[ WP ] The Little Black Box

She was taking too long. I had n't moved an inch since she left. Not to turn on the lights when the sun went down. Not to take the piss that so wanted out. I just sat on her perfumed bed, tracing the runes engraved in the little black box with my fingertip. 
 
 It was n't the box that scared me. The wood seemed unnaturally black, but it was polished and hollow like something from the Sharper Image. The carvings were a bit too perfect - like someone had used a laser - but the way the ancient letters sizzled and let off tiny red sparks when I touched them was more cool than creepy. 
 
 The thing that scared me was that she made me promise to guard the box “ with my life. ” That ’ s pretty heavy for someone who would n't even call me her girlfriend yet. I mean, the first time she invites me back to her place, she lays that trip on me and runs out. “ Don ’ t move, don ’ t lose it, and don ’ t use it. ” I can ’ t believe I shaved for this. 
 
 The box understood. It whispered things in my mind as I traced each rune. I started whispering back, repeating these strange words that made corpses dance in my mind. Tir ’ syha. Hhasmoot. Irfathem. Po. The runes swirled away as I said each word, leaving a space the size of my thumb tip. I bit my thumb until it bled - just like the box wanted - and pressed it onto the box. 
 
 All my joy suddenly burned hot in my body as it was funneled into the box. My skin tingled as icy fear sloshed up through my whole being. I drowned in my own terror, and it made me laugh with sheer glee until I was a being of pure laughter. I was slave and master. Horrified and overjoyed. I could see everything yet there was nothing in the world to see. 
 
 And then it was over. No resolution, no comedown, just the perfumed bed and the overloaded bladder in the dark room she left me in. 
 
 I spun the little black box around. The runes were back. They still crackled and whispered to me as I rubbed them as if nothing had happened. I read the words again just to be sure. 
 
 The swirling vacuum of infinity and nothingness crashed to a dead stop just in time to hear the front door slam shut. She opened the bedroom door and called my name as she flicked the switch. I hissed at the pure white light and cowered back on the bed. 
 
 She demanded to know what I had done. 
 
 What I ’ d done? What I ’ d done - I told her - was waste a perfectly good evening sitting in a dark, empty apartment. For her. And from the way her hair had fallen out of that tight little ponytail and her clothing was stretched at the shoulder, it looked like she was out having a good time. 
 
 And one more thing, I told her. She could lose my number. I was n't going to waste my time on some conspiracy nut with her books and her little black boxes that stopped working when things were getting good. The night was young and so was I. 
 
 She begged me to stay, but I just walked straight through the closed door, spread my leathery black wings, and took off in search for a place with a bathroom where I could feed on the souls of the innocent.
