A Family Heirloom

It was the only thing that mattered to me. This box, covered in glittering jewels of captivating colors, held a family heirloom which was also one of the most powerful tools in existence. It had been passed down through generations, and each member of my family had guarded the secret of its location with their lives. They all possessed the restraint needed to guard such an item, our mission being to protect it, but never use it. I was the only one to let my family down.

I remember once, when I was a little boy, I caught a glimpse of the shimmering box in my mother’s closet. I asked her what it was, but she told me to put it out of my mind. Naturally, as children are wont to do, I ignored her warning.

I found my chance one Friday night. My mom was out with her friends, and my babysitter lay fast asleep on the couch. I snuck into my mother’s room as quietly as possible. Her closet door opened with a creak, and there it was, shimmering in the moonlight, tempting me toward its hidden mysteries.

Climbing up on the shelves, I pulled the box down. It was odd, but, regardless of where I moved in the dimly lit room, the box continued to glow as if some magical light source resided within. Eager to see what was inside, I attempted, with shaky hands, to pry open the lid, when—

“What do you think you’re doing?”

I looked up, frightened and embarrassed at being caught. My mom had come home early and found me here. She took the box from me and replaced it back on the highest shelf, covering it with a graying blanket. She made me promise to never go looking for the box again. Hearing the worry in her voice as she said this, I reluctantly agreed.

Years later, I’d finally been granted the honor of having this heirloom in my possession. Before she died, my mother told me that I was to let no harm come to what was inside and never let anyone possess the item under any circumstances. Most importantly of all, I was to never open the box.

Despite her warnings, I wasn’t worried. No harm seemed to come to my mom when she’d been in possession of the item, and I’d never heard any stories of my other relatives being in trouble either. So, I simply kept it safe, hidden away in the recesses of my home. I preferred my solitude, so there was never really any threat of anyone finding out about the item.

The only thing I had to worry about was myself. Even before I was aware of its immense power, I was drawn to this item. Every day, I had to remind myself of my mother’s warning that only disaster could come from releasing the power within the sealed vessel.

Still, some nights I would wander to its hiding place and gaze at the glittering stones that decorated the outside of the container. These nights, I’d have strange dreams about it calling to me. I wasn’t sure if I was the only one in my family to have these dreams. My mother and I never spoke much about the box, and when we did, it was brief. There was so much I should have asked her before she passed away, but time had been limited, and all thoughts other than her wellbeing had flown out of the window as soon as she’d gotten sick.

After her passing, I’d begun to hold the box whenever my grief started to overwhelm me. Somehow, it reminded me of her. If I closed my eyes while I held it, I could almost hear the faint whisper of a song she would sing to me when I was a child. It gave me more comfort than anything else in my life, and, though she warned me to keep it far away and out of sight, it was the only thing I could hold on to. It was what brought me closer to her even though she was gone.

In a night of restless slumber, I woke up to find a blinding light seeping through the floorboards. Prying one of them loose, I revealed the box, which was shaking and glowing more than it ever had before. Its warmth almost burned my hands as I picked it up, but still, I couldn’t let it go. Tonight was the anniversary of my mother’s death, and I needed something to focus on other than my sorrow.

Like all of those years ago, I attempted to pry open the lid with shaking hands. This time, there was no one to stop me, and I succeeded in my endeavor. I looked down at the item in awe. It was even more amazing than I could have ever imagined.

My reverie was cut short by a knock on the door. Startled, I quickly replaced the lid and shoved the box back into the floor. In my haste, the floor board was left haphazardly on the ground, barely covering the fading glow from below.

Opening the door, I greeted the three strangers. The two in the front explained to me that they were from the FBI and had arrived in lieu of some disturbances that had been called in from around the area. The woman who lingered behind them observed me and my home, never making a sound. All three were quite confident and allowed themselves into my home without question.

“Are you aware of the 17 lightning strikes that just occurred in your area?” one of the FBI agents asked. All three were looking around my apartment with interest.

“Um, no,” I replied, truthfully.

“And the swirling clouds in the sky, the colors? Some described it as resembling the auroras,” the other agent added.

“Did it? Well, no. I didn’t see that. It’s quite odd, though. Isn’t it?” I was never good with the authorities.

All three simply stared at me, and it was in that moment that I knew something was terribly wrong.

“Where is it?” the first agent asked.

“What?” I replied.

“Don’t play games. We know you have it,” the second agent added. She and her companions revealed what looked to be weapons resembling whips made out of lightning.

“You must be really stupid,” she remarked as she stalked toward me. “Your family has been protecting it for generations and, finally, you give us its exact location. Thanks for that, by the way. If I cared, my gratitude might make it difficult to kill you. Too bad; I don’t.”

I’d been slowly backing away all of this time, and at her words, I saw my moment. I sprinted toward my room, knowing that if I didn’t reach the box first, then they would.

I was there in seconds. Picking up the box, I noticed it had begun to glow brighter once more.

“Give it. We’re going to kill you either way,” the first agent demanded. All three reached my room just seconds after I’d fled.

My gaze flicked down to the box in my hands and back to my enemies who blocked my every chance of escape. I smiled, half-amused and half-delirious. Maybe my plan was crazy, but it was the only one I had.

“NO!” “DON’T!” the two “agents” said at the same time, but it was too late.

I grasped the glowing object in my hands, letting the box drop to the floor, and hoped that this would get me out of the mess I’d created for myself.

I screamed as a white-hot pain coursed through every fiber of my being. My senses raced into overdrive as a blinding light shut everything else from view, and I felt no more.

The fake FBI agents looked around at the shattered remains of the home. They alone were unharmed, having used their emergency shields in the blast. Their adversary was nowhere to be found, and all that was left of the treasure they so coveted was scattered bits of the box, which no longer shone with any power at all.