Eric looked at it again. “What’s it for?”
Mr. Trouble finally broke out of whatever trance he’d been in and knelt down next to his uncle. “That’s a good question. We’ve found signs of them on almost every job. The wax they use to hold them in place leaves a nice square impression, always the same size. But we’ve only found two other actual boxes. One in 1895 outside New Orleans, and one in 1957 in Memphis. But so far we haven’t been able to figure out their purpose.”
“Eighteen ninety-five?” Maggie said, obviously not believing it.
Mr. Trouble looked back at her and smiled. “Great-times-three granddad Robert. He wasn’t Mr. Trouble for long but he sure achieved a lot in his limited run.”
“What’s in the drawers?” Eric asked.
Mr. Trouble shrugged. “The others were empty so my guess is nothing.” He glanced at his uncle. “Have you checked?”
Uncle Carl shook his head. “Not yet.” He looked like he really wasn’t sure he wanted to.
“No time like the present,” Mr. Trouble said, reaching for the top left drawer.
Both Fiona and Keira sucked in deep breaths. But before Mr. Trouble touched the drawer’s knob, Uncle Carl grabbed his hand.
“We should wait until we have it in the workshop,” he said. “Just in case there
It was apparent Mr. Trouble didn’t want to wait, but he nodded and pulled his hand back, leaving the drawer unopened.
The second he was out of the way, Uncle Carl lifted the flap of his jacket. On the inside there were over a dozen different pockets. He unzipped one and removed a long black-handled tool. Attached to the handle was a thin piece of metal about half an inch wide and six inches long. He pushed a red button on the base then held his free hand near the metal strip, waiting.
As soon as the metal started giving off a slight glow, he pulled his hand away then slid the metal end into the wax, melting it. Working quickly, he cut a line along the top of the box and down both sides — there was no wax along the bottom. Once finished, he pulled his wax cutter out and hit the button again. The glow began to fade right away.
“Here,” he said, handing the tool to Keira. “Careful. It’s still hot.”
Freed up now, he put a hand to either side of the box but hesitated before actually touching it.
“You want me to do it?” Mr. Trouble asked.
“No,” Uncle Carl said quickly. “I’ve got it. It’s just…” He looked back at everyone. “I never thought we’d actually find one.”
“Maybe someone should take a picture,” Maggie joked.
The whole Trouble family turned and looked at her.
“She’s right,” Fiona said. She pulled a cell phone out of her pocket. “Smile, Uncle Carl.”
Uncle Carl looked at the camera, unsmiling, and she took the shot.
“Perfect,” she said.
This time, when Uncle Carl reached for the box, he grabbed it by the sides and pulled.
There was an odd whiny-creaky sound.
Mr. Trouble leaned over his uncle’s shoulder and looked into the growing gap between the box and the wall.
“Stop!” he yelled.
Uncle Carl froze, the box suspended in the air, four inches from the wall.
Mr. Trouble held his hand out to Fiona. “Camera.”
She gave him her cell phone. He moved it so that the lens was pointed into the gap then snapped off a shot. He looked at the display, unsatisfied.
“Does this thing have a flash?” he asked.
“No,” she said.
Mr. Trouble scanned the room and then nodded toward one of the nightstands. “Eric, grab that lamp for me and bring it over here, would you?”
The lamp was made of brushed steel, and looked like it would cost Eric every cent of his allowance from now until the end of high school to replace if he broke it.
“Please hurry,” Uncle Carl said. “Not sure how much longer I can hold it like this.”
Eric unplugged the lamp from the wall then carefully carried it over to Mr. Trouble.
“I’ll plug it in,” Fiona offered.
She grabbed the end of the cord and stuck it into a socket a couple of feet away. Eric then clicked the switch on the base and the bulb lit up.
“Hold it next to the camera so the light gets in behind the box,” Mr. Trouble said. “Be careful, though, don’t touch the box itself. Don’t know what a little electricity might do to it.”
Eric did as he was told, with Fiona helping out by holding the cord so it wouldn’t droop down.
Mr. Trouble took another shot, this time smiling at the results. “That’ll work.”
“Can I move now?” Uncle Carl asked.
“It’s all yours.”
While Uncle Carl pulled the box from the wall, Eric returned the lamp to the nightstand. When he walked back over, Fiona and Keira were looking at the image on the cell phone.
“Can I see?” he asked.
“Don’t see why not,” Fiona said, turning the phone toward him.
On the right side of the image was the back of the box, and on the left was the wall, but it was what was in between that obviously interested the Troubles. Roughly in line with the back of each of the drawers were thin strings or cords attached from the box to the wall. Nine cords in all.
“Did the other boxes have these?” he asked.
“Not as far as we know,” Fiona said. “There was no mention of anything like this in the records.”
“Definitely something new,” Keira said.
Eric looked at the picture again. “What do you think they are?”
Fiona shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“All right, everyone,” Mr. Trouble said. “We’re out of here.”
Cradling the box carefully in his arms, Uncle Carl brought up the rear as they went back to the car. He then wrapped it in his jacket and put it carefully in the trunk.
“Shouldn’t you hold it?” Eric asked when Uncle Carl got in beside him.
Uncle Carl looked unsure. “Do you think I should?” He leaned forward and touched Mr. Trouble on the shoulder. “Maybe I should get it before we go.”
“It’s fine where it is,” Mr. Trouble said, starting the car.
“Are you sure?’
“I’m sure.”
“Where to now?” Eric asked. “The workshop to figure out what’s inside?”
“The workshop’s still flying around, remember?” Keira said.
“Oh. Right.”
“
“That’s right. Slumber party.” Fiona raised her arms halfheartedly into the air. “Woo-hoo.”
Maggie groaned.
As Mr. Trouble pulled the car away from the curb, Eric caught a quick glimpse of someone at a house across the street. He was leaning out from behind a stack of firewood, watching them drive off.
Within just a few seconds, he was out of sight. But it had been long enough for Eric to get a look at the guy’s face.
Peter Garr.
And he was sniffing the air.
Excerpt from the TFS Encyclopedia
Maker’s Box
