The train rattled.

I left the station.

The air was cold.

Iron and coal.

I looked at my hands.

They were clean.

No blood.

Just frost.

I carried the box.

It was heavy.

Wood.

Old wood.

It smelled of rot.

And something sweet.

Candy.

Rotting candy.

My father’s smell.

I was a police officer.

A low one.

A clerk of sorts.

I worked for Mr. Vane.

Vane was big.

Vane was rich.

Vane was kind.

He said, "Good job, Thomas."

He meant it.

I thought.

He gave me the box.

He said, "Take it home."

He said, "Your mother will like it."

My mother was dead.

Ten years.

He knew this.

He smiled.

His teeth were white.

Too white.

Like bones.

Like stones.

I took the box.

I left his office.

The building was tall.

Glass and steel.

It hummed.

A low hum.

Like a bee.

Like a ghost.

The city was wet.

Rain on the cobblestones.

I walked.

My boots clicked.

Click. Click.

The box bumped against my hip.

It was warm.

It should not have been warm.

Wood does not get warm.

Unless something burns inside.

I did not look down.

I did not want to.

I remembered the night before.

The house.

My old house.

The walls were thin.

I heard Vane.

He was in my room.

He was sitting on my bed.

He was holding a knife.

He was smiling.

"Thomas," he said.

"Your mother is in the box."

I woke up.

Sweat.

Cold sweat.

I looked around.

Empty.

Just dust.

Just shadows.

I went back to work.

I shook.

Vane saw me.

He did not say anything.

He just looked.

His eyes were black.

Deep wells.

I drank the tea he gave me.

It tasted of metal.

I drank it all.

I was a fool.

I am a fool.

The box was heavier now.

Or I was weaker.

I reached my street.

The gas lamps were out.

Darkness.

Thick darkness.

I could hear my own heart.

Thump. Thump.

Like a hammer.

Like a drum.

I opened the door.

The key turned.

Clack.

The door was open.

It was never locked.

I stepped inside.

The dark was alive.

It breathed.

I felt eyes on me.

Many eyes.

In the corners.

In the shadows.

I went to the parlor.

I put the box on the table.

I did not open it.

I sat.

I waited.

The clock ticked.

Tick. Tick.

Too loud.

I closed my eyes.

I saw my mother.

She was young.

She was beautiful.

She was in the box.

She was looking at me.

She was not dead.

She was waiting.

For me to let her out.

Or for me to join her.

I opened my eyes.

The box was open.

I had not opened it.

The lid was on the floor.

Inside.

Empty.

Just dust.

And a letter.

A white envelope.

Wet with something.

Blood.

I picked it up.

My hands shook.

I broke the seal.

The paper was soft.

It smelled of lilies.

And rot.

I read it.

The words were mine.

My handwriting.

My slant.

My pressure.

It said:

You are the monster.

You are the beast.

You killed her.

You locked her away.

You forgot.

You always forget.

I dropped the paper.

It fell to the floor.

I stared at it.

I remembered.

The cellar.

The cold.

The struggle.

Her screams.

My hands around her throat.

Vane watching.

Vane smiling.

Vane helping.

We did it together.

We are family.

We are bound.

I felt sick.

My stomach turned.

I vomited.

On the floor.

On the paper.

I wiped my mouth.

I was not Thomas.

I was not a man.

I was a thing.

A tool.

Vane’s tool.

He had been there.

In the dark.

He had been in my head.

For years.

Since the burial.

Since the grave.

He was always there.

Whispering.

Guiding.

Feeding.

I looked at the box.

It was empty.

But it was not empty.

It was full.

Full of me.

Full of my sin.

Full of my shame.

I picked it up.

It was light now.

Feather light.

I carried it to the door.

I walked outside.

The rain had stopped.

The sky was clear.

Stars.

Bright stars.

They were watching.

They were judging.

I walked to the park.

The old park.

The one with the lake.

The water was black.

Still as death.

I stood by the edge.

I looked down.

I saw my face.

It was not my face.

It was Vane’s face.

His white teeth.

His black eyes.

I was him.

He was me.

We were one.

I laughed.

A dry laugh.

A crack.

I threw the box.

It hit the water.

Splashes.

Small ripples.

The box sank.

No sound.

Just silence.

I felt a pull.

In my chest.

A hook.

A chain.

It was tightening.

I could not breathe.

The air was thick.

The water called.

It sang.

A low song.

A lullaby.

My mother’s song.

I closed my eyes.

I let the chain pull.

I let the water take me.

I was not afraid.

I was tired.

I was done.

I sank.

The cold came.

The dark came.

The peace came.

I was home.

I was free.

Or so I thought.

I woke up.

In my bed.

The sheets were dry.

The sun was up.

The room was bright.

I was alone.

I was Thomas.

I was a man.

I remembered the lake.

I remembered the box.

I remembered the letter.

It was a dream.

A bad dream.

I sat up.

I looked around.

The room was normal.

Wood and paint.

Dust and light.

I went to the window.

The park was there.

The lake was there.

The water was calm.

Blue.

Beautiful.

I smiled.

I was free.

I got dressed.

I brushed my teeth.

I made coffee.

I drank it.

It tasted of metal.

I ignored it.

I went to work.

The train rattled.

The air was cold.

Iron and coal.

I looked at my hands.

They were clean.

No blood.

Just frost.

I did not carry a box.

My arms were empty.

I walked into the office.

The building was tall.

Glass and steel.

It hummed.

A low hum.

Like a bee.

Like a ghost.

Mr. Vane was there.

He was at his desk.

He was reading a paper.

He looked up.

He smiled.

His teeth were white.

Too white.

Like bones.

Like stones.

"Good morning, Thomas," he said.

His voice was soft.

Silky.

"Did you sleep well?"

I nodded.

"Yes, sir."

My voice was steady.

I was calm.

I was in control.

"Good," he said.

He leaned back.

"Take this to the basement."

He handed me a box.

Wood.

Old wood.

It smelled of rot.

And something sweet.

Candy.

Rotting candy.

My father’s smell.

I took the box.

My hands did not shake.

I did not look down.

I walked to the door.

"Where to, sir?" I asked.

He pointed.

Down.

The stairs.

The dark stairs.

I walked.

My boots clicked.

Click. Click.

The box bumped against my hip.

It was heavy.

It was warm.

I walked down.

The dark was alive.

It breathed.

I felt eyes on me.

Many eyes.

In the corners.

In the shadows.

I reached the basement.

The door was locked.

I had the key.

In my pocket.

I had not noticed.

I unlocked it.

Clack.

The door opened.

The dark was deep.

I stepped inside.

The room was empty.

Except for a table.

And a chair.

And a box.

On the table.

Identical to the one I carried.

I put my box down.

I looked at the other box.

It was open.

Inside.

Empty.

Just dust.

And a letter.

A white envelope.

Wet with something.

Blood.

I picked it up.

My hands shook.

I broke the seal.

The paper was soft.

It smelled of lilies.

And rot.

I read it.

The words were mine.

My handwriting.

My slant.

My pressure.

It said:

You are the monster.

You are the beast.

You killed her.

You locked her away.

You forgot.

You always forget.

I dropped the paper.

It fell to the floor.

I stared at it.

I remembered.

The cellar.

The cold.

The struggle.

Her screams.

My hands around her throat.

Vane watching.

Vane smiling.

Vane helping.

We did it together.

We are family.

We are bound.

I felt sick.

My stomach turned.

I vomited.

On the floor.

On the paper.

I wiped my mouth.

I was not Thomas.

I was not a man.

I was a thing.

A tool.

Vane’s tool.

He had been there.

In the dark.

He had been in my head.

For years.

Since the burial.

Since the grave.

He was always there.

Whispering.

Guiding.

Feeding.

I looked at the box.

It was empty.

But it was not empty.

It was full.

Full of me.

Full of my sin.

Full of my shame.

I picked it up.

It was light now.

Feather light.

I carried it to the door.

I walked outside.

The rain had stopped.

The sky was clear.

Stars.

Bright stars.

They were watching.

They were judging.

I walked to the park.

The old park.

The one with the lake.

The water was black.

Still as death.

I stood by the edge.

I looked down.

I saw my face.

It was not my face.

It was Vane’s face.

His white teeth.

His black eyes.

I was him.

He was me.

We were one.

I laughed.

A dry laugh.

A crack.

I threw the box.

It hit the water.

Splashes.

Small ripples.

The box sank.

No sound.

Just silence.

I felt a pull.

In my chest.

A hook.

A chain.

It was tightening.

I could not breathe.

The air was thick.

The water called.

It sang.

A low song.

A lullaby.

My mother’s song.

I closed my eyes.

I let the chain pull.

I let the water take me.

I was not afraid.

I was tired.

I was done.

I sank.

The cold came.

The dark came.

The peace came.

I was home.

I was free.

Or so I thought.

I woke up.

In my bed.

The sheets were dry.

The sun was up.

The room was bright.

I was alone.

I was Thomas.

I was a man.

I remembered the lake.

I remembered the box.

I remembered the letter.

It was a dream.

A bad dream.

I sat up.

I looked around.

The room was normal.

Wood and paint.

Dust and light.

I went to the window.

The park was there.

The lake was there.

The water was calm.

Blue.

Beautiful.

I smiled.

I was free.

I got dressed.

I brushed my teeth.

I made coffee.

I drank it.

It tasted of metal.

I ignored it.

I went to work.

The train rattled.

The air was cold.

Iron and coal.

I looked at my hands.

They were clean.

No blood.

Just frost.

I did not carry a box.

My arms were empty.

I walked into the office.

The building was tall.

Glass and steel.

It hummed.

A low hum.

Like a bee.

Like a ghost.

Mr. Vane was there.

He was at his desk.

He was reading a paper.

He looked up.

He smiled.

His teeth were white.

Too white.

Like bones.

Like stones.

"Good morning, Thomas," he said.

His voice was soft.

Silky.

"Did you sleep well?"

I nodded.

"Yes, sir."

My voice was steady.

I was calm.

I was in control.

"Good," he said.

He leaned back.

"Take this to the basement."

He handed me a box.

Wood.

Old wood.

It smelled of rot.

And something sweet.

Candy.

Rotting candy.

My father’s smell.

I took the box.

My hands did not shake.

I did not look down.

I walked to the door.

"Where to, sir?" I asked.

He pointed.

Down.

The stairs.

The dark stairs.

I walked.

My boots clicked.

Click. Click.

The box bumped against my hip.

It was heavy.

It was warm.

I walked down.

The dark was alive.

It breathed.

I felt eyes on me.

Many eyes.

In the corners.

In the shadows.

I reached the basement.

The door was locked.

I had the key.

In my pocket.

I had not noticed.

I unlocked it.

Clack.

The door opened.

The dark was deep.

I stepped inside.

The room was empty.

Except for a table.

And a chair.

And a box.

On the table.

Identical to the one I carried.

I put my box down.

I looked at the other box.

It was open.

Inside.

Empty.

Just dust.

And a letter.

A white envelope.

Wet with something.

Blood.

I picked it up.

My hands shook.

I broke the seal.

The paper was soft.

It smelled of lilies.

And rot.

I read it.

The words were mine.

My handwriting.

My slant.

My pressure.

It said:

You are the monster.

You are the beast.

You killed her.

You locked her away.

You forgot.

You always forget.

I dropped the paper.

It fell to the floor.

I stared at it.

I remembered.

The cellar.

The cold.

The struggle.

Her screams.

My hands around her throat.

Vane watching.

Vane smiling.

Vane helping.

We did it together.

We are family.

We are bound.

I felt sick.

My stomach turned.

I vomited.

On the floor.

On the paper.

I wiped my mouth.

I was not Thomas.

I was not a man.

I was a thing.

A tool.

Vane’s tool.

He had been there.

In the dark.

He had been in my head.

For years.

Since the burial.

Since the grave.

He was always there.

Whispering.

Guiding.

Feeding.

I looked at the box.

It was empty.

But it was not empty.

It was full.

Full of me.

Full of my sin.

Full of my shame.

I picked it up.

It was light now.

Feather light.

I carried it to the door.

I walked outside.

The rain had stopped.

The sky was clear.

Stars.

Bright stars.

They were watching.

They were judging.

I walked to the park.

The old park.

The one with the lake.

The water was black.

Still as death.

I stood by the edge.

I looked down.

I saw my face.

It was not my face.

It was Vane’s face.

His white teeth.

His black eyes.

I was him.

He was me.

We were one.

I laughed.

A dry laugh.

A crack.

I threw the box.

It hit the water.

Splashes.

Small ripples.

The box sank.

No sound.

Just silence.

I felt a pull.

In my chest.

A hook.

A chain.

It was tightening.

I could not breathe.

The air was thick.

The water called.

It sang.

A low song.

A lullaby.

My mother’s song.

I closed my eyes.

I let the chain pull.

I let the water take me.

I was not afraid.

I was tired.

I was done.

I sank.

The cold came.

The dark came.

The peace came.

I was home.

I was free.

Or so I thought.