippantly I answered him.

I stared at him, completely stumped by his answer. If he was unwilling to tell me where he lived or who his parents were, my only other option was to call the police again.

errr he never called the police so he can't "again"

I considered a moment longer as I watched him. A small puddle was gathering around his feet and thin tendrils of blood mingled into the water. Whether I contacted the police or not, I had to at least dry him off and do what I could about the cut on his head.

'Wait there, Theo. I'm just going to get a towel.'

He said nothing as I went to the washroom to my right. I opened the medicine cabinet, found the first-aid kit, grabbed a towel and stepped back into my workshop. I had spent literally fifteen seconds out of the boy's sight - fleeting moments, but when I returned, he had gone!

This bit good, but suggest either the fifteen seconds or the fleeting moments not both.

I called his name only once. Somehow, I was sure that he hadn't run from the workshop and he wasn't hiding. Instinctively, I knew he had simply vanished, just like the youths that had chased him.

This paragrqph is muddled.

It was then that I began to shiver. It was the cold shuddering of a man suddenly stripped naked before the altar of supernatural reality. Had I seen a ghost? Surely not - the boy seemed too real to be a phantom or a hallucination. Perhaps I was going insane? How would I know? Though I did not believe it, I began to convince myself that I had experienced a paranoid episode, a temporary glitch in my perception of events around me brought on by overwork and the lateness of the hour. In a few minutes, I may have been able to accept that idea were it not for one thing - the box. My eyes settled on the black mystery still occupying my workbench and my hopes of returning to normality were shattered.

Good.....bit.... as is the bit below. Good images

I stared at it, feeling the inexorable urge to prise it open and discover its contents, yet wanting so desperately to deny its existence at the same time. I felt like a man driving slowly past a horrific car accident hoping for a brief glimpse of raw carnage and then hating myself for having such evil thoughts.

Holding my breath as if in anticipation of exposing some kind of demonic jack-in-the-box, I put the towel and first-aid kit aside and stepped slowly and silently to my workbench, facing the box.

I touched it.

It was neither cold nor hot, simply room temperature. There were no obvious markings. No engravings, nothing embossed and not even the slightest change in coloration - it was a pure and perfect pitch black. Cautiously I placed my hands around the two top corners farthest from me and gently tested its weight. It was like lifting a cube made of paper, yet it was perfectly rigid, resisting my palms as I squeezed it. Again, the ugly thrill of fear reasserted itself as I grappled with the revelation that this thing, whatever it was, defied natural law. Daring to challenge my beliefs further, I lifted it from the bench and turned it around in my hands not realising that my next action would bring me dangerously close to a gibbering wreck.

I shook it. Not hard, but enough to hear if anything would rattle within. The result caused me to drop the box in a wave of delirium and nausea. I heard nothing as I shook the box, but instantly, I felt an uncanny wave of disorientation wash over me. As if I had been in an elevator on the hundredth floor that had had its cable severed, I felt the floor rushing towards me in a blur of confusion. My head cracked on the concrete and I remember the sharp taste of vomit in my mouth before passing out. Little did I know it then, but that would be the last time my mind would know any kind of peace.

This bit is good, (though I would remove the elevator sentence, I don't like it much, but that's a personal thing), save for the last sentence, again a bit too much fore shadowing