Box

I have always had a strained relationship with my uncle Ned. He was one of those who would magic coins out of my ears when I was young, and then he would keep the money for himself.

He was sick a long time before he died, so nobody was surprised. The surprising bit was that I was told to be there for the reading of the will.

Walking into the meeting room, my phone makes a sound. Message from Eric: "How was the meeting?" I text him back, "The meeting is starting now," and put the phone away.

The lawyer sits at the end of the table with a stack of papers in front of him. Aunt Sarah sits on one side. A man sits on the other. He reaches out, shakes my hand, and presents himself as Nigel: long hair, beard, in his 60s, looks like a biker. I sit down next to Sarah, and the lawyer starts reading the will.

Aunt Sarah gets the house, the cars, and the bank accounts. No surprises. I get the downtown apartment. Then the lawyer stops for a moment before he continues to read.

“Nigel will have the right to live in the apartment for free as long as he lives.” The lawyer looks at me. “This means that you can refuse to accept the apartment if you don't want it. If so, the apartment will go to Nigel and his descendants instead. It's your choice.” Like I really have a choice. Living at home with my mother. Just been fired from McDonald's, looking for a new job. “I'll take it,” I say before I have time to think too much about it.

The lawyer nods and turns to Nigel. “You can live in the apartment until you die or until you need assisted living.”

Then we sign papers.

Nigel talks with Aunt Sarah. I'm not very interested, but I catch something about military service, a warzone, and Aunt Sarah thanking him. Eric sends me a new message about status. I give him a short reply.

Two months later, I haven't seen the apartment. I've only paid the bills. I can't say it feels like my apartment.

In the third month, I have had enough. Nigel is in his sixties. He can live another thirty years for free in my apartment. I have to do something!

I have an idea while I watch the next-door neighbours moving in. The moving truck is full of rolling crates that disappear into the house one by one. I think I've made a decision without even thinking about it.

Nigel needs to go, and I don't think I can get him to move out of a free apartment, so there's only one option left. The box on wheels is suddenly an important part of the puzzle.

Nigel looks like a biker. In my opinion, he'll never be prioritised by the police. If they investigate anything, it's obvious how they're gonna think.

I buy plywood sheets, wheels, insulation, plastic, and chicken wire. Enough to make two boxes. Then I start working.

Eric sends a text in the middle of it. "Will you bring a few beers, and we can watch the match over here?" I decline, but I promise to come back to him later.

I make the boxes based on Nigel's size, the way I remember it. The insulation will muffle any sounds he makes. According to everything I found online chicken wire in this way will stop the phone from connecting to the cell tower. I put two layers. I make a lock that will lock when the box closes. Two extra bolts to make sure everything stays locked.

The plan is simple. Take the box to Nigel's apartment. Kill him with a knife. Put the body in the box. Take the box out of the apartment. Burn it. The insulation and chicken wire are just insurance. No matter what happens, I won't have to open that box again.

How long it stays in the van depends. That's why I line the inside with plastic. The last thing I do is take a big chef’s knife, recently bought for this purpose, soap and rags and put it in the box. This is going to get messy!

On the day I park my car at the long-term parking at the airport. Then I rent a van and go back to the house to pick up the box. Then I drive to the apartment.

I ring the doorbell and mumble "package" when Nigel answers. He lets me in. First, he doesn't recognise me. That suits me just fine.

When I open the box inside his living room, he says "Peter?" and takes a big step forward. I stab him in the stomach with the knife. He freezes for a second, like he doesn't really believe what is happening.

This is when things start to go wrong.

He doesn't fall down and die as they do on TV. Instead, he keeps coming towards me. I pull the knife out, stab him, and again he keeps walking towards me. I back up. I don't stop before my legs hit the box.

Nigel catches up with me. His face is twisted with pain, but he doesn’t stop. He grabs me around the neck, pushing me backwards. I tip over, then I'm falling, flailing with my arms. Nigel lets go of my neck and lets me fall into the box, pushes my legs inside, closes the lid, and I can hear how the bolts slip into place. Then I hear a thump. Then quiet.

I have been lying here for a while, trying to kick, push, or break off the lid, and I get nowhere. I can't get out, and if I'm right that Nigel is lying dead on the outside, there is no one to help me either. I've been trying to call for help. I've tried to write messages. I have tried to push the lid a little bit so that I can get some reception through a crack in the lid: nothing!

I've been sleeping, waking up, pushing the lid, kicking the box, and trying to break down the walls. I can't get out, so I realise that I have only one thing left to do. My phone has about 20% power left. I open the Messenger app and start typing. “I have always had a strained relationship with my uncle Ned.”