Chapter 1: The Girl in the Box
01:13 am.
Two people with strange posture were walking down the alley. Between them was a huge, wooden box. Inside were flowers, chocolates and coffee beans. The box was tilted towards the person walking behind the other, the person walking ahead pushed it up. The wind was howling against the sky, ravens flapped their wings and fluttered against the branches, banging their heads in the dark and dropping dead, thunder clapped and lightning flashed, the rustle of the trees sounded like the cackling of the witches from old stories.
"Makanna Makanna Hoi~"
One of the people shouted, pushing the box up on the wrists because the hands were bruised.
"Makanna Makanna Hoi~" that one of the people continued, the branches shuddered.
"What does that mean?" the other one of the people asked, the box held properly in the hands.
"Makanna, Makanna, Come." came the response.
Lightning flashed again, like a flickering flashlight and pooled onto the faces of the two people. One of them was taller, slender wearing a black raincoat that smelled like fresh paint and alcohol, the other was smaller, with slender fingers and wearing a red raincoat, that also smelled like fresh paint and alcohol.
"What's a makanna?" The taller, slender one asked.
"The animal witches' ride."
'When I was a kid, my mom used to tell me the story of the beggar witches.'
They followed a trail up the mountain, between the cackling trees, rustling bushes, the darkness followed after them like a humongous entity. The box they carried creaked, the nails holding it barely together, the wood plagued by termite and smelled like raw meat, the smell of it wafting everywhere on the wings of the wind.
'The beggar witches wander the villages past bedtime, howling in hunger and begging for food. They hold a bowl so large, one can't carry it on her own. The kids who don't go to sleep early, the witches would hear them and they'd knock at their doorsteps. Begging for food.'
They walked, and walked, and walked for a minute eternity, and came to a secluded spot surrounded by old, thick trunks of trees. The moon looked like a firefly from the little hole in the sky among the dark clouds and the green leaves of the old trees, the thunder flashed between the thick, old trees and the smaller person dropped the box onto the muddy ground. A loud thud was an echo for a moment, along with a soft moan.
"Mmmmmm!"
The taller, slender one dropped the other end of the box, another sound followed. He sighed, dusting off his hands and turned to look at the smaller one.
"Easy now, do you want to spell everything and ruin our date spot?" He scolded before his hand slipped under his raincoat and pulled out a hammer.
"Sorry, I was too tired of carrying around that thing." the smaller one replied, her eyes drifting towards the flashing sky.
The thunder flashed and revealed their identities, the taller, slender one being a man and the smaller one being a woman.
'My mom would say she'd send me to answer the door for the witches if I didn't sleep early. Even if I slept early, the beggar witches still came. They howled and scratched onto the door, but my mom never opened it. Because they knew I was awake, and I knew they would come for me.'
The light pooled on top of the wooden box, soft sounds continued to crawl out of it.
Scratching, Thumping. Moaning.
But they continued to walk up the rocky, wavering, eerily path through the trees and climbed up the mountainbeds.
"Have some respect for your friend, love. She came all the way up this mountain in a box for you!" The man said, hooking up the peen of the hammer into the nails, and slowly pulled them out. One by one, taking his time and humming a song.
"What song is that?" she asked, kneeling in front of the box.
Lightning flashed once again, he dropped the last nail onto the muddy ground and she picked it up, slipping it into the pocket of her raincoat then they grabbed the lid of the box and pushed it off.
"It's my howl. Like the howl of the beggar witches." He replied, with an eerily smile that his lips reached to his ears as the wooden slab fell onto the floor with a loud thud.
"Oh, she's awake." The woman said, her eyes dead like that of a fish as she stared at the girl crumpled up to fit into the box.
Her legs were bent under her bottom, her knees bruised and bloody, pressed into the wooden walls of the box, her eyes red and wide with horror at the realization that the face hovering above her as she miserably itched and ached within that tiny fit was the face that's never frowned at her even once. Her eyes brimmed with tears and she howled through the duct tape on her mouth.
"Ah. Look at that, she is crying. What do you think she is crying for, love?" The man asked, tapping his temple with the hammer leisurely as they observed the girl in the box.
Their insect in a dish.
"What else? She is afraid of not knowing what's going to happen to her. Her eyes are looking at me with hopes of a miracle that maybe her tears would tickle my humanity and I'll let her walk away. Isn't that right?" The woman said.
More tears streamed down the girl's bloody, bruised cheeks and dripped onto her dirty, soiled dress.
"Damn it. Stop crying. Remember what you said to me? When I was crying about failing my life? Crying won't solve anything. You must get up and start working on a change. Right? Listen to your own self now, stop crying and get up. Get to work, come on." The woman growled, grabbing the edges of the box and began to shake it violently. Her eyes wide and red, lacking any empathy. Like a dead person's eyes, empty and lost from the world.
The girl in the box cried more, her nose running and dripping along the tears down her chin, her wrists bent behind her back and under her weight were popping blue veins. Any more pressure and they would burst like a water hose, except letting out blood.
"Get to work, Tira." The woman said, her eyes straining in distress at the sight of the bruised face that she remembered bright, eyes that sparkled were brimmed with tears and the lips that smiled were dry.
Since when was she so inhuman? She didn't remember a moment of awakening, as it often happens in movies. That the protagonist or the antagonist experience pain beyond limits and grow numb to everything?
"Mmmmmm!"
"What? I can't hear you, come again?" she said, bringing her ear closer to the girl in the box. Her moans shook the thunder claps, and made their hearts tighten with an ugly feeling.
'Why do I still feel cold in my fingertips? Why are my hands still shaking? Why is my chest still full? Why is my heart throbbing?'
"Oh, yes. You can't talk with your mouth taped. Let me take that off you." She said, reaching for the blood soaked tape on the girl's mouth but he grabbed her wrist, their eyes met and the lightning flashed once again. The sky was screaming.
"What are you doing? She will scream if you take that off." He reminded.
In the back of her head, the thought had crawled, her senses had yelled and she had considered it yet her hands cold, trembling and desperate reached forward until he stopped her along with the beat of her heart.
'What am I doing? We will get caught if she screams. I will get caught if she screams.'
"Mmmhmmm! Mmmhmmm!" the muffled sounds continued with her struggle, her neck slowly tilting as her hair got caught up into the tough, scraped wooden wall.
"How does that feel? As small as compared to staring at the clouds in your feet at the hill station, right? Remember when you told me that?" The woman scoffed.
She continued to moan, her body shaking like a leaf in her struggle and she pushed her knees against the box, tilting her neck more and more and more... until
"Snap!" He said, grabbing her jaw roughly, his painted nails dug into the bruised skin, it contorted and reddened under his death like grip.
'Don't do that. Don't do that.' Her mind chanted.
"Don't do that? Don't do what, love? Don't do 'breaking her jaw and twisting her bones'? Why not? Look at this face! Isn't this the smile that haunted you every night you went to sleep? Isn't this the face that made you feel ugly every time you looked at yourself in the mirror? Isn't this the girl that reminds you how badly and how much you want in your life but you can't have any of that?"
Every word that escaped the man's mouth nailed a thousand memories in her heart, and her tears bled into her eyes, simply reminiscent of the sorrow she carried within her heart. A sorrow deep enough to numb out her humanity in every life, she thought.
Her eyes closed tightly and she thought of the venom that flowed through her veins when she had decided this to be the girl's fate. When she clenched her fingers tightly into her palm and the color changed, she realized it was only blood. The same as the one inside her veins and dripping down the bruised, beat up, twisted body housing that box.
"Look into my eyes, love."
Of all the moments she had spent with the girl, there were many more that made her feel good about herself. Maybe not as many as the ones that made her envy her, but there still were times when they had smiled together and talked about their favorite books, what they thought about when they couldn't sleep, how they endured the next day, everything that held them together and made them more human than they actually felt? One of those moments was certainly friendship.
"Love?"
Even if she held a thousand things to hate her, what made her heart tremble was only one.
'Something that you do and it makes you feel good about yourself for even a moment that could be your destiny. Your infinity in an instance.'
"Inji!"
The woman, Inji, jolted from her thoughts, his eyes wide and filled with rage, meeting hers.
"I must have spaced out... sorry, Mr. Gunn." She replied.
"If the butcher spaces out with a sharpened knife in his hand and an alive lamb under him, whatever cuts, his blood will spill. You know that, right?" The man, Mr. Gunn said.
She nodded. His analogy didn't make sense, but what about this night, this place, this world did?
"I know that."
"Okay, enough talking. Let's get to work, shall we?" He said, giving me a smile before pulling out gloves from under the raincoat.
He slipped them on and walked over to one of the tees, on the trunk of which was the latter 'T' carved. That was his love language, carving the initials of everything he hated, and she hated, where both of them and only them could see.
The brown layer of the wood was so fragile that a brush of one's nail would come off. Like the peels of vegetables, the tree was old enough.
Mr. Gunn kneeled down, and plunged his hands into the soil on the ground. The rain kept pattering on the surface, Inji inhaled its natural scent and felt at peace. Along with a faint note of her friend Tira's blood that wafted the air, she scrunched up her nose as her disgust spilled through.
"How deep for this?" He asked, digging into the mud like a desperate dog. After a couple shovels, his fingers touched the metallic handle of something and he pulled it out.
"Hmmm? Let's see..." Inji said, standing up and her eyes fixated onto the bruised face of the girl in the box as rain showered upon her pale, broken, twisted frame.
"How tall do you think she is?"
"I'm not sure. Maybe as tall as you. Why?"
"I want her buried as deep as the height she stood on."
'Just like how she towered upon me, the mud, grime, worms, and maggots would tower upon her. Just like that.'
"That's cruel, love."
"Do you need my help?" Inji added.
"No. What kind of gentleman would make their girl do the work on their date night?"
Mr. Gunn laughed.
Thunder clapped and lightning flashed.
The sky laughed too. At their mania or her misfortune? Only it knew.
'Love grows. From the branch, it becomes a bud, and blooms, like a flower. Hate grows too. From dislike, it becomes resentment and develops into murderous intent. Don't believe me, I wouldn't believe me either. But ask yourself honestly. Everything you've ever hated in your life, you must have thought at least once... if only it didn't exist.'
The rain continued to dance on the ground, the box was not above the ground anymore but under. The girl inside the box was screaming, the dampness of the soil was seeping into the box through the thinnest spaces between the wood held together, her fingernails scratched against the lid and screeched, along with ragged moans and heavy breaths that were merely a guest of time.
Under the ground was her struggle of life and death, and above the ground was simply rain, the wind, a bunch of roses, a box of chocolates and a cup of coffee.
'Do you know now, Tira, how my mediocre, middle class, miserable life felt? It was like I was caged in a wooden box that smelled like rotten meat, sounded like maggots crawling in and slithering along the red, decaying flesh, and slowly running out of breaths, while I scratched, pushed, pulled, struggled and called for help... but no one could hear me.'
"Do you think she would have forgiven me, if I had let her live?" She asked, her eyes staring at the ground below her, her heart was beating slowly in silence.
She didn't kill, neither did she torture her, she simply wished for it to be like that and it did.
'I am not happy. I am not sad. Even after erasing the reason for my misery, I still feel empty. Is that what I am?'
"What are you talking about?" Mr. Gunn asked.
"She is still alive. We could dig her up again and... and..." Inji said, her voice trembling.
"Dig her up again? Why would we, love? Humans act as you think they would act. Your instinct knows them better than your mind does. She would have run straight to the cops and told them about us, what we did with her."
"Maybe she wouldn't."
"Let me remind you something, love." He whispered, his voice a cold shudder against her cheeks as he leaned closer. His eyes mirrored her fear, that she didn't see but felt deep in her bones yet mistook it for sympathy.
"Even if it was your mother inside that box, she would have thrown you to the wolves. Did you forget what she did to you, love? Did you forget the beggar witches?"
The memories flashed through her mind, piercing through her chest like a dagger and she crumpled against him like paper, like a timid child, like a girl in the box.
When Inji wasn't a kid anymore, the beggar witches still came. Her mom made me open the door for them, and they dragged her into their large bowl and carried her to their lonely hut. Tearing away at her clothes, scratching at her flesh, they ate her heart. Every morning, they returned her to her mother and every night they'd come for her.
Eight years passed.
The beggar witches still came. Only they wore suits and dresses, carried bags and wore hats, and they howled from hunger after tearing away at her flesh. Every howl meant they needed more. More of her. Her mother poured her bit by bit into their large bowl, every day and every night.
Every night they ate her heart and every morning, she grew another one.
"Inji~" The beggar witches howled, begging for her name. Like a forbidden fruit, they have been addicted to her taste.
"Inji."
Like the fruit hanging from a tree, they'd claw at her, they'd throw rocks at her until she fell into their hands then they'd devour her whole. Every night. Her mother was the gardener, and she was her precious fruit that never ran out.
Until one night, Inji howled in hunger too. So she poured herself into the large bowl, and added a pinch of poison. The beggar witches came again, howled again, tore away at her skin again. Their throats burnt and they tore away at their skins once...
Twice...
Thrice...
They howled again.
"Inji?"
The solemn voice was louder than the rain falling on the ground, softening the soils and her concern for the worms, scorpions and snakes lessened. Softer the ground, sooner they'd reach the box and accompany their friend in the box.
"What lies at the end of consciousness, Inji?" Mr. Gunn asked, taking her hand into his, caressing her bruised fingertips, the chipped paint glistened like glitters every time the lightning flashed. He held her like she was made of glass, after burying a girl alive only minutes ago.
"Madness?" Inji replied, sucking in a harsh breath as she heard the moaning from under the ground, like a tremor that pierced through her heart were those vibrations under her. Like a disease, like a change of heart.
"Passion." He corrected her.
He brought both of her hands together, and held them, his eyes studying her bruises, the scars she had never noticed and he couldn't forget.
"The only difference between art and everything else is passion, my love. This isn't killing. You write their fates, and I bring it to them. We're writing the perfect story." Mr. Gunn said, looking into her eyes.
Her hands trembled as she fought back the guilt, like an impulse it always came at her, ate her away, and left her falling apart. But he would pick her up, and put her back together as many times as it took.
"Hate is also a passion, just like love is. If it ends in a couple lives lost, that's just the end result. Isn't that how everything else in this world is?"
The way he spoke made everything sound simple and possible. Her suppressed hate was his passion, he couldn't let it reduce to nothing or else all her suffering would be nothing.
"Don't worry, my love. Your hands tremble too much so I will never let you hold a knife. But you have to hold your tears. Will you be able to do it? We still have twelve more to go..."
"Twelve more days. Twelve more boxes, twelve more roses, twelve more cups of coffee. Sounds like a perfect date."
'A perfect date, a perfect ritual, to worship the devil inside us.'
Weekly Power Status
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