by Kris Shamloo
**
I could sense it. It sat on the edge of my mind. I had been shown a great clue into my ordeal. My eyes drifted to my distant invisible captor. I closed the journal and sighed. The dots didn't connect yet. I tucked the journal into my belt and looked again at the box.
I shelved the new information in my mind. It needed time to be understood. Is it a fable? Am I supposed to learn from it? Is it a warning? Thoughts about the true nature of the journal drifted quietly into my mind. I stared at the box. The thoughts drifted out.
The key is in the box. The key is in the box. The key is in the box. If it's in the box how the hell did the box get locked? I searched the rest of the circular courtyard. The sheet of snow hid a hard layer of dead grass and frozen earth. It might as well have been solid steel. I looked up at the box.
I know where the key is. I walked over to the box, only half sure if I should do what I was about to do. Why not? I picked it up, the wood felt thin. It smashed against the brick wall of the courtyard and fell to pieces in the snow.
Well the key certainly was in the box. The small brass key seemed so insignificant, why was it locked in the box? I put it in my pocket next to the weeping man. The inside of the shattered box was a thin layer of black velvet over unfinished wood. I peeled it back carefully, hoping for another clue. Nothing. There was something strange about the box. I had loosely reassembled it. It was missing something; I wasn't sure what it was.
The lid, there was something wrong with the lid. What the hell is it? I stared blankly at the lid; it had broken into two pieces. I looked at the side walls of the box; the back corner had taken most of the blow against the wall and was a splintered mess. The locking mechanism still looked intact, cocooned in a shell of wood.
Wait. Where is the latch for the lid? Where are the hinges? It was just another wall of the box, shaped like the lid. Well what's the lock and key for? Intrigued, I hastily dug for the key in my pocket. I inserted the key. With a mix of curiosity and trepidation I turned the lock.
Four metal leaves burst forth from the lock mechanism. The wood surrounding the lock flew off, the force threw the lock out of my hand into the snow. Stunned in surprise and disbelief I stared warily at the star shaped object. A second mechanical snap startled me. The leaves had unfolded a second time leaving four slender metal rods protruding downward from the lock. It sat there like a frozen metal insect.
I waited some time to make sure no more springs or switches triggered. I picked up the opened lock. My eyes jumped to the pedestal. The four rods lined up with the four holes of the pedestal perfectly. Before I lowered the lock-turned-key into the holes I gave it a quick once over.
The craftsmanship was admirably precise, each piece neatly folded into the preceding piece. I thought that if you could slow down the spring with some sort of gearing the unknown inventor could make the folding metal appear to bloom. That was strange thought. I firmly pressed the lock into the pedestal.
