“Alright,” I said softly, “let’s take a look.”
Alex set the box on the coffee table. It was plain wood, carved roughly, with a brass clasp at the front. He lifted the lid.
I will never forget what happened next.
A black, wriggling tide spilled out—tiny insects swarming in every direction. They poured over the sides like living sand, scattering across the carpet, walls, and even Alex’s arms.
“Ahh!” I shrieked, stumbling back.
Alex froze, his eyes widening with a mixture of horror and fascination. Then he cried out, flailing as the bugs crawled up his sleeves.
I lunged forward, swatting at him with my hands until most of them fell off. I grabbed his wrists and shook the last few free, stomping on the ones that hit the floor. But dozens more had already scurried under the couch, into the corners, disappearing into the cracks of our home.
