It’s pitch black and I’m running through the cornfield until I come across the opening where the corn has died and can no longer grow. I search for her eyes along the way as a kind of guiding light to send me in the right direction when a cold hand wraps around my arm and yanks me to the side where the opening is. Her face is a shadow that my eyes have not adjusted to see but her eyes are glowing bright green as the stars overhead glimmer off their glassy surface.
“There isn’t much time,” she says as she pushed the tin box to my chest, “please keep this safe.”
Without warning she has raced off again, blonde hair dancing and swaying with the sudden gust of wind that sails her spirit back home, wherever that is. I look down at the tin box in my hands and run my fingers across the engraving along the top. She told me not to open it until she gets back, but when would that be? Where did she go?
I stand in the center of the cornfield where the corn has died and hold the box in my hands, pondering what to do with it. I figure the best way to decide would be to open it and see what exactly I have been asked to keep safe, but what I didn’t know was that opening this box would tell me the truth. A truth I wish I have never discovered.