No Peeking

No Peeking

by Michael Shimek

Annette Lucas acquired the gift by accident. Out shopping for the upcoming holiday, she decided to stop at one of the local stores that offered a gift-wrapping service. Working as a single mother of two was busy and hard work; it was easier to pay someone to wrap the many gifts for her children—it had been a good year. She picked up some diamond earrings at a neighboring jewelry store while waiting (to treat herself), and when she returned to pick up her newly wrapped gifts, an extra one had found its way into her pile. The square box that was roughly the size of an adult human head went unnoticed until she dumped the presents under her family's Christmas tree.

Andy waited until his mother was occupied with cooking dinner before approaching the enticing display of mysterious goodies. There were so many of them. His eyes were wide and his grin was strong. Christmas was still a week away, too far for his curious mind. He wanted to know what was under those boxes that glittered like candy; he needed to know.

A little peek. His mother would never know.

Little fingers wriggled around the colorful presents, presents for him and his brother. There were so many; it was hard to choose where to start. A rustling in the corner gathered his complete attention.

One of the boxes moved. Near the back of the tree, where some spotty and uneven branches were pushed against the corner of the house so guests couldn't see the slight deformity, one of the twelve boxes rattled with life. It was a smaller box covered in red wrapping paper and tied with a white bow. A low grumble resembling a hungry animal scratched at the sides. A dull, orange light seeped from opened seams in the paper. The shaking and light lasted a couple of seconds before everything stopped and the gift lay still.

He crouched under the tree to get a closer look when it happened again. He just about jumped out of his skin when he heard yelling from the kitchen.

"You stay away from those presents, Andrew!"

"But Mom! One of them—"

"No ifs, ands, or buts! If I see that any of those gifts have been touched, you won't be getting a single thing for Christmas! No peeking!"

The shouting from the kitchen ceased and his mother's singing (she always sang with the radio when she cooked) and a blender's whir resumed. Andy was left alone in the living room; a twinkling pine tree guarding a treasure trove of festively wrapped boxes towered before him. Everything was decorated with spirit for the holiday: tinsel, lights, fake snow, green and red bows and ribbons on everything. The sight would have brought a smile to any child's face.

Andy was not smiling, not anymore. In fact, his bottom lip quivered with fear.

He couldn't move. Whatever was in the box did not sound like a toy; it sounded alive, and it did not sound like a nice puppy that wanted to play and be friends. If he tried to show it to his mother now, she would scold him from trying to take a gander under the wrapping paper. Andy waited another moment before standing up from under the tree. The six-year-old walked up to his bedroom to play with his toys.

He would tell his older brother about the frightening experience when he got back from school. Eli would know what to do. Eli always knew what to do.

#

"Later, boogerbrains! See you at school tomorrow!" Eli waved goodbye to his friend and entered his home.

He threw his bag against the wall and kicked his shoes into the closet. His mother was cooking something delicious in the kitchen, and, to his excitement, an undergrowth of boxes containing head-scratching presents had sprouted under the Christmas tree. His eyes went wide and his fingers twitched with anticipation as he advanced on the tree.

"Psst, Eli." Eli's head swiveled toward the source of the voice. He saw his younger brother's head poking from above the top of the stairs. "Don't go over there."

"What?" He could barely hear Andy's words. "Come down hear; I can't hear you."

Andy shook his head. "No, you come up here."

Eli sighed but followed his brother's orders. He slugged Andy's shoulder for making him trudge up the stairs. "I'm here, now what do you want?"

"Don't go near the gifts," Andy said, rubbing his shoulder.

"I just wanted take a little peek. Why, you going to tell?"

"No. I wanted to, too, but one of them..."

Eli waited for his brother to continue, but his eyes only wandered down the stairs and toward the tree. "Well, spit it out."

Andy narrowed in back at his brother. "Something is wrong with one of the gifts, the red and white one in the back corner."

"What's wrong with it?"

Andy's lips trembled with his words. "I don't want to talk about it anymore. Promise you won't go near it, though. Promise?"

"Not until you tell me why."

"There's a monster in it, okay!" Andy burst into sobs and ran into his room, leaving Eli standing alone at the top of the stairs.

He was about to run after his brother, but he thought against it. What he really wanted to do was look at the box containing the gift-wrapped "monster." He was three years older than Andy, and he knew monsters didn't exist. He would prove there was nothing to worry about by sneaking a look under the wrapping and then gloating in front of his brother.

Eli used the friction from his socks and slid down the small wooden ledge that ran along the bottom of the banister. He hopped off at the bottom and skidded on the ground until he came to halt in front of the tree. He glanced around, but his mother's clinking of kitchenware and off-pitch singing drowned out his up to no good actions. A smile crept along his face as he eyed the neatly wrapped presents.

The red and white one was barely visible, hiding under the thick greenery and sparkling ornaments. Pine needles sticky with sap clung to his hands and pants as he crouched down and crawled under the tree. He stopped when he was face to face with the gift his brother had described.

It looked perfectly normal to him, like any other present he had seen. He reached out to flip open a seam when his finger scrapped the side.

The box rattled.

Eli let out a little yelp; his mother was making too much of a ruckus to hear. He covered his mouth and stared at the box.

The gift shivered. It floated off the carpet, and an electric orange light seeped from cracks in the wrapping paper. The white bow on top unraveled and the ribbon drifted to the floor. The box turned clockwise in the air until one of the taped sides faced him. As the flaps peeled open and pulsed an increasingly brighter orange, Eli opened his mouth to scream.

#

After he had run crying to his bedroom, Andy had tiptoed back to the top of the steps to spy on Eli; he had a feeling his stubborn brother wouldn't heed his warning. He lay down on his belly and watched the scene unfold from the top floor of the house.

His brother's scream was cut off in mid screech, barely even a scream at all (and their mother's singing down in the kitchen dominated all noises anyway). The severity of the situation hit Andy when he saw Eli's legs poking out from under the tree get sucked up like two wriggling sticks in a vacuum.

Andy launched himself from the floor and stumbled down the stairs. He dove to the needle-infested floor and reached out to save his brother.

He was too late; the gift had opened. Throbbing flesh lined the inside of the box like the inside of a throat. The tunnel ended in an orange material that twisted and rippled with tangible light. The last of his brother, part of his leg and a shoe, dissolved into the growling and swirling mass. Andy screamed and scooted away, but the box zeroed in on him.

He made it out from under the Christmas tree when he felt something tight wrap around his feet. The look of his horrified mother was the last image he saw before falling and the world grew dark.

#

Between the radio, blender, and her singing, an extra chorus of screams from the living room invaded Annette's ears. If she didn't know any better, it sounded like one of her kids was near the Christmas tree, which meant one of her kids was trying to sneak a peek at their presents. Maybe, to set an example, she would take one of the presents away (she would eventually give it to them on Christmas Day; she wasn't that cruel).

She went to investigate.

Annette walked into the living as her youngest son slammed face-first onto the floor. A white ribbon snaked around his ankles, reeling him in like caught fish. Andy disappeared under the tree, a trail of blood leading to a rustling pine tree decorated in twinkling accessories.

Her son was gone.

"Andy!" she screamed, running after her injured boy. She looked under the tree, but there was no sign of him. Instead, she found something much more horrifying.

A box in the back corner levitated off the ground and glowed a vicious orange. A white ribbon danced around like fire, and one of the sides opened into a portal to Hell; an awful, guttural noise spewed forth from the inside. There was no sign of her baby, only the monster that ate him.

A fit of rage erupted from Annette. Her hands flew to the ornaments on the tree, and she began lobbing them as weapons; the demon gobbled them up like alligator snapping up little birds out of the air. The white ribbon straightened with life and shot at her like a striking snake. The fabric closed around her throat, tightened, and pulled before she could react. She fell headfirst into the open mouth of the box and dissolved into the orange light.

The Lucas family was no more.

#

Miranda Milligan picked the lock and entered the home. She could sense her precious pet somewhere inside. Christmas music played from the kitchen, and something was on the verge of burning in the oven. She hurried to the kitchen and turned off the oven and radio; she didn't want to draw unwanted attention. After the house was quiet, she located the Christmas tree and found her little one.

The box was back in the corner, perfectly sealed in its crimson paper and white ribbon. She picked it up, dusted off the pine needles on her pants she had collected in the process, and cradled the gift in arms.

"Did my baby find something to eat today?"

Orange light radiated from the seams and the box shook in response.

"Not enough? Well, don't you worry, there's always another family."

Miranda exited the house with her box and walked back to her gift-wrapping shop.

END