The Gift

A loud rapping at the door awoke me from a deep dreamy sleep. It was early, too early to be awake, and certainly too early to be out in the streets pounding on doors. I thought that there must be some emergency in town and ran to the door to find out whatever news there was from whoever was there. Much to my surprise, there was no one at the door ready to identify themselves and their message, and yet a package with my name on it had been left at the door. It was a most curious circumstance, and yet I saw no real harm in it, because secret gift giving was the hallmark of the holiday season. I myself had delivered many a gift in that manner over the years.

The package was heavier than it should have been from its size, and once I had it indoors I eagerly opened it to find out what it was and who had sent it. Alas, there was no identification of the giver, and more's the pity because what was inside was a most remarkable carved wood box, worked with figures of animals and dragons all over, in a magnificent shade of red. Whoever sent it to me must have been a prankster, though, because I could see no way into the box, no clasp or lock announced itself, no hinge or platen presented itself as a means to the inside. I was locked out, and most frustrated by this unfortunate turn of events.

I had tried everything to open the box, short of using tools and damaging it. It made no sound when shaken but there was something inside, no wood could weigh that much even if it were solid. The grain pattern could be seen and was continuous with no discernable marks other than the carvings.

I had a hard time concentrating at work that day. Arriving home that evening I decided that I would simply drill a hole into the mysterious gift to see what was inside. As I carried it down to the basement I felt as if I wasn’t alone. When I turned on the drill press I know I heard someone draw a sharp breath. I powered off the drill and searched the basement for an intruder and found nothing. Returning to the bench I selected a small bit and proceeded to drill into the bottom-center of the piece. After only an inch or so the woodturnings turned from white wood to gray metal. I reached to turn the drill off and felt the presence again and heard a voice… “Release”. I felt an intense sense of urgency as I again checked every corner and closet for an unwanted visitor.

I went to my bar and poured a glass of bourbon to try and shake off the tension. “Is that good whiskey?” came the voice from close behind me. I whirled around to find an old, gaunt man dressed in a gray civil-war uniform. He extended his hand, “my name’s Glen, I ain’t had a drink of good whiskey fer a long spell.” I felt as if I was being electrocuted but I shook his hand and retrieved a glass from the cabinet and poured a generous portion from the decanter. I produced two cigars and a light and asked, shaken, “can I help you with something?”

As we enjoyed our cigars and bourbon, my mysterious guest told an eerie story, “Durin’ the war there was Chinamun that was some kinda wizards. We’d see ‘em on the fields after a battle lookin’ over the dead. They’d take a lump o’ dirt or some such thing an’ say prayers over’n it. I seen one of ‘em after I got hit. He was kneelin’ an’ prayin’ in front of the tree that was behind me when I got hit in the chest by a Yankee cannonball; went right through me an' stuck in that maple tree. I don’t know what happened next but it seemed lak a lotta months went by an’ I could see the tree an’ this little Chine'e feller ever’day a-prayin’ by that tree. One day I seen ‘im cut it down an’ take a piece home with ‘im. He carved all them animals on it an’ I been trapped in thar ever since. I thank ya fer a-letin’ me go."

The man faded from my sight as he finished his glass, he retained the extinguished cigar butt; chewing it as he smiled at me and disappeared.