The Red Box

I wrote this story for a writing contest, it didn't win because I couldn't keep it within the 1200 word parameter without rushing the ending. So I'm sharing it with all of you. I hope you find it creepy and maybe a little scary. Enjoy lovelies.

I am a psychiatrist; I’ve seen many patients over the years, but none like the Jacobs family. I’ve changed their names for this record to keep their identities safe as well as patient confidentiality. Jacobs allowed me to record our sessions for documentation purposes. When they chose me for their case, I secretly researched the paranormal with my friend Clark.

He studied ghosts and hauntings in college; from there, he never got tired of it. We have our own team, I’m the skeptic, I’ve written many books about my experiences. Sometimes I am asked to investigate various places and write about them. Clark writes about them as well for a horror magazine; he’s a journalist.

I remember the phone call, Mrs. Jacobs, left with my secretary. Denise wanted to consult me about her sons, Anthony and Maxwell. Her husband Kristopher and she came into my office; he looked like he hadn’t slept in a long time. On the other hand, Denise looked terrified; her hair was a mess, and she kept shaking. I forgot that they wanted to speak to me about their sons, I immediately wanted to know how I could help them.

“What seems to be troubling you?”

Denise’s bottom lip quivered, “Oh, mister Stevens, I’m so glad you could see us.” Her husband cleared his throat.

“Umm, sweetie… I think it’s doctor Stevens, not mister.” He looked down, kind of embarrassed.

I chuckled, “Mister is fine; now, please continue.”

“Our boys; something isn’t right with them. I’m terrified of them; we don’t know where else to turn.”

I looked at her quizzically, “what seems to be the problem?”

Denise looked at her husband, and he grabbed her hand. They exchanged glances for a while as if they weren’t sure if they should tell me.

Denise looked at me with deep worry, causing her to appear much older than she was. “I doubt you’ll believe us, but my oldest, Anthony, is hearing things, becoming paranoid, and having insomnia.”

Kristopher interrupted, “whereas our youngest Max has become manipulative, violent, and isolated. He doesn’t like the typical favorite foods, and all he talks about is Breno.”

Denise shuddered, “not anymore, he doesn’t; I haven’t heard him mention Breno in awhile.”

I started to have my theories about the two boys, but I needed more information regarding the past.

“How long have these behavioral changes been going on for your two boys?”

“One month, we’re worried about them starting school in two months with their symptoms worsening.” Mr. Jacobs immediately answered without any thought.

“When did you first notice something was off?”

The couple exchanged glances and then turned their attention to me, “roughly three weeks after we returned from an auction.” Denise paused and looked at her hands.

“You see, Kristopher and I enjoy visiting auctions at least once or twice a year.”

My thoughts turned towards who was hosting the auction as well as the purpose.

“Do you know the reason behind the auction?” I felt it might be helpful to pinpoint what kinds of items were being sold.

“It was an antique shop called Old Finds New Treasures. The shop was owned by a couple who passed away.” Kristopher paused with a look of intent concentration. “I heard that the state got a hold of their assets since they didn’t have a will or any children.” Kristopher looked at me with speculation as to the point of the question.

I wondered whether they bought anything for their children that might have had something questionable that could be inducing these strange symptoms. “Did you pick anything up from the auction for your children?”

“We typically do buy things if we find anything that might be of interest. I won a vase which has beautiful images on it. Kristopher won a tribal mask; we picked up a flute with carvings on it for Anthony.” Denise repositioned herself in her seat. “There was a beautiful red jewelry box with etchings on the sides and front that I thought Max would like.”

“I wouldn’t call it a jewelry box; it was more like a box for rituals.”

I bent a little over my desk, afraid I misheard, “What do you mean? Can you elaborate for me?” I was intrigued by this mention of a box, especially with the term ritual.

Kristopher hesitated, then placed his hand on the back of his neck. “Well, it contained a dagger with a jewel on the top of the handle, a carved figure, a small clay vase, a tiny doll, a gemstone of some kind, and a bracelet made of blue stones.”

Nothing indicated a strange substance that could explain their children’s behaviors. I had a feeling there was a broader issue lingering under the surface that the parents weren’t aware of.

“Have either of them had any traumatic experiences recently?” Sometimes trauma can manifest itself with changes in personality and behaviors.

Denise appeared deep in thought, raising an eyebrow as she looked at nothing. “Not that I can think of. Wait,” the sudden realization appeared on her face, her eyes widened. She seemed younger for half a second before continuing, “Maxwell did hit his head pretty hard; we had to take him to the hospital. He needed stitches.”

“That’s right, Anthony said. Max fell down the stairs leading down from the top bunk and hit his head.”

“But Max explained that Anthony pushed him, causing him to fall into the ladder and hit his head. We couldn’t figure out who was telling the truth. You see, Anthony is only eight years old, and Max is sixteen. There’s no way Anthony could have pushed him with enough strength to cause him to lose his balance.” Denise defended her son; I could sense the urgency in her voice for me to believe her.

I felt I had enough backstory of the two boys to talk to them, but I needed to ensure there wasn’t anything else missing from their story. “Is there anything else I should know, or you think I should know?”

“Well, before the changes in their personalities, and this is going to sound nuts, but Anthony was having horrible nightmares. They didn’t seem normal for an eight-year-old to have; he was drawing weird pictures as well. I think you should talk to him about those.”

“Honey, don’t forget about his change in speech; he calls me father,” he turned and looked at his wife “and her mother. He pronounces everything out. Instead of TV, he would say television, and he’ll never say he wants to go to his room. It’s always his bedroom.”

I looked at him, puzzled by this information; it didn’t make sense. “That’s interesting, is there anything else?”

“Anthony is quick to anger, and when he does, his voice changes; it becomes more of a growl. Maxwell curses now and doesn’t sleep at night.”

Kristopher looked at his wife and gazes at me with a look of pity. “We thought it was from the concussion he had, but it kept getting worse. We’re terrified of what is going to happen when they return to school.”

I knew it was time to make an appointment with the boys; something wasn’t adding up or making any sense. Maxwell sounded like he was suffering from schizophrenia, while Anthony seemed to be suffering from antisocial personality disorder. I needed to pinpoint exactly what was causing these strange behaviors to occur.

“How about you bring your boys in to see me Friday morning? I want to see them separately before seeing them together. Do they get along at all?”

“Not anymore, they used to have their typical squabbles, but now Max avoids Anthony at all costs. If Anthony comes downstairs to watch TV, Max will go upstairs. Max seems to be isolating himself as well. He hasn’t spoken to his friends or even gone out; he’s been staying in the house.”

I could tell they were at their wit’s end and had no other options. “Do you know if either of them is self-harming?” I regretted asking the question when I saw Denise’s face go ashen.

“It’s funny that you ask,” Kristopher replied slowly, “three nights after the boys received their gifts, Denise here walked into our son’s room and saw Max with the dagger in the dark. It wasn’t normal; she screamed when she turned the lights on and saw blood on the blade. She said it was coming from his hand; blood droplets were falling onto the carpet.” He ran his hand through his hair as he shook his head.

I heard Denise gulp, “I swear there were cuts on his hand. However, when I got Kristopher, he looked at Max but didn’t see anything except a small scratch on one of his toes. Lately, we’ve been noticing strange marks on his body; that he couldn’t have made himself. We’re honestly not sure if he is hurting himself, Anthony though isn’t hurting himself. He’s too busy hurting everyone else around him.”

I looked at her curiously. I didn’t understand what she meant. I decided not to question it further. “Okay, I’ll take your case. Friday morning at nine, I’ll see them each for an hour. If you can’t have them back to back, I can see Anthony or Max later in the afternoon.”

They looked at each other quickly, “no, we can have them see you back to back. So will that be nine and ten in the morning or eight and nine?” Denise hurriedly asked.

“Nine and ten in the morning, I’m not open at eight in the morning. If anything arises where someone is hospitalized, call me or have the staff call me since your sons are my patients.” I handed them my card. I could tell they were seeking relief from their fears. They slowly left my office. Unfortunately, I have other patients to see; I couldn’t book their appointment for any other time.

Friday finally came; it was a dreary morning. As I walked through the doorway, the Jacobs was already waiting for me. My secretary usually is in the office early. I saw the family sitting in the waiting room; I took my things into my office and returned.

“Who wants to go first?” I asked with a smile since Anthony is a child.

“If it’s okay with brother, I’d be happy to go first.” The small child sitting next to Denise responded. He has a round face, his hair is slicked back and parted to the side. He reminded me of someone from the fifties. His outfit consisted of a button-down collared shirt with tan shorts.

The taller boy next to the one I know to be Anthony was quiet. His hood was up over his head; he was slouched in the chair with his head down. If I didn’t know better, I would have assumed he was asleep. His hands were in the pocket of his hoodie. I believed he was listening to music since wires snaked up and disappeared under the hood. Since Anthony did not hear a response from his brother, he jumped out of his seat and walked over to me.

I ushered him into my office and closed the door; he sat on the couch near my desk, and I pulled my chair out then took my seat. I grabbed my notepad to take notes. Sometimes I record my sessions, but for the first session, I like taking notes.

“How are you doing today, Anthony?”

“Good, what do we talk about, mister?” Anthony beamed at me from the couch.

Anything you want. We can talk about your favorite TV shows, video games, toys, friends, summer vacation, or Breno.” I looked at him as I mentioned the last part, hoping I sparked some kind of interest. His head seemed to have twitched at the mention of the name, and his expression changed almost instantly. He appeared angry or upset at the remark. I began to regret bringing it up.

“Where did you hear that name?” His voice seemed to break as he asked the question, though it was more like a whisper.

I rested my back against the chair and placed the notepad on my lap. I ignored Anthony’s question, and instead, I decided to focus on who the name belonged to. “What does the name mean to you?”

Anthony glared at me, and then his mouth twitched into a sinister smile. “You didn’t answer my question. Who told you about…” His voice seemed to trail off as a low growl began to emanate from his throat. The room started to feel extremely cold. I could see my breath decorate the air in front of me. Something wasn’t right; chills slowly found their way down my back. The hair on the back of my neck slowly stood on end.

I couldn’t understand what had me scared; he was only a little boy.

I took a sip of my coffee and took my pen; I started documenting the behavioral changes. “I heard about your friend. Would you care to tell me about him?”

Anthony’s eyes flashed a strange color, “what are you writing?” I was wondering if Anthony would bring it up. Some clients have a problem with me writing down our conversations.

“I like to take notes during my meetings to keep track of the important details of my conversations.”

He gave me a disbelieving look, and I hoped it wasn’t going to cause a problem. His face remained rageful; I’ve never been afraid of a child until that moment. Something in his eyes and expression told me I should be careful. I started to think he might have conduct disorder, but his symptoms haven’t been long enough to diagnose him with any ailment. A person must suffer from mental illness symptoms for at least three to six months before diagnosing them with a problem.

“I think we should talk about you, James.” I wasn’t surprised that he knew my first name; it’s on my desk. I had a plaque made because the patients of doctor Marie Sinclair were coming to me instead of her. We share the office; her office door is next to mine.

“That’s fair, we can talk about me. However, there are some personal questions I will not answer because I feel they are irrelevant to our meetings.” He seemed angered by this statement, but it’s something I tell all my clients.

“We talk about me, but I can’t learn about you?” He shouted as his hands clenched into tight fists, causing his knuckles to turn white.

I adjusted my glasses, “we talk about you so I can better assist you with any troubles you may be having. Whether these troubles are at school, with peers, or at home, I’m here to help you. This space is for you and is kept confidential between us.”

He let out a horrifying laugh, “I don’t have problems, unlike you.” I looked at him, confused; I wasn’t sure what he was talking about.

I quickly glanced at the time and realized we didn’t have much time left. “Before we wrap up today’s meeting, I have a small assignment for you. I want you to bring in your drawings and keep a dream journal. The journal is exactly as it sounds; it’s a place for you to record your dreams and nightmares. Every week I’d like you to bring it in and talk about any dreams you found significant.” Anthony quickly got up, chuckling to himself; he mumbled something before leaving my office. I walked over to his parents and explained the assignment I told Anthony about to ensure he did the task.

I stood in front of Max, waiting for him to stir; Anthony tapped his leg to get his attention. Max jumped in response as if someone had slapped him. He was startled at the sight of his brother in front of him. Max almost appeared scared for a moment. He looked up at me with his hood still over his head; I couldn’t make out any details about him. He slowly stood up and sluggishly walked into my office. Max took a seat in the chair across from my desk, his hands still in his sweatshirt. I could see them moving; I assumed to turn off his music.

I shut the door and pushed my chair so it was in front of him, to give him my full attention. As I took my seat, he removed his hood showing his haggard face. His hair was a mess, there were deep bags under his eyes. He appeared thin with alabaster skin; his hair almost seemed white in the light. His eyes were terribly bloodshot, making them look red. I noticed the room was much warmer since Anthony left. The ominous feeling withdrew with him, leaving me with many questions surrounding our meeting. I shook my head slightly and started a new sheet of paper for the meeting with Max. As Max took his hands out of his pocket, I noticed a bluestone bracelet on his wrist. I immediately thought back to his parent’s description of the items in the red box.

“Max, how are you doing today?”

He slouched in the chair and yawned, “tired.”

“Having trouble sleeping?”

“Yeah.” I felt like I wasn’t getting anywhere with the conversation. I tried to decide on a loaded question that may help improve the discussion from one-word answers.

“What do you think is causing you to have trouble sleeping? Stress,” I paused, hoping my next statement wouldn’t set him off. “Something else?” His mouth quirked sideways, his left eyebrow raised, indicating I wouldn’t believe him.

“You can tell me anything, even if it sounds crazy.” I tried to make him feel safe and secure in telling me things.

He looked down at his hands and shifted his feet. “I can’t sleep” he paused and slowly raises his gaze to meet mine. I leaned forward slightly to listen carefully to his explanation.

“I keep seeing shadows in my room and hearing strange noises.” Max stopped and looked around him as though he was ensuring no one else could hear him.

“What do these noises sound like?”

He shook his head, “you won’t believe me. My parents don’t even believe me, you’re a stranger. You’ll lock me up and throw away the key.” Max put his head down again.

“I’ve heard a lot of things from people, and I can assure you I’ve never thought they were crazy.” I lied; some things people have told me did sound insane.

“Fine. I hear knocking and scratching from various areas of my room. Sometimes it’s my closet door, and other times it’s my bedroom door. It seems as like knocking and scratching coming from inside the walls as if someone is trying to get out.” He stopped and gazed at me or past me.

“Lately, it’s gotten worse; I hear tapping outside my windows at all hours of the night. Every night it’s different, though; sometimes I’ll hear the knocking or the scratching; other nights, it’s all the noises at once.”

“Sounds exhausting. Have you been able to pinpoint what might be making the noises? Like a tree branch or something else?”

Max quickly shouted, “naw, you think I haven’t tried to logically explain this?”

I could tell he was getting angry with me, “okay, I’m not saying you haven’t. It was just a question. I’m sorry if I upset you; I was just curious. When did all of these noises start?”

Max’s face scrunched up in concentration, “umm, I think four days after I was released from the hospital. I know what your thinking, and no, it’s not from my concussion.” He explained, sounding annoyed.

“Can you tell me about the day you hit your head?” I wanted to hear the story directly from him since his parents came in after.

He sighed, “yeah, I guess. Anthony woke me up in the middle of the night; he whispered to someone or something; I couldn’t see in the room. It was too dark. I told him to go to bed when he got angry. Anthony yelled at me to leave him alone and to mind my own business. He never acted like this before. Something didn’t seem right, so I decided to try and confront him.” Max paused with a nervous look on his face as he started to shift in his seat.

“As my feet hit the floor, I tried to get him to return to bed and leave his friend Breno alone. This was the first time I heard about his imaginary friend. He never had one before, which I felt was odd because he never had an imaginary friend. That’s when he pushed me hard into the ladder of our bunk beds.” Max shuddered and quickly looked away from me.

“This mention of Breno, when exactly did it start?” I was intrigued now; he had my full attention.

“After my parents gave me this red box full of weird items.”

“Was it the same night you cut your foot or did it occur a few nights after?” I held my head in my hand in curiosity.

Max scrunched up his face again in thought, “it happened the night after I hurt my foot. That was an odd night too.”

I moved my hand back to the pad of paper to record the last part of our conversation. “Do you care to elaborate on that?”

“Umm…sure, I was in awe of this red box. I brought it upstairs and shut my door; for some reason, I didn’t feel like putting the lights on. I just wanted to be alone in the dark. However, something disturbed me as I put the box on my dresser. I can’t explain it, but a sense of dread overcame me as I started opening the drawers. I lined up all the items from the drawers, but this bracelet drew me in. I can’t explain it, but I had to put it on.”

“I somehow had the dagger in my hand; I just remember looking at it glint in the moonlight. When my mother walked in and turned the light on. I saw blood on my hand with weird symbols. My mother screamed and ran out of the room to get my dad. Everyone entered my room then, and I heard suicide. However, when my father was looking me over, he didn’t see the symbols, and they seemed to have disappeared.” Max immediately shook his head, and laughter burst from his mouth.

“Sounds crazy, I know, I can’t really explain it, and I probably was just in shock or something.” He said while averting eye contact and blushed with embarrassment.

“Max, could you draw me those symbols? I’d be interested to see them.” I was curious if they were something he made up or if they were real. If the symbols are real, I’ll have to see how he could have carved them into his hand.

“Sure, I can bring them in next time I see you.” Max scratched his head and fidgeted again in his seat.

“I’m going to give you something to help you sleep; it might do you some good. It’s Amitriptyline. It’s a medication for anxiety, but it is used for sleep as well. I have one last question for you before we close for the day. Can you tell me why you are afraid of your little brother?” I knew it probably wasn’t the time to ask the question, but his reaction to his brother seemed odd to me. He stayed away from him, and when his brother tapped him, it looked like he wanted to recoil from it.

Max looked at me full in the face with a shocked expression, his mouth quivered in fear. “I... I’m not afraid of him.” He stuttered, his hands shook in protest.

“It’s okay if you are. I’m just curious as to why your parents are.”

Max opened his mouth then closed it, “something’s different with him…”

“He doesn’t act like his usual annoying self. He was always happy, and clung to me wherever I went. Now it’s like walking on glass around him; you don’t know what you might say that will set him off. He gets violently angry if you say the wrong thing. He’s hurt my mother when he threw something at her. Dad has had to hold him to calm him down when he has his violent fits.”

I glanced at him, inquisitively, “can you elaborate on these fits?”

“Sure, one of them involved the TV. He wanted to watch his show and got upset when my mom turned it off. He threw the remote at her and flipped out. He wouldn’t stop cursing and throwing things. Dad had to hold him to calm him down, which wasn’t easy since he fought against it. Dad had bruises and cuts on him from the impacts.”

I took my notes, and I noticed we were five minutes before the end of our session. I repeated the assignment for Max to draw the symbols he carved into himself for our next meeting, which would be Friday mornings until school started. Max pulled his hood over his head and walked out of my office. I followed him into the waiting area.

“Mr. Jacobs, if this time works for you, I will see you next Friday morning. I gave your son tasks; make sure they complete them and bring them to me next week. I have prescribed Max something to help him sleep. It’s for anxiety with little side effects; here’s information about the medicine. If there are any problems with it or with your insurance. Let me know; there are a few other options we can go with.”

Kristopher took the prescription and the information pamphlet on Amitriptyline. “Thank you, doctor. I’m sorry my wife couldn’t be here, she runs the bakery in town. There was a large order for a birthday party and for a funeral. Is there anything we can try besides drugs? I’m not a huge fan of medicating my boys.” I smiled in understanding, I didn’t blame him, but sometimes medication can help.

“I understand your concerns; I just feel this is our best option right now with the current difficulties Max is having with sleep. He doesn’t need to be on the medication long term; this is just to see if it helps him start getting some sleep. If he no longer needs it, we can take him off of it.”

Kristopher shook my hand, “that’s more reasonable than if he had to be on it forever. I’ll be looking over the side effects and see if our insurance covers it. I’ll contact you if any problems occur.”

I nodded my head in response and turned to the two boys, “it was a pleasure meeting the two of you; I hope to see you again next week.” They left my office, and I turned to my next patient, who had entered as Jacobs exited. As the day wore on, I couldn’t help my thoughts returning to the Jacob boys. I couldn’t get over the terrible feeling I had while Anthony was in my office, how his personality completely changed. I couldn’t shake this feeling, I decided to call Clark to go out for drinks that night.

I entered the pub that Clark and I have been attending since college; the room was dark because of the low lighting. I looked around the room, trying to find Clark, when I spotted him sitting at the bar. He’s a big burly guy with a full beard and reddish-brown hair. His shirt sleeves were rolled up around his upper arms, his tattoos visible. I approached him and took the seat opposite him; the bartender asked me what I’d have. I ordered a scotch and looked down at the bar counter.

“Rough day?” Clark smiled as he took a sip of his beer.

I looked over at him as I slid my hand across the side of my face, “you could say that. I saw two new patients today, young boys.” I explained with a sigh as I took the scotch in front of me and downed it.

“Careful, don’t get drunk too quick. We haven’t even gotten our food yet.” Clark bellowed, clapping me on the back. I gave a small grin as I slid the glass toward the bartender. We ordered our usual nachos as our starter.

“You want to talk about it? I know you can’t discuss too much about the case because of confidentiality and ethics.”

“Let’s just say this is a case that seems different; I’m not sure how I can help them. The younger of the two’s personality did a three-sixty in less than a few days. It kind of reminds me of how The Exorcist started. The main girl started experiencing changes after using an Ouija board.” I chuckled at the memory and the absurdity of this being a possession case. We knew as psychiatrists that mental illness accounts for the possession cases from our education and scientific evidence.

“Sounds odd. Do you have anything to go on to explain the behavioral change? Maybe they just moved here, and he’s acting out, or he’s not getting enough attention.” Clark suggested, but the explanation didn’t match. I had my speculations regarding their diagnoses, but I just wasn’t sure.

“The only thing I can think of is conduct disorder for the youngest and early signs of schizophrenia. However, the diagnoses don’t really make sense either.” I stopped to think about what the Jacobs family had mentioned about the auction. I looked over at Clark with curiosity, “have you heard about an antique shop called Old Finds New Treasures?” I thought that maybe this store might have some answers.

Clark took a long drink from his beer, “yeah, it was in the news about a month or two ago. The couple committed suicide at the same time. It left everyone speculating the reasons behind it.” He paused and looked over at me with his hand on his chin. “What was weirder about it was how they committed suicide.”

I was confused; what would be so weird about that. People chose all kinds of methods to commit suicide, pills, rope, knives, guns, and other forms. “What happened?”

“It’s pretty gory; you got a stomach for it?” He chuckled, drinking the rest of his beer.

“Just tell me the damn details; it might be helpful.”

He shook his head, “alright, your funeral.” Clark grabbed some nachos and asked for a refill from the bartender. “The wife supposedly stabbed herself in the bathtub a few times before she passed out from either shock or loss of blood. Her husband slashed his wrists and then hung himself.” Clark looked at the counter.

I couldn’t believe what I had just heard. It didn’t make sense; it wasn’t like any suicide I had ever heard about or studied. “It was just overkill. It didn’t make sense to anyone who knew the couple. They seemed happy, their business was flourishing, and their daughter was pregnant.”

I looked at him shocked, the Jacobs said they didn’t have any children. “Wait, I thought the couple didn’t have any children. It’s why the state was auctioning off the items.”

Clark looked over at me slightly ashen, “their daughter died during childbirth at the exact same moment that they committed suicide. The child didn’t make it either, some type of complication. It’s what made it so weird. The police assumed they were murdered at first, but they found no evidence to support the idea.”

It was incredibly odd that the whole family died at the same time under unusual circumstances. I couldn’t figure out how it was all connected. I needed to see the symbols on Max’s box and the ones he claimed he carved into his hand. When Friday came, I can admit I was apprehensive about meeting with Anthony. I don’t know why, but I was worried about what our session would entail. I walked into the office to find the Jacob’s family already in the waiting room again. I walked Anthony into my office and took my position behind my desk. I leaned back in my chair, grabbed the pad of paper, and gazed at Anthony.

“How have you been doing since our last meeting?” Anthony didn’t appear any different from the last time we had spoken. He still seemed energetic and happy; I was worried about setting him off.

“I have been good sir; how have you been?” He looked up at me with a sinister grin. I couldn’t have seen that correctly; I was sure I had seen things.

“I’ve been good.” I was hoping he had done the assignment I had tasked him with. “So, Anthony, did you bring in your drawings and dream journal?”

Anthony shifted in his seat, clenched his hands together, and stared at the carpeted floor. “Yes, sir, they’re in this yellow folder. I can hand them to you if you want.”

I place the notepad onto my desk, “sure, that would be great.” He grabbed the yellow folder and put it on my desk. He walked back to his seat, and I opened the file; the journal was on the right-hand side pocket. The left-hand pocket held folded up papers. I took the pages out and arranged them out across my desk. There were four total; the first was a dark shadowy figure with extended arms with claws. The second was a picture of Anthony with Breno. However, it didn’t resemble a little boy like him. The third image showed Anthony and Breno, but with a speech bubble above Breno. It roughly read, can I come inside. The dialogue didn’t make sense because it depicted Anthony in what I assumed was his bedroom. The last drawing showed Breno and Anthony, but they are overlapping.

I looked up in Anthony’s direction; I could understand why his parents were concerned. The pictures were slightly disturbing, mostly how Breno is depicted. A dark shadowy figure with long arms and claws, frightening for a little boy. “Anthony, can you explain the drawings?”

Anthony met my gaze with a smile, “yes, I can explain them.” He got up from his seat and approached my desk. Anthony leaned over, looking at the images spread across my desk. “This one is me and Breno playing, the next one is Breno asking to come inside, the other one is Breno coming in, and the last picture is Breno,” Anthony explained matter-of-factly. I looked at the image of him and Breno in his bedroom.

I raised my eyebrow in confusion at his happy tone. “Anthony, why does your character in the image with you and Breno in your room look shocked or scared?” I turned my attention away from the drawings and focused on Anthony’s face. He appeared angry or upset, as though I had said something he didn’t approve of.

“I did not understand what Breno was asking. He also asked me that question many times before I finally allowed him inside.” Anthony smiled widely at this, and it made sense for his character to appear scared or shocked if you don’t understand the question being asked.

“Was Breno referring to entering your room?” It was the only logical explanation for the question being asked by Breno.

Anthony laughed hysterically at my question, “no, silly. He wanted me to welcome him inside my body.” His statement confused me, and I couldn’t understand what he meant by it. Anthony’s comment wasn’t a typical response a child typically gave about an imaginary friend.

“Can you tell me more about your relationship with Breno?” I had a bad feeling about asking the question, but I needed to know more.

“Like what we did or talked about?” He asked quizzically as he placed his hands on the desk.

“Yes, if that’s okay.”

“We played with my trucks and blocks. Although Breno asked me to cut my hand on the night, I allowed him to enter my body.” His parents never mentioned this information to me and caught me off guard.

My face scrunched up in confusion by this new information, “why did Breno want you to cut yourself?” This wasn’t normal behavior for a child with an imaginary friend.

“Breno said he needed blood to gain access to a person.” My thoughts went to Max when he mentioned cutting his hand. It bothered me because if both boys hurt themselves before the changes in their behavior meant something else was going on. I decided to do some research regarding the practice, but after I met with Max.

“I don’t want to talk anymore.” Anthony piped up amid my thoughts regarding the new information. I looked at the clock and saw that we only had eight minutes left; I felt it was okay to end a little early.

“That’s fine. Can you let your brother know he can come into my office next?” I didn’t look up from the images on my desk. I started to put them back into the folder when a piece of paper slid out. I unfolded the piece of paper to reveal a poorly written letter, and it was addressed to me. I started to read it when Max entered my office; I was startled by my door closing. I watched Max take his regular seat in the chair in front of my desk.

“How are you doing today, Max?” His hood was still up over his head, but he appeared to be looking straight at me.

He let out a deep sigh, “fine.”

“How have you been sleeping? Has the medication helped at all?”

Max slowly removed the hood from his head and leaned back in the chair. “I’ve been sleeping; let’s just put it that way.” I was hoping he would say more regarding what he meant by the statement, but we sat in silence.

“What do you mean?”

Max shook his head and ran his hand through his hair. “I’ve been having horrible nightmares.” That explained why he looked exhausted, with the heavy bags under his eyes.

“Can you explain these dreams?” I was hoping that it would help me gain more information to better assist him.

“Sure, most of the time, it’s either knocking or scratching on my bedroom window or my bedroom door. Same sounds I was hearing when I was awake.” The dream he described didn’t seem like a typical dream.

“Have you seen anyone attached to these noises in your dreams?” I have heard of people having dreams of creatures and another phenomenon in their nightmares, making odd noises.

Max yawned and rubbed his eye. “Last night, I had the same dream, and I saw some horrible creature tapping at my window. It had glowing yellow eyes and long hair; the figure looked female from their pale face.”

“Sounds terrifying. Has this figure spoke to you?” The figure Max described reminded me of Breno; I couldn’t understand why.

“Yeah,” he paused with a look of wonder on his face. “The woman asked me to let her inside my room. I didn’t let her inside my room; I woke up instead.”

His dream sounded a lot like the situation Anthony drew in his picture with Breno in his room. I knew I needed to do some research on beliefs revolving around blood and possession. If the boys stumbled across the information, they might believe in it. If they believe in it hard enough, it could account for them seeing and hearing things. Especially when Max received that red box from his parents with items that appeared to be ritualistic.

“Did you bring in the drawings of the symbols on your red box and the ones you mentioned you carved into your hand?” I was hoping he hadn’t forgotten because it would help me with my research. Part of me wanted Max to bring in a photo of all the items that came with the box.

Max reached his hands inside the pouch on the front of his sweatshirt. “Yeah, I took a photo of the red box. Dad told me to take a photo of all the items that were in the box too.” He paused, got up from his seat, and approached my desk. Reaching inside his sleeve, he removed the blue bracelet from around his wrist.

Max placed the bracelet onto my desk and returned to his seat. “What are you going to do with the photos and items?” Max asked as he settled into his chair.

“I’m going to research them; it might give some insight into your case so that I may better assist you and your brother. Did you bring in the drawings of the symbols as well?” I didn’t see them with the small stack of papers Max placed on my desk.

Max kept staring at the bracelet with perfect focus, “yeah, they’re in the pile I gave you.” Max refused to look up away from the bracelet. It was quite odd, and I couldn’t make sense of it. Part of me was about to give it back to him.

However, another strange part of me felt that it might do him some good to be away from it. “I made them bigger in hopes of helping you. I didn’t realize that some of the symbols are on the box.” Max kept rubbing his wrist where the bracelet was.

“Do you want the bracelet back?” I couldn’t help myself from asking; it seemed he couldn’t be without it.

His attention suddenly jumped to meet my gaze; he appeared much paler than usual.

“No, I don’t want it back.” He slightly shouted at me, then took a deep breath and exhaled. “I mean, if it helps with your research, you can have it.” Something appeared to be bothering him about the bracelet, but I decided not to approach it any further for now. He seemed very distressed about the bracelet, leaving me feeling it wasn’t a good time.

“Have there been any other incidents lately you would like to discuss?” I know his mother said he was seeing things and hearing things. I wanted to know if the medication I had placed him on was helping him.

“I’ve been losing track of days like I can’t remember how I ended up in another part of the house. I have trouble remembering what happened in different parts of the day.” He scratched his head and proceeded to try and fix his hair. “Could it be a side effect of the medication?”

I found it odd that he was having time gaps and not being able to remember things. “It’s not one of the side effects.” I saw him sigh in apparent disappointment.

“That doesn’t mean you aren’t experiencing one. Your body could also be adjusting to the new medication.” I hoped my explanation was enough for him. “Let’s give it a couple more weeks and see if the symptoms you’re experiencing go away.”

Max shifted in his seat. "Alright, sure.” He didn’t seem happy about my answer. I didn’t want to increase his dosage or put him on a different medication. Amitriptyline has fewer side effects than the other drugs I could have put him on.

“How have you and your brother been getting along?”

Max quickly raised his head to meet my gaze. “Same, he hasn’t changed. Anthony has been manipulating my parents more. Dad went to the store while mom was at the bakery, and I was in charge of him. He flipped out because I wouldn’t let him watch his show. Dad wanted Anthony to do some chores before he could watch TV.”

He started rubbing his arm, “Anthony went off, started throwing things. When that didn’t make me change my mind, he started hitting me and kicking me. He even bit me; I have the bite mark to prove it.” Max appeared terrified, and it didn’t seem like he was describing a typical episode of Anthony.

“While I was trying to fix myself up, he called mom, saying I was hurting him. I was in the bathroom bandaging my arm, so I didn’t hear the phone call or know what he was doing until I went downstairs.” Max shook his head in disbelief. “Anthony started hurting himself. I’ll admit I pushed him off of me to get him to stop biting me. I never hit him, though.”

For some reason, I believed him, “what did your mother do when she got home?”

“Well, mom was greeted by a bloody and scratched up Anthony at the door. At first, she thought Anthony was telling the truth; she started yelling at me until she saw my bloody sleeve with a tear in it.”

I was curious about how Anthony reacted to being punished if he was. “What did your mother do?”

“Mom asked if I was okay. At first, she thought I was bleeding because of Anthony’s nose. Until mom pulled my sleeve up and saw some blood dripping out from the bandage. When mom looked around the room and saw some of her antiques broken, she lost it. Mom started screaming at Anthony and asking him to clean up the mess. She explained that he needed to stop acting like this.”

“Sounds intense.”

“It was, I don’t know what has gotten into him. He attacked mom when she grounded him. When dad came home, he pulled Anthony off of mom and carried him upstairs to his room. It was scary when he was locked in his room. He was screaming in a horrible voice and kicking the door with such force that he broke it. Mom and dad don’t know what to do.” Max seemed unsettled by his recollection of the attack.

“When did this happen?” I was hoping it didn’t happen right after our session last week.

“Wednesday. Didn’t he talk to you about it?”

“He failed to mention it; we spoke about something else.” I felt I needed to see Anthony again sooner than next week. Something wasn’t right; everything seemed wrong about this case. My timer started beeping, letting me know that our time was up, snapping me from my thoughts.

“I’m sorry, it seems we are out of time. I’ll follow you out; I’d like to speak with your father about Anthony.” We walked into the waiting room, and I asked Kristopher to come into my office for a second. I mentioned the incident Max explained to me and asked if it was possible to see Anthony next Monday. My patient called me today, explaining they wouldn’t be able to make their appointment. It seemed perfect with the new information.

Kristopher agreed, and I gave Anthony a little extra homework. I wanted him to write down what makes him angry and ways he can handle his anger. I explained that the list was due by Monday for our session. When I returned to my office after seeing the Jacobs out, I noticed the bracelet was still on my desk. I shoved it into one of the drawers and shut it; I didn’t want a distraction for my other patients.

At the end of the day, I decided to stay late to look over the images and conduct research. I noticed the red box had symbols that seemed like triangles without a base. Instead, there was a swirl in the center of the triangle. One figure appeared to be a stick figure without legs but had horns, and its arm was bent awkwardly. Another symbol seemed to be a crescent moon, but with a strange attachment at the bottom. A serpent symbol was found with a barbed tip on the tail. A circle with a swirl inside was another symbol on the box, as well as an opened circle with a swirled tail. There was an odd X shaped symbol with forked tips and strange symbols inside it.

The symbols on the red box were the same images Max had carved into his hand. Except the stick-figure symbol was missing as well as the circle with the swirl inside it. I contacted Clark to look at the characters to see if he knew anything about it since he studied many ancient beliefs. While I was texting Clark and sending him an image of the red box, I swear I saw something. It seemed like someone was in the waiting room; my door was closed, and the waiting room lights were off. My office door is frosted glass allowing me to somewhat see into the waiting area. Everyone had left for the day, and I didn’t have any more patients; I was alone, or so I thought.

Clark wrote me back and said he would look into the symbols since I wasn’t finding anything. My girlfriend Felicia also contacted me that night; she was back in town from her trip to Italy. Felicia studies religions and writes for a magazine about various aspects of spiritual faiths. We were living together in my small ranch house. I grabbed the photos, and I was about to leave when I remembered the bracelet. I ran back inside and pulled it out of the drawer. After leaving the building, I drove home.

I was relieved to see Felicia’s car in the driveway and the lights already on in the house. I parked next to it, grabbed the items I received from Max, and went inside. I hung my keys on the rack next to the door and took my shoes off. Felicia couldn’t stand people wearing shoes around the house because dirt tends to get tracked in. I walked over the hardwood floors to the coffee table and put the items down along with the bracelet. I heard Felicia in the kitchen and the smells of something good coming from within.

The wafting fragrances of different flavors lead me to join her; as I neared the doorway, I noticed takeout bags. I sighed in disappointment; I was hoping for a taste of her cooking that I desperately missed. She was reaching in the cabinets getting plates; I just watched her silently from the doorway. It had been about eight months since I last saw her, too long, in my opinion. When Felicia went to take the contents out of the bag, she saw me and beamed. Her whole face lit up, and I couldn’t help but smile in response. The concerns of the previous events left me to take in her beauty. Felicia ran to me and wrapped her arms around me. We kissed, and I was lost in the sweet, tender moment. She broke the kiss after a few moments, still grinning.

“How have you been?” Felicia laughed and hugged me tighter. “I hope you don’t mind that I got take out on my way home. Your favorite Chinese restaurant is still Tai Li, right?” She let go and returned to getting the contents from the bags out and laying them on the counter.

I smirked at her, “yeah, it hasn’t changed. I’ve been busy, but how was your trip to Italy?” I walked over to her and helped her fill our plates with food.

“It was amazing; I wish you were there with me. It was a beautiful city, and I was able to interview some of the priests at the Vatican.” Felicia grabbed her plate and sat down at the small table against the wall near the doorway.

“That’s great, what was your article about again? I’m sorry I completely forgot.” I gave my most heartfelt apology as I joined her at the table with my plate of food.

She looked up at me with the biggest grin, “it’s okay; we haven’t been able to talk that much because of the time difference.” She takes a bite of the lo mein, swallows, and takes a sip of her red wine. “The article was about demons, which somehow changed to possession.”

I took a bite of an egg roll and drank from the bottle of beer. “That’s interesting.” She knew I was a skeptic, an unbeliever of anything supernatural, including higher beings.

Felicia tilted her head a little, “I know how you feel about religion and spiritual beliefs. I’ve always wondered what if, and I’ve learned a lot.” I suddenly thought about the red box and the symbols. Felicia had traveled a lot and studied many cultures as well as religious beliefs. She might be able to crack the characters on the box.

I was overtaken by the hope that I was speaking far too quickly, “Felicia, I think you need to look at the symbols of this red box. One of my patients, a teenage boy, received this box as a gift. I don’t know much about it, and I can’t seem to find any information about the symbols on it. There were a lot of things inside it, different pieces that the boy took photos of. I have one of the items on me if you need to look at one up close.” I didn’t slow down until Felicia broke my rant with laughter.

“Slow down; I didn’t get any of what you just said. What has you so excited about a box?” She took my hand, still giggling at my rambling.

“Sorry.” I blushed and started explaining it all again, slower to allow her to process it all. “The younger brother has been acting aggressive and manipulative ever since they received the box. It seems like it started with his imaginary friend. The older brother hasn’t been sleeping; he’s seeing and hearing things.” I finish the egg roll and my beer, then continue. “He’s having odd dreams about a woman asking him to let her in. It doesn’t make sense for their symptoms to have started after receiving this item.”

After we were both done eating, we entered the living room and sat down on the couch. Felicia immediately started looking at the photos of the box when her mouth widened. “Where did these boys get it from?”

“Their parents got it from an auction. A couple ran an antique shop and killed themselves; the state got involved since no will was found. Why?”

She let out a deep sigh, “these symbols are ritualistic; they are for shamans; no one is allowed to touch this except the shaman of the tribe.” Felicia stopped when she noticed the bracelet on the table. “Is that the bracelet from the box? Please tell me it isn’t.”

I thought she was overreacting, “why does it matter?”

Felicia glanced at me with ashen skin, “anyone who touches it is cursed. The symbols are from an ancient tribe in the Amazon. They often used symbols to protect their sacred artifacts because many adventurers would steal them to sell.”

I shook my head in disbelief, “isn’t it like the Egyptians, they did similarly, but most of the curses they found were coincidences.”

Felicia looked over the images before her again, “I just don’t feel right about this being in our house. The strange occurrences you mentioned surrounding this box makes me concerned.”

Part of me regretted bringing up my research with Felicia, but I couldn’t take it back. I decided to try and get her mind off of the red box. “Why don’t we forget about this for now? I’ll call Clark and have him take a look at it all." My arm wrapped around her waist as I pulled her to me. I kissed her passionately before leading her upstairs to our room. She laid down on the bed, her eyes glistening in the light. Laying next to her, I let my hands run across her body. I didn't want the moment to end. I took a deep breath taking in her scent. It was intoxicating. I sensuously removed her clothes. We made love that night; only something startled me from my deep sleep.

Sitting up in bed, I listened intently for a sound. I looked over for Felicia, but the bed was empty. Rushing out of the bedroom, I searched all over the house until I reached the living room. Turning the lights on, I noticed the bracelet was gone. A scream from the kitchen snapped me from my thoughts. Flicking on the lights, Felicia was standing near the back door, wearing the blue bathrobe I bought for her on our anniversary, her hand over her mouth. A loud bang echoed through the silent room. As I moved towards Felicia, something near the door caught my attention.

In the window next to the door was a face pressed up against the glass. The being was pure white with large black eyes and long black hair. Its hands were up against the glass when we heard. “Let me in.”

I didn’t believe what I was seeing; I wanted to prove that it wasn’t real. I opened the door and let the person in or what I thought was a person. No one was there, and it seemed it was over. Until the lights went out, growling could be heard all around. Scratching and tapping sounds were coming from the walls.

“The spirits are angry that this ritual box ended up away from the rightful owner. It probably was stolen from the Brazilian tribe.” Felicia screamed at me as she started sobbing.

“This is all just superstition, the lights went out from a storm, or there’s a blackout. I’ll check the breaker.”

Felicia was getting angrier with me, “how do you explain the face in the window?”

I sighed in frustration, “Felicia, do you hear yourself? This is crazy; there’s no such thing as spirits or demons.” I walked away from her to the basement, using my phone as a flashlight. As I made my way to the breaker, nothing was wrong. I heard a noise behind me and jumped at the sight of a figure. The same person that was at the window, the being let out a low guttural growl sending shivers down my spine. The same fear I had of Anthony hit me again. When my phone started vibrating in my hand, causing me to jump. I nearly dropped it when I looked down and saw that it was the Jacobs.

I saw that I had several text messages from the parents claiming something was wrong with Max. His behavior had changed; the parents explained that they had seen things in the house over the past few days. They believed their son Max was trying to tell them something because they saw and heard what he described. I quickly texted them back about what Felicia had said, wondering if it would be of any help.

After I hit send, I felt a hand on my shoulder and faint air blowing against my ear, “let me in.” The voice whispered hoarsely behind me. My blood ran cold at that moment when I heard Felicia scream upstairs. I quickly tripped up the stairs, trying to make my way to her in the dark. I found her unconscious body on the floor by the couch, terrified that something happened to her. I fell to the floor, holding her, hoping to wake her up, when my light flashed across something standing close by. I looked over and noticed bare feet; I slowly followed the feet upwards with my phone. When I made it to the face, I yelled in fright; it was the same figure in the basement and at the window.

“Let me in.” The being screamed in anger, I didn’t know what to do. All rational thinking escaped me at that moment.

“You can come in,” I shouted back at it. The lights turned on, and everything seemed normal. Except, there is something very wrong with me. I have been in this psychiatric institution for five years now since the death of Felicia. I was blamed for her murder, regardless of what I have told the doctors. No one believes me; I wouldn’t believe me either. From what Clark has told me, the children killed their parents and handed out the trinkets in the red box to friends. Strange deaths have been occurring throughout the city. I’m afraid of what is inside me; I fear it hasn’t left, for I can feel it clawing, wanting to find a different host since this one is trapped.