The house itself was rather plain and nondescript, not a house you’d take much notice of, notable only in its mediocrity. It was just an old Victorian home in a sea of old Victorian homes, grand in its day and still architecturally beautiful but faded from years of indifference. Whilst many of the homes around it had been renovated and turned into bohemian trendy apartments that netted their owners outrageous fortunes in rents from the wealthy parents of college students, 2005 Magnolia Drive was one of the ones left behind, forgotten and languishing in a bygone era. One might pass by and assume, naturally, that it was abandoned but it was not. No, far from it.
If the outside of the house was derelict, the inside was perhaps little better. While the warm glow and crackle of the fire in the parlor lent a cozy and welcoming air at first impression, it was quickly dispelled once inside the room by a dearth of any other object of comfort whatsoever. The sofa was a much over used thing with clearly visible springs poking through and between two of the cushions at one end while at the other, the bottom had so thoroughly severed its connection with the back that the floor was visible between the two. Clearly, any attempt to sit on the sofa would leave the sitter either wounded or unable to extricate himself from it. The rest of the room was filled with clutter, every inch of it with books, magazines, newspapers, pieces of garments and fabrics, and bric-a-brac of every sort.
The lack of comfort was of no consequence, however, since the old man in residence entertained no visitors, ever. He had his wheelchair to sit by the fire from dawn to dusk, in solitude save for the meals that were delivered three times per week and the caretaker who came once a week to help him bathe, clean his laundry and change his sheets. Nor had he left the house in 70 years. He could get himself from the bed to the wheelchair and back again well enough with the help of his cane, but had been confined to living exclusively on the first floor of the house for many years hence.
So day after day, year after year, as times changed and generations came and went, nobody much noticed this very ordinary house on the very ordinary street in the very ordinary neighborhood. Oh, once in a while, thinking it abandoned a squatter here and there might try to find a way inside or even force a way in, but such unfortunates were always quickly disabused of the notion and none of them ever came near 2005 Magnolia Drive ever again. For here, dear reader, is where I should tell you now that this was no ordinary house.
As the parlor was described to you previously, so was the rest of the house largely left in a similar state of neglect. The other rooms were much like the parlor, filled with volumes of obsolete books, maps, and every manner of bric-a-brac all covered in a thick layer of dust, but with three notable exceptions. The first of these was the second parlor, which, in addition to the regular clutter, also contained an upright piano along with scores of sheet music. The second was the kitchen that, while certainly not immaculate, was at least clean enough and suitable to its purpose and therein residing one small, round breakfast table devoid of chairs. The third exception was on the upper floor in the garret. In the center of this small room, which door was always locked and never unlocked, stood a most exquisite pedestal, hand carved from a single piece of the finest granite in the world. Atop the pedestal sat a golden cube, 1” sq. Upon close inspection, one might notice that it is actually a box, with the thinnest hair’s width of a fracture line to show where the box might be opened. Surely, you might imagine, a solid gold box of even this small size could be worth thousands of dollars, maybe tens of thousands; however, the value of this box does not lie in the content of gold. The value of this particular gold box lay in its very singular nature.
As it happened, one October afternoon near the feast of Samhain, there came a knocking at the door of 2005 Magnolia Drive. When the door was opened, there stood three strangers bearing gifts for the old man. The first visitor presented him with three brand new leather bound books to read. The old man was very pleased, for he’d had nothing new to read in ages and he accepted the books graciously. The second visitor presented the old man with a bottle of fine wine and the old man was well pleased, accepting this gift with many thanks. The third visitor presented the old man with a beautiful songbird in a gilded cage, whose song was so sweet and so rare, it was said to make the angels weep. The old man was overcome with gratitude for he had not had the company of another voice in many years.
The three visitors inquired whether they might come in and keep the old man company for a while and, when he told them he had no chair, nor stool, upon which they might sit they bade him never mind and asked to please allow them to sit on the floor and pass an hour or so with him. The old man stepped aside and waved them in the door, insisting that if they were to spend an hour with him sitting on the floor, they must with him also enjoy the fine wine they had brought. He fetched four of his more presentable glasses and prepared a modest plate of cheeses and simple crackers and brought it back to the parlor.
The four men drank wine and talked and enjoyed the beautiful song of the songbird until well into the evening, the bottle of wine never seeming to empty, until finally the old man could stay awake no longer. He thanked his visitors for their company and the wonderful gifts they had given him, but begged their pardon and understanding for his old age and lateness of the hour, he must take his leave and ask them to please come back and visit him soon for a proper dinner and to spend a few hours with him.
The three visitors beseeched him, appealing to his hospitality, to grant them one night’s stay that they may rest before their journey; for they had no lodging for the night and it was a long way home. The old man asked how he could be sure they wouldn’t murder him in his sleep, so they took off their coats and turned their pockets out to show that they carried no weapons. The first man, the one who had given books, said to the old man, “shall we murder you to rob you of the gifts we bring?” for there was little else in the house worth stealing.
The old man smiled a humorless smile and nodded toward the stairs. He directed them to the second floor in the first bedroom on the left where they would find a large bed, and the bedroom directly across from that one where they would find a smaller bed. “The rooms are dusty and smell of moth balls,” he warned “it is all I can offer you.” The visitors were happy. They thanked the old man for his kindness and started up the stairs without their coats or shoes. “Oh, and fellas,” the old man addressed them mid-ascent, “take care to avoid the narrow door at the far end of the hall. It’s only the garret after all. I wouldn’t want you to mistake it for the never-mind.” The young visitors paused a moment more, then nodded as a unit and continued up the stairs.
Again the old man smiled without mirth. He rolled himself to the bed and pivoted himself around and onto it with the help of his cane. He fell asleep soundly and quickly, without any fear of being murdered in his sleep.
~
The three men had indeed traveled a great distance and ‘twas not by happenstance that they knocked upon the old man’s door. They were drawn there by ancient lore passed down from generation to generation, from father to son to son to son for millennia about an ancient relic, a golden vessel, as old as time itself from the land of Mesopotamia said to contain the mysteries of the universe and the power of life and death. It is said that whoever possesses the vessel has mastery over death and will never die. So powerful and dangerous, the ancient scribes and elders had agreed the sacred vessel must be secreted away and hidden in obscurity lest men begin to worship and war against each other for it, eventually sacrificing all humanity.
The three visitors were cousins, men of the same generation who after hearing the stories of the vessel passed down from their fathers began to discuss it among themselves, growing obsessed with it over time until they could think of nothing else. They began to plan and plot how they might search for the relic; for three years the cousins read and learned and sought wisdom from the elders until finally they believed they had attained understanding. And so it was that armed with drawings and maps and guided by oracles they found themselves at the old man’s door with gifts and kindness and the offer of companionship to gain access to the golden relic. How pleased must they have been, then, when he gave them its location without them even having to search for it.
They waited patiently for the old man to fall asleep and satisfied upon hearing his stertorous snoring, crept quietly from their room and down the hall to the garret. Not surprised to find the door securely locked, they’d come prepared for this circumstance and, pulling small tools secreted in their socks, began to work quietly at the lock. It was their plan to steal the box away and abscond with it before the old man awoke in the morning. Although the lock had been somewhat reinforced, it was relatively easy to pick and the door was breached within an hour.
The three stood at the threshold, beholding the golden relic with reverence and awe. Having not until this moment fully believed in its existence, they were overcome with euphoria. They approached the cube (for, as far as they could see, it was only a cube) with a cautious awe. They stood for many moments until finally one of the three reached forward to pick it up. To his surprise, he could not pick it up. A second man grasped the cube between his forefinger and thumb and tried to lift it up but he could not pick it up either. They tried pushing the cube and pulling and twisting it like a soda bottle top to no avail. The cube would not budge even a fraction of an inch. They returned to the small bed and pondered what was to be done. After a while, it was agreed that they had no choice; they must wake the old man and demand from him the secret to moving the golden cube. They debated how they might persuade him but, exhausted from their efforts they fell into a deep sleep.
The three men awoke with the rising sun and went downstairs to wake the old man, to get his wisdom, for surely he was the guardian of the vessel. They stood by his bedside for a moment, hesitant, and then one of the visitors gently touched his shoulder. The old man snorted and started like a lawn mower at the first summer mowing. Not without empathy, the first man spoke to the old man, “We must have the secret,” he said.
“I see you’ve ignored my wishes and despised my hospitality,” the old man said “and you’ve entered the forbidden chamber.”
“What is done cannot be undone,” acknowledged the first man somberly.
“Just so.” Said the old man. “Very well, help me into my chair and I’ll tell you what I know.”
~
The old man explained that, while it was true the golden cube held great power and sacred mysteries, the legends had changed and evolved over time as legends do and what piece of lore had not survived the generations included the secret of how to access the power of the golden box. Although the cube be merely 1” sq. in size, it is the densest and heaviest object known to mankind. It would take 1000 men to lift it, yet is so small that no more than four fingers can grasp it at a time.
“The box cannot be moved by man nor beast,” said the old man “but it may be opened under three very particular conditions. First, it is only possible one night of the lunar year. Second, the only person who will be able to open it will be a chosen one, from a divine lineage traceable back to the cradle of civilization. Third, in order to open the cube, the chosen one must answer an ancient riddle. On the appointed day, at the appointed hour, the chosen one will speak his answer to the ancient riddle. If he is correct, he will be able to open the box with the gentleness of a feather.”
With this the men became excited, knowing that Samhain drew near and believing that they were indeed descendants of that noble and ancient lineage, and demanded to know the riddle.
The old man, being old and weary and wishing to read his new books and listen to his beautiful songbird in peace, gave his unworthy visitors the riddle.
But the wily old man hadn’t shared all of his wisdom. He hadn’t told his erstwhile thieves that while the keeper of the box would indeed achieve immortality, it would not be the eternity of their dreams. For the box contained the souls of all the evil and the damned who had passed through the earth from the beginning of time to this very hour. Lured by greed and lust for power, the unfortunate soul who inherited the box inherited an eternity of guarding the vessel and bearing witness to the suffering of the cursed. More than that, acquiring the box required a sacrifice.
After a time, the visitors retreated upstairs and spent the day debating the meaning of the riddle. They argued amongst themselves but, as the sun began to set the second man, believing he had solved the riddle, spoke his truth and reached forward to open the box. Immediately as he touched the cube, one of his companions fell dead to the floor. The two men, stricken with grief and overcome with terror, returned to their room to think what to do next. Each of them were afraid that the other would sneak into the room and attempt to open the box, thereby killing the other. Therefore, they resolved to tie themselves together with a length of rope, so that if one moved, the other would feel it, and they lay down to sleep.
When they arose the next morning, they set themselves again to solving the riddle. The old man called up to them from below, asking whether they’d have some breakfast. Reluctantly, they came down, having been two nights and one day without food. They were grateful to the old man, who didn’t seem perturbed that they’d violated his hospitality and refused to leave his dwelling. He fed them bacon and pancakes with real maple syrup, and black coffee from a French press. He asked them to sit with him a while, and he read aloud to them excerpts from one of his newly gifted books. They listened to the songbird with the beautiful song. They talked of kings and music, art and literature until the visitors arose, stating that they must be getting on with their quest.
They excused themselves and took their leave back to the upper floor where they pondered again the mystery of the riddle. For hours they poured over every word and every nuance until, finally, as the sun began to set once again, they decided they must act now or lose the opportunity forever. Having reached their answer, they agreed to speak it and touch the lid of the golden box in unison, reasoning that if they both troubled it and were wrong, surely it would be the old man who would die. They spoke their answer and reached for the box.
~
The following morning dawned bright, sunny and unseasonably warm. Just after daybreak, the door of 2005 Magnolia Drive opened and a handsome, middle aged man walked out of it and onto the porch. After struggling for just a second with his bird cage and his backpack which contained exactly three leather bound books, a foreign passport, a wallet, a crisp $100 bill and a plane ticket to Turkey. He was practically giddy with anticipation of the day. As he fairly skipped down the stairs and into the waiting taxi, the forlorn face of an ancient man watched his departure from the garret window. He did not look back.