August 19, 2027
Mattias
[ The first day of the rest of his life starts off in fine form. He wakes up, sees the music box next to his head (not so mysterious in the light of day), and remembers his Lost and Found plan. Well done, Matt! This task complete, he turns his attention to the other objects on the nightstand, the journal and pen which he keeps for any befuddled interlopers who might happen to be passing through his head. ]
Mattias
[ A quick perusal reveals two notes that weren’t there yesterday. First: another visit from his 20-something self last night—the latest in their ongoing war. That Mattias, in the throes of a pathological busybody phase, has kindly informed him that the bottles in the kitchen were nearly empty, and he's done him the favour of pouring their contents down the sink and rinsing them out, you're welcome for that. He leaves the sanctimonious young so-and-so an equally passive-aggressive note telling him not to touch his things. ]
Mattias
[ With that done, he takes a look at the second message. This one is unexpected. ]
Mattias
Sorry to bother you, but I need help with a problem, and I was wondering if you could advise me about what to do.
Mattias
[ Oh. ]
Mattias
I believe this is the future. If so, hello future me! If not, please ignore. Maybe you remember this, but I have just had an argument with my f—
Mattias
[ He crumples the page up and tosses it in the bin. ]
Mattias
[ “Pesky nighttime visions,” indeed. He takes his medication, gets ready for work, notes the empty bottles around the kitchen sink, and leaves in an absolutely foul mood. Distracted as he is, the music box does not accompany him. ]
Mattias
[ Work goes well exactly until he walks through the building door, sits down at his cubicle, only to be greeted by an unpleasant email from his supervisor, chastising him for not having already taken care of a filing overhaul that is not and has never been part of his job description. Whether because of that or the unpleasant shock of the morning, it's not long before his mind starts to wander, and suddenly the sounds of the office are replaced by a particularly cutting conversation with his ex-wife, arguments from when he was twenty-five, twenty, nineteen, and he can feel seventeen looming on the horizon. ]
Mattias
[ The point is, he buggers off work ten minutes before he strictly ought to do, and spends his afternoon in a gainful and prudent fashion at the pub. ]
Mattias
[ He arrives home and flops on his bed, only to make eye contact with the music box on the nightstand. ]
Mattias
…Oh, good grief.
Mattias
[ He rolls over, fumbling his mobile phone out of his pocket, and finds the number for the transit authority. ]
Mattias
... I've found a–a–a–a jewellery box, a novelty jewellery box with a key. ... Seeds. ... Seeds, yes. Sunflower seeds? ... No jewellery, no.
Mattias
... Oh. Really? It seems v...aluable to me. ... If anyone comes looking for it— ... Yes, I will, but if they do—a blond man— ... Alright. ... Alright. Thank you.
Mattias
[ He lets his mobile bounce on the opposite pillow. ] Well. You can’t say I haven’t done my civic duty.
Mattias
[ Conversationally, to the music box. ] Looks like you’ll be staying here a while. Sorry. I did try.
Mattias
[ With that, he plops back onto his face and goes to sleep. ]
Pandora
[ Rhythmic rumbles swell and subside from the large, frightening shadow to her left. ]
Pandora
Lysander?
Pandora
[ No response. Either he can't hear her quavering mumble, or he simply isn't here. She lowers the lid with soft fingers and sinks into a squat. The glow from her chest brightens the pitch black confines of the box. ]
Pandora
[ Lysander had three rules for her while they were traveling. He made her recite them back lots of times. Under her breath, she recites them again.
1. Do not leave your box under any circumstances.
2. If a stranger opens your box, stay unreal unless I tell you otherwise.
3. Stay put and I will come get you. ]
Pandora
[ She has been very good, or, at least, she'd like to think so. Lysander promised he'd see her in a few hours, so it was startling when her box was opened by a stranger she wasn’t expecting to see, furry-faced and spectacled. But she remembered the second rule, didn't blink or breathe, and let the soft and funny things he said pass over her, as harmless and unreal as she was. He closed her box without incident. If she follows the rules, Lysander will come back for her. ]
Pandora
[ But Lysander hasn’t come for her. She spent all day waiting for him. She took only brief trips out onto the nightstand, poked around the unusual objects there under the canopy of an imposing statue, stared out at the hills of rumpled clothes, and searched for her sunflower seeds before the odd noise drove her back into hiding. ]
Pandora
[ When she heard footsteps, she was elated. She waited in her box with bated breath. But it was only the strange man, who talked to himself for a while, then told her she’ll be staying here. ]
Pandora
[ Her soft and squishy belly gurgles. She followed all the rules and Lysander still isn’t coming back. ]
Pandora
[ She takes off her pink slippers and sets them on the sunken pedestal. With wobbly arms, she pushes the lid all the way up. ]
Pandora
[ The mass on the bed isn’t facing her. She clambers over the brim of the box and slides down the other side. ]
Pandora
[ The fall to the floor isn’t far—not for her, anyway. But how will she get back up again? In the slant of orange light from the window, the corner of a loose blanket brushes the floor. That won’t be so difficult to scale, if she doesn’t think about the sleeping giant waiting at the top. Hunger grips her mushy insides. She can tackle that fear later. ]
Pandora
[ A sharp breath through her nose, and she leaps from the nightstand. The fall is over before she has time to be scared. She lands on her bum with nothing more than a wince, scrambles to her feet, and skitters out of the bedroom. ]
Pandora
[ The first door she passes is closed. She squeezes through the crack. The unlit room is smaller than the first one she saw, with a tile floor and no sign of the long yellow seat the man had been sitting on. She wiggles back out the other side. ]
Pandora
[ The hallway emerges into another room—a cavernous room, with many tall and imposing structures. She balks at the size of it, pressed against the baseboard. The laboratory was a plain white cube where she could see most everything from the examination table. This place has far too many nooks and crannies. What could be waiting for her in its shadowy corners? Spiders and their sticky webs? Venomous centipedes with hundreds of legs? Or (and a little thrill shoots through the overexcited shard in her chest) a big, mean mouse, with beady-black eyes and mischievous intentions? ]
Pandora
[ Her stomach burbles insistently. She brushes her eyes, shakes a globule of dust off her tulle skirt, and pushes off the baseboard. ]
Pandora
[ In the vast openness of the new room, her resolute march speeds to a scamper. She throws herself behind the first table leg she sees, a stout one bordered by a high wooden dividing wall, and peeks around it. Across the floorboards, and behind a smaller table, is the floral yellow pattern of the long seat. ]
Pandora
[ She zips to the pile of trash next to the low table. The packet of sunflower seeds isn’t among the waist-high crumpled wads of paper or the empty white boxes lying on their sides. So much garbage on the floor would never stand in the laboratory—it’s not sterile! ]
Pandora
[ The hill is a treacherous climb. The paper footholds give out when she puts her weight on them. She springs between the unraveling platforms and, with a mighty hop, skids onto the low table. Behind her, the mountain comes apart, and settles with a soft rustling. She catches her breath and examines the table. ]
Pandora
[ It’s empty! She checks the far end, dismayed, but the surface is smooth and flat all the way across. There’s no sign of her seeds on the seat cushions, either. An ocean of rubbish, and he threw out her nice clean seeds! It's not fair. She rubs the goosebumps on her arms and scans the rest of the huge room. ]
Pandora
[ From this height, she can see that what she thought was a dividing wall next to the table is actually a long counter, like the black-topped one in the lab, except that it curves around the edge of the room. There are things stacked on top of it: a kettle, and some metal grates, and a vase full of funny tools. And most importantly: a sloping loaf of bread on a pedestal. ]
Pandora
[ She stares at the distant loaf. The very first time she felt hungry, Lysander smuggled his sandwich into the laboratory and gave her a crumb of bread, along with a corner of cheese and a sliver of lettuce. She remembers how soft and fluffy it was. ]
Pandora
[ A crumb of bread would be even better than her seeds. But how can she get up there? Back at the lab, she could only move between the counter and table if the researchers lifted her. She couldn't scale the side of a sheer counter—it's much too high. ]
Pandora
[ Then again... this place does have a lot more nooks and crannies than the lab. ]
Pandora
[ She eyes the kitchen setup. Next to the table are two chairs, their seats connected to their backs by bumpy sticks. One of them rests almost against the countertop, at a tantalizing angle. ]
Pandora
[ The quest for seeds abandoned, she hops off the edge of the table, bounces to her feet, and darts across the floor, back to the tiled area. If she cranes her neck back, she can see the underside of the seat—much further away, from here. She looks around for anything to stand on. ]
Pandora
[ At the edge of the tiled area is a great machine, with a dusty grille at the bottom that emits a horrible whirring sound. Tiptoeing around it, she finds supplies stacked on the floor: a mop, bottles, and most interesting of all, a stack of little orange boxes wrapped in plastic, twice as tall as she is, and three times as thick. One box has been removed from the packaging, leaving three in a promising stair-like stack. ]
Pandora
[ With great effort, she pushes and drags the boxes all the way to the leg of the chair. Two jumps, and she's on top of them. Another big leap, and she catches herself on the edge of the seat, flailing her legs, then hauls herself up onto the cushion. Finally, she shimmies up the back of the chair, catching her feet in the grooves, until, at last, she drops onto the countertop to catch her breath. ]
Pandora
[ It's much easier to walk up here, where the surface of the counter is smooth. She paces over to the mountain of bread, stomach growling in anticipation. ]
Pandora
[ A sheet of bread lies flat on the wooden block, separated from the whole loaf. Trembling with hunger, she tears a chunk of crust off with both hands and gnaws on it. This bread is much harder than the soft sandwich bread, and the white, spongy fluff is tangy instead of sweet. She gives up on the crust and scoops fistfuls of the crumb out of the hole she made. ]
Pandora
[ Sated, she wipes her hands. Her tongue is dry and thirsty. Around the curve of the counter is a sink. She’s practically an expert on sinks, since Lysander fished her out of the laboratory one. She presses her back to the wall and shuffles to the faucet. With a foot, she pushes the handle until a thin stream of water pours from the head. With both hands, she swivels the thick neck of the faucet as far to the left as it can go. Water cascades onto the counter. She cups her hands under the waterfall, and drinks until she’s quenched. And drenched. ]
Pandora
[ Sopping wet, she returns to the countertop proper. She shakes out her dripping hands and makes a face. She can’t go back to her box like this! She’d leave a terrible mess! ]
Pandora
[ One of the drawers is open. She leans over the edge of the counter—the floor is a long way down—and peers into it. The drawer is heaped with towels. She sits on the edge of the counter, slides into the darkness, and drops onto the soft pile with a whumph. There she lies, facedown, and lets the tap water soak into the cloth. ]
Pandora
[ She should probably go back to her box now, she thinks reluctantly. It’s the safest place in the world for her to be. But the journey is so long, and she would rather sleep than turn unreal again—and if the strange man notices her coming back, he might be very angry that she left. In that case, it’s far better to stay hidden. ]
Pandora
[ She rolls over the towel once more for good measure, and wiggles to the very back, out of sight of the slat of grey light. She takes a clean cloth, bundles herself in a warm cocoon, and promptly passes out. ]
Mattias
[ When he next wakes up, the sun has set, and someone has glued his tongue to the roof of his mouth. He groans and sits up, massaging his face. A glance at the clock on the nightstand says it's well past time for supper, and in the spirit of hunger or guilt, he manages to talk himself into cooking. He shuffles into the kitchen—where he stumbles over an obstacle on the floor. ]
Mattias
[ Next to the kitchen table, directly in his way, is a stack of sodium bicarbonate boxes, which he could have sworn were next to the refrigerator. When he stands up, he's met with another unexpected sight: the countertop is shiny-wet. But if this is another cleanup attempt from his twenty-something self, it's certainly an odd one. Crumbs are scattered everywhere, a drawer is cracked open, and he could swear there's a hole in the bread loaf. And in any case, he's never had an intrusion like that during the day, not in adulthood. Mice, then? If so, they’re very aggressive. He can't make heads or tails of it. ]
Mattias
[ He checks his journal, just in case he happens to have written an explanation for all this. Apparently not. Passing strange. ]
Mattias
Shaking his head, he returns the bicarb boxes to their usual place, towels up the mess on the counter, and closes the open drawer. ]
Pandora
[ She thuds into the back of the drawer and jolts awake. The drawer is as dark as her box—it’s been closed! And outside, she can hear the trudging footsteps of the giant. She draws her towel up to her chin and stays very still. ]
Mattias
[ Completely unaware of the miniature drama taking place in his tea towel drawer, he cooks and eats a meal for one, leaving the pan he used to fry the vegetables and onions on the stovetop, to be cleaned at a future point unspecified. That's a problem for a different Mattias. ]
Mattias
[ Before he goes to bed, he makes a few notes in his journal, about the pan on the stove, and a few things of note at his job, and in passing, the possibility that he's going mad. He ends on: Don't touch my kitchen things, or I shall be cross with myself. ]
Pandora
[ After a long time, which she spends wedged in the corner of the drawer, the footsteps of the giant carry him away. She waits even longer after that, to see if he’ll come back, but the fantastic smells wafting through the crack in the drawer draw her out. She pushes the drawer open and hoists herself back onto the counter. ]
Pandora
[ The orange glow of evening is gone. The glow from her chest is a tiny sun in a land of night. Guided by her shard, she follows the scent to the grates. ]
Pandora
[ The smell is coming from a sturdy pan. She climbs onto the rim. A mound of vegetables has been pushed to one side. She takes a hunk of carrot and a pea the size of her head, sits with her legs swinging, and nibbles on the lukewarm veggies. ]
Pandora
[ Halfway through her pea, she sets it on her lap and stares into the night. She hasn’t seen Lysander in a whole day—maybe longer. They were supposed to be going somewhere safe. But it seems like Lysander has forgotten all about her. ]
Pandora
[ Big tears roll from her eyes. She hides her face angrily in the crook of her elbow. She finishes her meal, with pauses to sniff, and washes her hands at the sink. It’s too dangerous out here. The strange man might find her if she stays. ]
Pandora
[ It’s a long journey from the counter to the floor, and from the kitchen to the bedroom. Under the bed rail, she nearly loses her nerve. But she thinks about the trek back to the towel drawer, and about the cavernous darkness beneath the bed, and seizes the dangling sheet. ]
Pandora
[ She ascends quickly, and fumbles onto the cushiony surface. The nightstand is just one little leap away. At the precipice, she pauses, and looks back. ]
Pandora
[ She can see his face this time. The man is sleeping peacefully, mouth slack behind the tangle of hair. ]
Pandora
[ She’s never met a stranger before. All the researchers knew more about her than she did. They were mostly nice, too. She likes Lysander best of all, but Yasmine gave her puzzles to solve and praised her handwriting. Maybe the stranger is like one of them. ]
Mattias
[ His eyelids flutter. ]
Pandora
[ The movement startles her. She bounces across the chasm, slips into her box, and pulls the lid firmly shut. ]
Pandora
[ He could be nice, she thinks, laying on her side in the shallow basin and tucking her knees up to her chin. But if he’s not, then showing herself to him is the worst thing she could do. ]
Mattias
[ The counter is flooded again the next morning. Once again, he has the vague sense that certain objects aren’t where he last remembers leaving them, and once again, there is no note indicating the culpability of any other Mattias. He mops up the water in dull confusion, contemplating whether there’s a leak in the faucet, or alternatively, if he’s experiencing some entirely non-magical form of early-onset dementia. A great loss to society, to be sure. ]
Mattias
[ Thursday is his day off. Rather, his office is on an (in his opinion, pointless) alternating in-office, remote schedule. This means that once he’s spent the morning filing claims, unless he gets an email, the rest of the day is his to do with as he pleases. ]
Mattias
[ He’s really quite lucky to be in this position. Hours to spend with loved ones… or at least, doing something morally edifying. He should make good use of this time. ]
Mattias
[ His violin is sat on top of the liquor cabinet, the case grey and fluffy with dust. Perhaps later—he’s tired. Really, he will later. One of these days. ]
Mattias
[ Instead, as he always does, he takes a walk to Hollow Pond, in the hopes that today’s cool and rainy air will clear his head. Unlikely, but you never know. ]
Mattias
[ When he returns, it’s with his hand clasped around the spoils of the day. There was a glint in the gutter which he rescued like a curious crow. A paperclip, as it turned out. Shiny gold and decorated with a unicorn rampant. He doesn’t truck much in magic, these days, and does his best to avoid thinking about shards. But he’s never quite been able to banish the idea that items like this have a significance to them. They carry the weight of having been found. ]
Mattias
[ The bookshelf in his bedroom is decorated with many such treasures: an interesting rock, the broken heart of an old brass locket, an embroidered cloth pouch the size of his thumb, a striped feather, a misplaced earring, the delicate key to a diary. He is considering leaving the unicorn amongst them, when he remembers that he now has a much better place for it. ]
Mattias
[ He opens the music box. ]
Pandora
[ The dancer rises. Her porcelain arms are lifted in that high fifth. Instead of a wistful smile, her lips are turned down at the corners, and her painted eyes are sad. ]
Mattias
[ The seven notes of the box’s tune wind down ponderously to nothing. Is it just his imagination, or has the dancer changed? She looks just as lifelike as before, but somehow less lively. Enchanted or otherwise, it strikes him as distasteful to craft such a detailed little ballerina in a facsimile of sadness. ]
Mattias
[ The silence gnaws at him. He turns the key of the music box, as if that might lift her spirits. Notes tinkle out. The ballerina turns, still frozen in her lonely pose. ]
Mattias
It can't be much fun. [ Contemplative. ] By yourself in there. Just the same thing again, and again, and again.
Pandora
[ The man’s flat paper face spins into and out of view. His sad, soft voice sounds like it’s coming from another room, distant and garbled. ]
Mattias
[ Warming to an audience, even an imaginary one. ] Not that I'm criticising. All I ever do is go to w...ork.
Mattias
No one ever comes back here, either. My closest friend lives in Canada; the last time she visited was years ago. And I haven't any family. I mean, my brother's out there, somewhere, doing God knows what. But you won't catch him ringing me up. Unless he needs something. [ Like bail. ]
Mattias
...That's not really fair. It's more me than him. I could—well. [ He turns away, raking a hand back through his shaggy hair. ] Bit late for that.
Mattias
The p-point is, you're the closest thing I've had to a houseguest since the div…orce. So, maybe it's not so bad, that your man dropped you. I like having you around, anyway. It's not like you eat much.
Pandora
[ Those words pierce through the gauze. Her arms suddenly feel heavy; she struggles to keep them in their perfect moon. He noticed the bread and the vegetables, and he doesn’t mind? Before her revolution ends, she looks at him. ]
Mattias
[ He turns to face her again. ]
Pandora
[ She snaps back into position. ]
Mattias
[ Not noticing anything. ] …Here.
Mattias
[ He rests the unicorn in the empty depression of the box, so that the unicorn is upright along the side. There. They can be friends. ]
Mattias
[ Suddenly self-conscious. What are you doing, Moran? You’re crackers. It’s a music box. He closes the lid. ]
Pandora
[ She picks up the clip and holds it in both hands. Prismatic diamonds of light reflect off the white head of the horse. The metal is crusted with a dark material that crumbles into her fingers unpleasantly. Yuck, is that dirt? Dirt isn’t supposed to come into her box! ]
Pandora
[ She waits to hear the rhythmic rumbling. Afraid of dislodging more dirt, she holds the clip stiffly, so her arms are almost numb by the time the stranger’s deep breathing is audible. She wonders why he put it there. If the horse and the clip are supposed to be a gift, it’s not a very sanitary one. ]
Pandora
[ Clip tucked under her arm, she finally journeys back into the kitchen. ]
Pandora
[ Hours later, she returns to his room, exhausted and soaked to her elbows. She climbs the dangling blankets, as usual. But, before the last leap to the nightstand, she lays the damp clip on his pillow, shiny and freshly scrubbed. ]
Mattias
[ The lights are off. Silence reigns in the flat. But the resident, who has always been a light sleeper, and careful to be quiet after hours, lies frozen and awake. Because he is sure, quite sure—at least, fairly sure—that there was someone else in his room. A tiny someone, who hopped onto his pillow. ]
Mattias
[ He picks up the paperclip between finger and thumb, inspecting it in the crack of moonlight from the window. Then he folds his hands on his belly, staring up at the ceiling to think. ]