Don’t Open Till Christmas
DON’T OPEN TILL CHRISTMAS
TW: Abduction, claustrophobic confinement.
ELENA
Iwake up surrounded by darkness, laying on what feels like a cold, hard wooden floor.
“This isn’t my bed,” I whisper and try to sit up, only to hiss as the back of my head connects with something hard above my head.
Slowly, I raise my hands up to feel around whatever this might be. It’s not long until I realize that I’m trapped in what could only be described as a wooden box. It’s large enough for me to sit in an awkward angle or lie down in a fetal position, but no more than that.
My heart hammers in my chest as I keep feeling the walls of the box, trying to find anything to grab to open it, but there’s nothing.
Suddenly, a sharp wave of pain shoots through my palm. I pull my hand back sharply and quickly run my fingers over the pulsating area. I feel something hard stuck under my skin and instantly curse quietly. I’ve gotten a splinter and to make matters worse, I’ve jammed it pretty deep.
Releasing a shaky breath, I brace myself, touch the area again until I find the splinter, then grip it with my nails and slowly pull it out. A choked sob escapes me—I can’t see how deep it went, but the pain is intense and soon after, I realize I’m bleeding.
“This isn’t real. This is a nightmare,” I whisper as I rip a piece of my shirt off and use it to wrap my hand.
Carefully, I lay back down and pull my knees to my chest, trying to remember how I got here. The last thing I remember is going to bed, and then… nothing.
Yesterday was another regular day—nothing out of the ordinary or even partly suspicious. Even during the day nothing special happened.
There is literally nothing I can imagine that could’ve given me any hint that the next time I wake up, I’d wake trapped in a wooden box of horror.
“Oh God,” I whimper and my whole body freezes up. What if this isn’t just a nightmare? What if this is someone’s twisted game?
For all I know, I could’ve been kidnapped by a serial killer. Those people do awful things, right? Maybe I fit someone’s profile and they decided to kidnap me so they can torture me?
Or, there’s also the risk of some unholy wealthy people playing their games. I’ve heard about the elite, the type of people who can buy lives and out of boredom, they create games of survival just to entertain themselves.
I’m their perfect victim, if I’m being honest. Not only am I poor and pretty much invisible for the rest of the world, I also don’t have family. To hell, the few friends that I have live thousands of miles away and we call each other every three months at best.
Cold dread washes over me. By the time someone notices my absence, I’ll be dead.
Tears well up in my eyes and a quiet sob escapes me just a moment before the box lights up. The light is so sudden and bright that it blinds me momentarily.
I hiss and cover my eyes, then slowly pull my hands away as my eyes start adjusting to the light. Looking around again, I can surely say this is, in fact, a wooden box.
I can’t see anything that looks like an exit, so I have a sinking suspicion that the box has to be nailed from the outside. Then, my eyes focus on a small paper bag in the corner of the box.
My hand shakes, but I find the courage to reach for it. Inside, there’s a to-go container of what looks like soup, but I’m too scared to check—it’s red, might as well be blood.
Carefully, I set it back where I found it and try to make myself comfortable.
With each minute that passes I feel more dread. Waking up inside a wooden box is bad enough, but waiting in silence while having no actual clue what might happen to you is so much worse.
Suddenly, I hear what sounds like shuffling and as I turn my head to look to my right, a note appears through a slit between the wood. I make a split second decision, reach out and grab the paper, yanking it in.
There’s no sound on the other side of the box, so I quickly unfold the piece of paper and read the note.
You looked so peaceful when I found you.
Found me? Inside my apartment, behind locked doors? What on Earth is this supposed to mean now?
There’s more shuffling and another note is forced inside the box. This time, I don’t rush to grab and read it. My fingers tremble when I eventually do, but I give myself a moment to breathe and calm down before I unfold the paper to read.
I thought it would be a shame to wake you before everything was ready. Eat the soup before it goes cold, Elena.
My breath catches in my throat as I crumple the note in my hand. This person… whoever it is—he or she knows my name. I try to think if I’ve recently stepped on the wrong toes, but I can’t think of anything. I keep to myself and I’ve never been one to wrong people, at least not on purpose.
I half expect another note to be slid though the slit, but there aren’t more. Even when I hold my breath and try to listen in, I don’t hear any sounds. It’s like there’s no one on the other side of this box.
There’s so little room that my muscles start aching and I really want to stretch out my limbs, but I can’t.
Since there’s nothing I can do until whoever trapped me decides to free me, I try to check for any weak spots around the box again. Now that there’s light inside, I’m a little calmer and can think logically without the panic clouding my mind.
Just because I don’t know how dangerous the person on the other side is, I try to be as quiet as I can. My fingertips slowly run over every surface, and this time I’m more careful so I don’t catch more splinters.
After a while, another note is shoved inside the box. I don’t overthink, just grab the paper and read it.
I told you to eat, not touch my box.
I frown. “How?” I whisper and look around as much as I can, trying to notice if there’s a camera hidden somewhere in here. The only extra object is the little light fixture, so maybe that’s where it’s hidden?
Another note falls next to me.
You know, I wrapped you myself. It took forever to make the corners neat, but good things should look nice, right? Don’t worry, you look very pretty on the outside.
“What the fuck is this supposed to mean?” I whisper, gripping the note harder than necessary. This has to be some sick form of torture—no sane person would trap someone in the box and wrap it up like a gift.
I reach for the notes I tossed aside and read all of them in the order they were slipped into the box. My eyes scan the words over and over again, looking for a hint that could tell more than the words do, but I can’t find even one.
Just as I lose all hope, ready to scream, cry and maybe try to kick the box so hard, I could break it from the inside, another note slips into the box. But this time, there isn’t silence outside the box anymore—I hear heavy steps retreating.
I wait for the sound to fade into the background before I grab the note. On the outside, it says, “Don’t open until Christmas.”
The smart choice would be to listen to whoever is writing these notes. I’ve seen enough crime documentaries to know that making the kidnapper see you as human, not as another victim, works better than fear.
But, the issue is that I’ve never really been one to play by the rules, so I unfold the note and as soon as my eyes scan the words, I choke out a sob.
You’re my Christmas present, Elena. I chose you myself, so don’t do anything stupid. Can’t wait to unwrap you. -M