The Glass Box

The Pencil of Time scratches gently on a piece of paper, gently awakening a new life. And a single swipe of the other end, can take away hat life in a second. This is the world, day after day after that. And the pencil steadily glides without fail. And the beat of live drags on. Life is nothing but a glass box one can look out of and dream. However, they can never escape.

If Dillon Melone had to choose a word to sum up his deepest desires and every hope and dream he had, it was simple: escape. It was all he could think about. But there was no way out anymore. He knew the story well.

Dillon sat in his luxurious study filled with books. It had a warm, homey feel to it. A fire crackled friendlily in the fireplace and a warm cup of coffee sat on the desk. It seemed to be the perfect sanctuary for the bitterly cold winter’s night.

But to Dillon, this study was his hell. It was a coffin and there was nothing he could do to claw his way out of the dark wood box. The man stared at a large book on his desk, waiting for something to happen.

Suddenly, a young woman walked into the study with a plate of food, “Master Melone,” she said, putting the plate on his desk, “How are you tonight?”

The man looked up, startled, “Oh, Evangeline,” he said with a sigh of relief, “It’s just you. I’ve been better, of course,” he said with a forced smile as he cut his steak and chewed on it.

A pierce ringing started in Dillon’s ear. It was sharp, painful, and haunting. A voice rang out through the high-pitched sound, echoing a name over and over. The man clutched his hands over his ears to make it stop. But he knew very well that it would do him no good.

He involuntarily picked up his pencil and flipped the book open. He prayed the voice would reconsider. Yet the ringing continued still. With tears in his eyes, he wiped a name clean out of the book. The ringing stopped and Dillon put the pencil down, panting. A tear splashed onto the paper.

“Master,” Evangeline Bellefontaine said slowly, rubbing Dillon’s back to comfort him, “There was nothing you could do. It was his time. It is your job sir, you cause life and cause…”

Dillon had enough of her useless words. He raised his hand and brought it across his servant’s face, “You don’t understand Eva! It’s the same way every day! I hear these names and I pick up the pencil. If I write a name down, a child is born. If I erase a name, a man is killed. It happens day and night. I can’t sleep but a few minutes before the ringing starts again.” he said, trying to lower his voice. He bit his lip hard and a tear rolled down his cheek.

“Master,” The woman said softly, hardly being able to find words to speak. “I’m sorry that you have to hate your life so much. But one has to take this responsibility. It’s very noble of you to take it in your hands.”

Dillon rolled his eyes and continued to eat his dinner, his body still quivering from his shock, “It’s not like I had a real choice,” he reminded her coldly, “Sometimes I just wish I could take everything back. Erase my name from this book and escape my regrets.”

Evangeline grimaced and looked at him, “I see,” she said, brushing back her chestnut colored hair to reveal her dark green eyes, “I need to go back to the my quarters,” she said suddenly, “I will come if you need me Master.”

The young woman turned and ran off, leaving the man alone again. He looked up at the ceiling and backed up his chair. He stood up to stretch his legs. He was not allowed to leave his study for fear he may miss a name while he was out. The threads of life were very thin and needed perfect balance for the world to go on.

“Two hundred years,” Dillon mumbled to himself, banging his fist on his desk, “I’ve been here for two hundred damn years!” he shouted to his book while gritting his teeth.

He looked out the book and remembered the day it had been placed in his hands. He was a man in his early twenties, living in England. The night was darker than usual. If one could peel back the blackness of that night, they would find nothing but more blackness. On this night, Dillon was walking home from a late night working at his law firm.

Nights like these reminded him of the stories his mother told him as a child. She would tell him that sometimes, on nights coated in darkness, the Black Man would wander away from the depths of the forests and make it into the city. He carried a large book with iron clasps and made people sign their name in the book with their blood. In return for their name, he gave them whatever they desired. But he also left them with a heavy burden, be it a great guilt, regret, or physical token of his presence.

“Mother,” Dillon would always tug on his mother’s dress after hearing these stories, “Dost thou believe that I, a humble servant of class, can meet thy yonder Black Man.”

“Yes, thy dear son,” His mother would whisper harshly, “But why dost thou wish to meet him?”

“I wouldst give me a life eternal!” Dillon would say happily, “For thy children and the children of thy children may know who hath sent them to Earth,” he aid, once again wishing to know his own father, “Mother. Wilt thou not tell me more of he who sent me?” he’d beg to know more about his father, tugging on her dress again. He thrived on the tales of the father he had never known.

Dillon looked out in the dark streets, privately wishing to encounter this Black Man. As he neared his home, he brushed off his childish wishes as the fantasies of a younger him. They were just dreams of a young boy who never wanted to die. And perhaps they were the fancies of a boy who wanted his family to be happy.

That’s when he heard the clicking of boots on the quiet streets. His eyes darted around. He heard a screech come from the distance. He knew in his heart that it was by no means human.

He saw a man approaching, carrying a dark book in his hands. Dillon’s heart pounded high in his chest. He was too excited to move, too frightened to utter a sound, and too stunned to even believe what was in front of him.

What he had believed to be Satan stood in front of him, holding out the book expectantly. The man-like creature was gargantuan in size. It had a hidden face and long, razor-sharp nails, “Thou must hath a desire in order to see me,” the thing said to it, his voice had the sound of a screeching violin.

Trying to be unafraid, Dillon nodded, “Aye,” he said with a slow nod. He would do anything. This was his dream. His precious childhood dream! He couldn’t let it go like this. He took the book, his breath becoming shallow.

Click. He undid the first iron clasp. The metal was ice-cold on his hands. He started to shake as he reached for the second clasp. He stumbled and struggled as he undid the second clasp. His mind was racing and he couldn’t help but think that something would go wrong. But his quavering hands continued still.

The book was open. The quill was inked in his blood. And his name was racing across the page, “Now, wilt thou not give me a life eternal?” he asked eagerly.

The thing nodded, “But a life forever is a life meaningless,” he said, handing the man another book with a quill of its own. He explained the rules: voices from the time stream would speak to Dillon and tell him when to write down or scratch out a name. The screeching violin voice laughed in his ear, “Thou shall live day after day in…”

“Mundane suffering,” Dillon mumbled, recalling the devil’s words from so long ago. He placed his hand on the book and began to think about how much had changed since then. He had been moved to a large manor outside the sight of mankind and had been provided servants who too had the curse of eternal life. As a result of all of his servants being American, save Evangeline, his smooth British accent became diluted. The quill he received with the book evolved into a pencil. Even the way he spoke evolved with the passing time.

But one thing never changed: the misery he got whenever he wrote or erased a name. His ears began to ring again as he threw himself into his desk chair. He quickly picked up the pencil and flung the book open. He scratched down two names to give them life. One was a young boy born into a happy family in Northern Ireland and he would probably live his mundane life with a contented smile on his face.

The other, however, was a boy born to a teenage mother. Dillon sighed as he heard the details through the ringing voice in his ear, “Born without a father and born without a hope,” he said after he was done, “Sounds familiar,” he laughed spitefully and looked at the name: Jerron Shirinski, “I wish you luck Jerron,” he mumbled, “God knows you’ll need it.”

About seventeen years later, Master Dillon’s restlessness and unhappiness towards his life continued increasingly. Every day and night, when Evangeline brought him his meals, he would speak of escaping and earning back his mortality. He would often ask her if she would join him and once again live as normal humans would.

Evangeline would just smile and tell the master to get some rest. But in truth, she wanted to escape just as much as he. Unlike the other servants in the manor, she had human desires and dreams. And like any human would be, she wanted to push herself to do better things and be a better person.

Over those few years, she began to wonder if life had an escape other than death. She was curious to know if it was possible to pull yourself from one way to living and force your way into another. When she was little, she used to thrive upon fairytales about girls who seemed to go from rags to riches overnight.

And there she was looking back, wondering exactly how improbable it was to slip on a glass slipper and become much greater than you once were. She stood in the kitchen, washing dishes, wishing these things could be true and above all, if these things could happen to her.

“Daydreaming again, eh Eva?” A nasally voice said from behind the young woman. Evangeline turned around in a jump. A large-built woman in her forties with curly blonde hair stood before the scullery maid and laughed, “Ya don’t need to be so jumpy! It’s only me.”

The woman was Doris, the manor’s head cook. She rolled up her sleeves and started to help her clean the dishes, “I don’t get why you space out so much. Have I ever told you that you’re kind of strange?”

“Yes,” Eva nodded with a small smile, “Why shouldn’t I dream Doris? Isn’t it only natural?”

Doris just looked at the woman as though she were from another world. Without responding to her question, the woman continued with the dishes, “So, what’s on your mind anyway?”

“I was just worrying about the master. I really want to help him. I just have no clue what I can do for him. He seems…desperate.”

“Desperate for what, I wonder,” the woman contemplated half-heartedly as she placed a few dishes on the rack, “I’m sorry Eva,” she said with a sigh, “But I must go. Can you take care of things on your own?”

Evangeline nodded, “Yes,” she said softly. She looked at her reflection in a porcelain plate and her head in her chin, “Freedom,” she said with a soft smile, dreaming of a new life.

That night, a dark visitor from beyond Earth heard the wishes of the dreaming Evangeline and the pleads of the weary Dillon. Clad in a nude-color cloak, he made his way to the manor. He clasped his burly fingers around the doorknocker and pulled it back. Before he let it go, the rusting knocker made a horrible screeching noise.

A young man inside the manor heard the screech and opened the door. The servant looked up at the man. A few more maids and servants rushed down the stairs to see who in the world the visitor could be.

The large man nodded hello and gave a friendly smile, “My name is Cassian Joan,” he said with a gruff voice, “I’m hear to speak with the master of the manor. It’s quite important.”

Unsure of what to do, the servant boy complied, taking the visitor to the study. When the door opened, Dillon was looking quite unsettled. As he examined the visitor, he became even more unsettled, “Who are you?” he said, unused to visitors from the outside.

“Just a friend who can help you get out of here,” Cassian said with a sly smirk. He pulled out the Black Man’s iron book and handed it Dillon, “As long as you are holding this, you can leave the manor. But you can only keep it for forty-eight hours before the Black Man comes looking for it.”

Dillon took the book and stared at it, “Only forty-eight? And what will happen to all the names that need to be written in my book?”

“I’ll take care of the Book of Time for now,” Cassian said, “Listen to what I’m about to say carefully and you can stay in the human world for the rest of your previously scheduled life,” he said in a harsh whisper.

After hearing Cassian’s words, Dillon ran out of the study with the Devil’s book tucked under his arm. He was happier than he had ever been in his lifetime. He ran joyously to the kitchen, “Evangeline! Evangeline!” he cried out to the scullery maid.

The maid appeared out of the scullery room with soot on her lightly freckled face, “Master? What are you doing out of the study?”

“Eva,” he panted happily, “I can leave. Maybe just for now, but I can still leave! I will have sweet freedom!” he shouted, laughing while holding up the book.

Evangeline’s eyes sparked, “Oh Dillon!” she said, running to him and embracing him, “That’s wonderful news!”

“Evangeline, we don’t have much time to waste. Will you come with me?” he asked, his eyes piercing into hers.

Speechless, Eva nodded slowly. Dillon beamed as he made his way out of the kitchen, “Let us make haste then.”

The two bundled up in warm coats and gloves as they bid the servants and Cassian goodbye. Dillon stared at the door with graveness, “You don’t scare me,” he whispered. Though he knew it was a lie. That door terrified him. It was the only barrier between him and a world he hadn’t faced in two centuries.

The door swung open. The two passed the threshold. And a barrier was broken.

Dillon felt the snow crunch under his boots and let the cold wind rush past him, chilling him to the bone and leaving nothing but the taste of the fresh air in his mouth. He looked around. The two were standing in a vast snowy field without another house around for a few miles. Dillon and Evangeline looked straight up to stare at the starry sky, “It’s more beautiful than I remember,” Dillon said happily.

This was the kind of world he wanted to live in. And he didn’t intend on staying there for only two days. Dillon smiled darkly, “Well, shall we continue then?”

Jerron Shirinski heard a pounding on his door. He was a tall, lanky thing with messed, sandy-brown hair. He walked across the hardwood floor, his feet freezing to the core. His hand gripped the handle and he swung the door open.

Two strangers stared back at him. They looked to be of a higher social class than Jerron could ever hope to be. They were both dressed in clothing from the late 1700s, “Can I help you?” Jerron asked the two, staring at the unusual couple.

The man bowed and nodded, “My name is Master Dillon Melone,” the strange man explained, “This is my assistant, Miss Bellefontaine. We are travelers looking for a place to stay for a couple of days. Will you provide?” he asked kindly.

Jerron looked at them, tempted to slam the door in their face. But then he looked into Dillon’s eyes and saw the same pain of loneliness as that residing in his own eyes. Jerron sighed, “You may come in until my mother gets home,” he said, warningly. He didn’t care about stranger danger. All those talks the administrators gave at school were bullshit to him.

The two walked in, looking around the house with interest. Dillon nodded, “You are being very friendly,” he said, “What if I killed you now?”

“You won’t,” Jerron said, motioning for the two to sit at the couch, “Have a seat. Can I get you anything?”

The two shook their heads, sitting down on the couch uncomfortably. Jerron scratch his head, “Um…can I take your coats then?” he asked politely.

Evangeline nodded and handed him her coat with a smile. Jerron smiled back as he held out his hand to take Dillon’s coat. Dillon took it off, unwillingly. Unlike his assistant, Dillon was much less friendly towards the young man.

Jerron shoved the coats into a closet and sat down on a couch across from the two, “you two don’t even know my name,” he said darkly, “I could draw a gun or knife on you any minute. Why would you want to stay here?”

Dillon simply laughed and stared at him with piercingly cold eyes, “Death doesn’t scare me,” he said in a way that put a chill down Jerron’s spine.

Evangeline cleared her throat softly to get attention, “I am sorry,” she smiled, “But what is your name kind sir?”

“Jerron Shirinski,” the boy said cautiously, “I live here with my mother.”

A spark came to Dillon’s eyes, “But no father, eh?” he laughed, “Aren’t you lonely?”

Jerron stood up stiffly, “We only have one guest room. But one of you can sleep in here, if you’d like,” he said, looking at Dillon.

“I’ll sleep here,” Evangeline volunteered, “It’s a nice little living space. I like it.”

“I guess I’ll take the guest room then,” Dillon said eloquently. He stood up and bowed to Jerron, “Lead the way sir.”

Jerron walked down the hall, suspicious of the man following behind him. He opened the guest bedroom and examined Dillon carefully. For the first time, he noticed a large book in the man’s arms. It was black with old iron clasps holding it closed. The iron clasps were highly decorative. They looked to be large talons clutching onto the book, “This is your room,” he said absentmindedly, staring at the book.

“Thank you,” Dillon said. He stepped into the room slowly, as though savoring every step, “You know, it can only be seen by those who need it.”

“What?” Jerron pretended to be confused. He knew very well that the man was talking about that book. But what was it? Why did he need it?

“This,” Dillon said darkly, throwing the book on the bed. The covers on the bed sunk in from the heaviness of the book, “You need to get out Jerron. You know you do.”

“What are you talking about?” Jerron asked with his heart racing. He paced the room cautiously, not diverting his careful gaze from the mysterious man.

“Tell me, when does your mother plan on getting home? Where is she? Is she working her second job because she had to drop out of school when she had you? She can barely afford to pay the rent for this place, can she?” Dillon laughed, sitting on the foot of the bed.

Jerron could feel his face heating up as he became more and more angry, “Take that back you bastard!” He dove for Dillon, knocking the man to the bed. He pinned the man down by the shoulders, “Why were you stalking me? Who are you? What do you want?” he demanded loudly.

However, the vile man continued, “But what about your father? Did he leave your mother after he found out she was pregnant with you? Did you ruin their relationship? Or was she so much of a bimbo that she doesn’t know who he is? Is she out clubbing now? Looking to get Jerron a new daddy?”

“Shut up.” Tears fell from the young man’s eyes and splashed down onto Dillon’s face.

“Are you lonely? Do you spend every night alone? Is that why you let Evangeline and me in? Were you just grateful for the company?” Dillon kicked Jerron off of him and slammed the young man against the wall, “There’s a way out, Jerron. You can forget about all of that.”

“How? Tell me how,” Jerron whispered. He had enough of the main vicious verbal attacks. He would do anything just to get Dillon to be quiet. His reddened eyes looked up at Dillon. The man walked to the bed and grabbed the mysterious black book.

As he undid the clasps, “Just write your name down here,” he said, handing the boy an iron pen, “And whisper the words ‘eternal life’.”

Jerron stared at the pen, wondering what all of this meant. He finally took the pen and slid his name across the paper. He began to feel a startling tightening in his chest and a throbbing in his head. He gasped for breath.

But breath did not come. Was he dead? He couldn’t feel his own heart beat. Something was wrong. No, everything was wrong, “What did you do?” he whispered to the man, not even wondering how he was speaking without a pulse.

Dillon laughed, “Soon you will be transported to the Manor of a Million Souls. There you will meet a man named Cassian to explain everything. Have fun,” he spat at the boy, ignoring the question.

Jerron tried to think. But his brain was fogged and clouded. A dull pain throbbed throughout his entire body as his eyes closed. Something just slipped away from him…

That something was his soul.

Dillon laughed hysterically as he bounced on the bed delightfully. He stared at the ceiling, feeling his soul come back to him. He had missed the feeling of mortality, “I guess it’s just one of those things you don’t miss until it’s gone,” he murmured to himself.

He walked out into the living room, “Eva,” he said quietly. The young girl was sitting on the couch, reading a book she had picked up from a nearby shelf.

She looked at him with big eyes, “Master Dillon. I heard yelling. Is everything alright? Where’s Mister Jerron?”

“Gone Evangeline,” he said with a smile, “I was lucky it was him. I knew Jerron would want an escape. It would have been harder if it were someone else. But Eva!” he gasped happily. He threw is arms around the young woman in a warm embrace, “I’m free. Free for as long as I live!”

“What are you talking about Master?” Evangeline asked uncomfortably as she wriggled out of her master’s arms.

He explained everything. Cassian told him that if he could find someone to replace him, he would be free. All he had to do was get a man to give away his soul in exchange for eternal life, “See Eva? That’s all it took! Of course there was some struggle at first. But I think I really hit a tender spot. He didn’t trust me at all. But trust is hard to gain. I think I did well for only doing it in a few hours. What do you think?”

Dillon did not notice tears streaming down Evangeline’s face, “I understood at first. I understood your lust for freedom. But I also thought you were noble enough to take your punishment for your greed. How could you do this to an innocent young man?”

“My future was bleak Eva!” he shouted, infuriated, “I had to do the same thing for hundreds of thousands of years until the sun explodes on itself. You wouldn’t understand!”

Evangeline looked at her feet. It was true. She didn’t understand. She didn’t understand how someone could be so cold they would pass on their pain to an innocent person, “I can’t forgive you,” she whispered.

“Live with me Eva!” Dillon smiled, trying to coax her out of her current state-of-mind, “We can be happy like real humans. Just listen to me for a second!” he said, grabbing Evangeline’s wrists.

“I will not listen to you,” Evangeline said with a sharp tongue. She jerked her wrists out of his grip. She brought her hand across his face, leaving a stinging med mark on his left cheek. “You are not my master, Dillon.”

The young woman turned around and stepped out of the house. She ran as fast as she could. Her tears nearly froze on her face because of the bitter coldness of the night. She looked back once to make sure he wasn’t following her.

A few days later:

“Master Jerron?” a familiar voice called out before entering the large study, “Dinner is ready.”

“Come in Evangeline,” a voice said with a sigh, “You’re just the person I wanted to see.”

“How can I serve you sir?”

“Can I erase anybody’s name? Even if it isn’t their time?” he asked, with increasing interest as he stared at a page.

“I suppose you can. As long as it is not the name of somebody in the manor,” she said absentmindedly, placing his dinner tray on his desk.

Jerron nodded as he picked up the pencil slowly and flipped the book two-hundred years back. He swept the eraser across Dillon Melone’s name, “This is for you Dillon. After all, all you really wanted was an escape.”

Life is nothing but a glass box. However, the lid can be lifted when a soul flies free. One must only be cautious so they do not lose their selves in the process of flying free.

.Fin.