My arrest of attention upon movement upstairs was abruptly diverted by the slamming shut of the huge entry door, that accomplished with a huge sucking sound and consequent evacuation of a heavy, fetid atmosphere. More unsettled by my own annoyance at the rude interruption of the unfolding of delicious terror than I was by actual fright, I spun round and stopped dead, face-to-face with a most unexpected sight ...
What could have been only a hasty delivery by an unseen courier - so much of my account seems fraught with the unknowable, the invisible - was my scarcely determined assessment of a large wooden container's sudden arrival, landed squarely at the entrance. I saw the downward, lazy swirl of dust coming to rest whence it came, having been excited and cast upward from the box's crash to the floor's thick cushion of dust. My approach toward the mysterious carton was, needless to say, accomplished with the utmost caution, and not a little trepidation as my thoughts cast backward to the tale of Pandora. However dim the light stealing through the long unwashed glass proved to be, I was, nevertheless, able to read the name of the addressee ... Elizabeth Vincent, my long-departed mother. Any vestige of fear clutching at my heart gave way to an insatiable curiosity to discover what ill lay in wait for me from within the steep, rectangular walls of pine. In my mother's stead, I deemed it entirely suitable to take possession of her property.
Locating a crowbar amongst a heap of tools and diverse household paraphernalia in the kitchen, I hastened back to the box and began unfastening the several nails holding the broad lid in place. After a number of unsuccessful attempts to slide the tapered end of the bar between the tight seam between cover and box, I finally penetrated the seeming hermetic seal that, ironically, appeared to wish absolute denial of entry therein. The usual loud and protracted squawk of nails letting go their tenacious hold on wood did not disappoint for all its raucous clamor.
I worked my way around the carton - some three-foot-square was the lid - and at last had released each nail's fast hold to the box proper and set to pull off and lower the lid to the floor. Though I had figured the box to be pine for its light coloring and presence of characteristic knots, yet the top was exceedingly heavy. I managed it down by tugging at one corner, drawing it bit-by-bit toward me, then, likewise, the opposing end.
As I let out a sigh of relief over the unusual expenditure of time and effort, I let the lid drop, barely missing my feet.
