Stories

This morning I went for a walk. I needed to escape for awhile and did not care where I went. I left my house and headed towards the woods. I took my snowshoes and a day pack of food and water. I only meant to go a little ways. I veered towards the woods whereI normally hiked - about a mile from my house. The main trail is well packed because snowmobilers use it frequently. I entered the woods on the west side - then I strapped on the snowshoes. I walked into the woods and began following what appeared to be a path through the trees - but it was not a typical path - it had no real trail - just regular openings through the trees. I walked along and listened to the swish of the shoes and the wind through the trees. There is something very peaceful about walking through the woods when there are no noises from the outer environment.

I continued to walk until I encountered a little girl. She was dressed for the cold and wore a small pair of snowshoes, but she did not look like a local. Her hair was a brilliant auburn and was braided in an intricate pattern. Also, her pack was made of leather (not nylon or plastic). I stopped to talk to her - but she had nothing to say. I began to walk with her. She would periodically pause as if listening for directions from something that I could not fathom. We walked along the path, by this time we were deep in the forest and the woods should be darker. Instead, it appeared to become brighter and more brilliant as if we were approaching a meadow - but one was not evident - just more trees. Finally, the child moved abruptly to the left and disappeared - I was startled and baffled. So I stepped to the left also, but nothing happened. The girl was gone; I looked back at our trail and it consisted of only one pair of large snowshoes. Now, I am not crazy - but I was starting to doubt my sanity because I had walked at least 2 hours with a child who did not speak and then disappeared. Maybe, she really was not there - my loneliness and solitude had conjured up a companion for myself.

So I sat down to think about this premise. I removed the snowshoes, opened my pack - the girl reappeared. This time she was a curious child peering into my pack with me - just like a cat - intrigued with what was inside - even though it had nothing to do with her. I sat there holding the pack and looking at her lively eyes - they were sparkling blue with green specks. She looked at the bag then back at me - as if requesting that I continue with the task. I looked at her and asked who she was and why was she in the woods.... she just glanced at me then back at the pack. I chuckled and realized that I was dealing with a child and opened the pack - I removed first the bright red and white checked napkin - it was cloth and had a small design embroidered around the edges. The girl liked it - she gently took it from my hand and traced the embroidery - the pattern began to move around the hem as if the boundary of the cloth was a merry-go-round. She laughed and the sound rang through the trees like a gentle wind ruffling the branches. She placed the napkin on her knees - she was now squatting next to me in the snow awaiting the next treasure that I would remove from the pack. I do not know who was more intrigued - her or me - I wanted to see what reaction the next thing I removed would cause. I slowly put my hand into the pack and removed a sandwich - not very exciting - just a cheese sandwich on wholewheat bread. That was her reaction too - minor disappointment that I had not removed anything of real interest. In a way, I was relieved because this reaction implied that she was a normal child and not some conjured entity.

I reached into the bag again and removed the water bottle - just an ordinary bottle that I use for cycling in the summer. That elicited and exclamation of surprise from the girl - she held out her hand as if asking if she could hold the container - I relinquished my hold on it. She took it and carefully examined this plastic thing. She turned it every direction and finally pulled at the stopper at the top - a little water squirted out and she laughed. Then she squeezed the bottle - water squirted out the top like a fountain. The drops caught the light and a myriad of colors formed. She was delighted and so was I - I had never experienced the magic of children now that I was an adult. There was nothing more in the pack - so I handed it to her - she was disappointed and so was I because I had no new treasures to show her.

She saw my sadness and grabbed my hand. Then she began to dance around the trees dragging me along with her. She glided between the trees and cavorted under and through the branches. I clomped; where she was graceful - I was klutz. She laughed at my attempts at grace and I began to laugh with her. As I became joyful, my movements began to lighten. I actually felt like I was floating between the trees. For the first time, my motions had the grace and elegance of a dancer. Here I was in the woods dancing like a gazelle with a small mute child. I was dressed in old jeans and an ancient hunting jacket - yet I felt more beautiful than I had ever been in my life. This child was magic. Finally, I was tired and so was she - we melted to the forest floor and onto the snow. We sat and observed each other - studying the our faces and postures. I saw an elfish, pixieish child - very cute and slender. I thought about my own appearance - long red-brown hair, round face, short, slightly overweight, glasses, gray eyes - not a pretty picture - but with something unique that made me stand out in a group of people. She slowly stood up and walked toward me - she looked directly in my eyes, then wrapped her arms around my neck and hugged me. I held her for a few seconds then ended the embrace. She turned around and walked to a tree and disappeared.

I no longer worried about where she had gone - I knew she was safe and that she had gone home. I did not even worry if she was some image that I had conjured up from my loneliness - with her hair and face, she could have been my daughter. As I walked from the woods memories of myself as a child began to return. I remembered running through the woods in Kentucky and playing in the fields - I remember joyfully dancing among the trees and laughing at the colors of the sky through their branches. I realized that this girl may not exist - but she did give me the laughter and sunshine of the child who used to escape in the woods. The hike home was very short and the feeling remained with me for many days - even now I can close my eyes and picture the two of us dancing in the woods with the trees as our partners.

There was a little girl, about 3 or 4. She lived in a small house with her parents and two sisters. She loved crawling under her bed and looking at the coil springs. Her bed was fantastic - it was an old cherry bed with coil springs and a mushy mattress. The bed squeaked hello when she climbed into it and seemed to envelope her in it when she slept. She always felt safe and secure in her bed. She would never fall out because the mattress tended to sink in the middle - she had her own safe nest in her bed. But another world existed beneath the bed. She would crawl under the bed to smell the musty dust. She would trace patterns in the dust that had collected under the bed on the floor. She would brush the dust off the coil springs and watch it drift onto the floor - altogether it was a magic world that belonged to her. When her mother told her to clean her room, she would hide the toys under the mattress - she did not want to destroy the magic, dusty world under the bed.

One day when she crawled under the bed - she always began lying on her back and looking up at the springs - something else was under the bed. She turned her head - and there it was - another magical world. The dusty kingdom had shifted to become a forest with the most intriguing animals and plants. The girl watched the world for many days - either by crawling under the bed or by lifting the dust ruffle to peer at the forest.

A few days later, when she had crawled under the bed, she began to shrink until she could travel through the forest. She was amazed - the animals were her friends and would follow her and play with her. The trees grew the most magnificent things - not just fruit, but also candy and ice cream and cake. The branches would reach down towards the girl to offer treats to her. She would run down the paths and climb the trees and play in the streams.

In this kingdom, she was graceful and nimble and quick and cute. In her world, she was chubby and awkward and shy. It was in Poppy Soppy that she was free to be just a girl without any other expectations. Noone told her to join the others or go outside and play or be nice to your sisters. She had found a space for herself. The animals seemed to sense when she wanted them to play with her and when she was happy just lying in the grass and watching the tree branches move with the wind.

So every day she would visit her kingdom - she would walk through it to ensure that everything was fine. If an animal was hurt, she would make it better - if a storm had come along and hurt one of the trees, she would pick up the broken branches, wrap her arms around the tree trunk and comfort the tree. Everything in the kingdom could talk - the animals, the trees, the streams, the grass. She learned much by listening to the world. She learned that quiet was good, but outside this magic world she had to interact with people.

People baffled and frightened her - they were so noisy - both when they were talking and when they were silent. In Poppy Soppy, the noisy vibrations were silenced.

One day, her family went on vacation. The girl was frightened, how would her kingdom survive without her. So she talked to the birds and they promised to find her every day. Each morning, a bird came and told her how Poppy Soppy was doing - who had played in what part of the land and who was happy or sad. Then as soon as she was home - she crawled under the bed to make sure that her world was secure.

Eventually, the girl grew older. The outside world expanded. She visited Poppy Soppy less frequently - noone else believed in it - except her mother. So the girl began to be embarrassed about telling what happened in the kingdom and her belief in this alternate world. As she grew, she let others tell her that it could not exist - until one day - she saw that Poppy Soppy was fading. She did not understand - then a bird sat next to her and explained.

Poppy Soppy can only remain if the child needs it. As a child grows, she has to become part of the world. For some children, Poppy Soppy is needed to make that adjustment - so the girl was one of the lucky children who needed something extra to survive. Now, though, she was 6 and starting school. Outsiders would begin to play a more important role in her life. As their influence grew, the need for Poppy Soppy would decrease. The girl would have to learn to be a person in this world. The girl did not understand - she saw that her friends were leaving her. She did not see that she was gaining new friends. So she cried for the fading of her world - for the world under her bed was more real than the outer world.

She began to spend less time looking for Poppy Soppy. Then one day, the bird found her outside in the yard. He said that it was time for them to go. The girl was very upset. The bird said, you have not seen us for a long time, there is another child who needs us. So the girl climbed a honeysuckle tree, looked towards her house and let Poppy Soppy leave.

When she was much older, she realized that Poppy Soppy was still a part of her - every so often, she could look under her bed and catch a memory of her world. Every so often, when walking through the woods she would hear a bird and think that he told her about her kingdom. Several years have passed since Poppy Soppy left, many children have the memory of this magical world. They carry the world in their mind and sometimes when they are quiet and lonely, they find it again. It is in those periods that their soul is refreshed and afterwards they can continue their path.

A girl sat on the porch watching the moon from her swing. She went forward and back, then stopped. She peered at the moon thinking that something would happen. She watched the moon pulse and expand. She watched the moon approach the porch - but it was no longer a large sphere in the sky. It was an old woman walking down the path to the porch.

She was an ancient crone with flowing white hair tied back in a kerchief. Her face was a mass of wrinkles with light blue eyes peering from the creases. Her back was bent, her fingers were gnarled, the veins protruded on her legs. She wore an ankle length skirt that was the color of night - not black - but that deep blue seen in the midnight sky. Her blouse was the color of the early evening sky and her belt was light blue - or the shade of the sky when the moon appears during the day.

She walked with a cane, but the cane was for balance not as an aid for walking. Her back was so bent that she had trouble remaining upright. But the light blue eyes held the girl's attention.

The old woman approached the porch. She greeted the girl as if she had known her forever. The girl felt like the woman could see inside her. The old woman came and sat on the swing. The swing began to rock again. The girl looked to the sky and the moon was gone.

The crone and the girl sat together for awhile - not speaking - just getting to know the feel of each other. The girl wondered why the moon came to her - she was noone special - she had no dreams to share. The girl was the color of sunlight. Her hair was a brilliant auburn, her skin was pale. Her eyes were also blue, but the color of violets. Her movements were quick and fast - not gentle and slow like the crone's. Her hair surrounded her head like a giant star. It was always full of static and radiating outward - but the girl never saw any of these features. Her clothes were simple - but the colors were brilliant. Her jeans were indigo - her shirt was a myriad of bright yellow, orange and red. Her face was invariably smiling - life was series of adventures and she could not wait for the next one to begin.

The crone watched the child - she saw the impatience in the girl. She wondered if this child of the day was ready to begin her journey into night. The woman recalled when she too had been young and a sun. She remembered the energy that reverberated around her. She remembered the impatience with which she held life. She recalled the urge to move forward towards anything - without looking for a direction to travel. So she was concerned for the girl - travelling into the night required quiet and subtlety.... did the girl have these characteristics? Could she learn to be silent and still - the night was full of quiet - but contained the darker parts of life too.

So the crone sat and watched the girl begin to fidget. She watched the girl peer through the corners of her eyes at her. She heard the girl's thoughts about where the moon had gone and was this crone the "man in the moon".

So she sat.

Finally, she looked directly at the girl - the light blue eyes saw into her soul. The girl was strong - but could she handle the silence? So the crone began to tell the girl of the night. The night is full of others' dreams and nightmares. The night sees what the day can ignore. The night can be full of terror and fright, but it also contains the secret visions of people. The night is the subconscious. It is also what first forms when a world is born. It is the beginning and the end. The night is present when a world dies and when a soul finally flies free at the moment of death. So the night must contain wisdom and patience to view the world as it is and can be. The wisdom is needed to guide the dreams along their true path. This knowledge is required to help people endure and interpret their fears. The patience is needed to prevent interference in people's lives. Although, the night can guide people in a direction, she cannot make the choice to continue a path. She cannot force a person to travel in a certain direction. She cannot eliminate a nightmare or elaborate a fantasy. The person must select these choices.

The sunchild listened but she did not know why the crone told her these things. The crone grew tired. She looked at the girl and said that all nights end and with the end of night, the moon also passes. She told the girl of her life as a moon and how she began her journey as a young girl. She too was a child of the sun, but possessed an inner soul that was more adapted to the night. Her inclination to be alone - not lonely and her independence were suited to the night. One day an old woman told her that it was time to begin her journey. The world in which she lived was ending and its moon had to pass. She had a choice, to die with moon or help to begin a new world. Now, the time had come for the girl to choose. Did she want to build a new day and night for others, or did she want to remain on the swing?

Could she leave her world and everything she knew to help create a new one? If she left, she would have to let the world shape itself - she could only nudge - not push the world in a given direction. The girl made her choice. The crone passed into the stars - the world ended.

The girl was thrown into the sky. She watched the house and the swing disappear. She watched the crone expand back into the moon and then become nothing. She watched her world expand into nothing. Then she was projected forward. She was growing larger - her mind was expanding - she could feel the night and the stars. She felt freedom and responsibility. She saw the night and felt its darkness. She intuitively knew the beginnings of many dreams. The new world had begun. She was to be its moon - would anyone recognize her part in the world? Would she know when it was time to find another girl with the colors of the sun to begin another world? Would she be willing to grow into the crone, and share her wisdom with a child?

In jubilation, she sang with her arms outstretched, then the universe expanded into nothing, and once again infinity was redefined.

Once there was a dreamer - that is what she was called. She could travel the world, but only in other people's dreams. She could visit anyone as long as it was in a dream. Her reality therefore was defined by the visions of others.

Her life was simple. She lived in a small mountain village where she kept llamas. These animals were shorn once or twice a year. Then she would clean, card and spin the wool to make yarn. The yarn was the fabric of the dreams. So the weft created a large rug of dreams. The yarn would change as the dreams or the dreamer varied. She was fascinated with the various colors. Even when she altered the sequence of the harnesses, it was the colors that dominated, not the pattern. While she wove, she entered the dreams. They became her reality. Her inner world was that of others. Her outer world was one of animals and the townspeople. There was no place for her. Her home was an interesting conglomeration of color and texture. It was almost as if the dreams entered her home to create a small corner of tranquility.

People enjoyed visiting her because she always welcomed them and her house was a haven. They would come and tell her stories - either with their words or their silence. These people also became part of the tapestry. They sometimes would stand by the rug and admire the colors or the texture. They never realized that they were the ones weaving the rug and all she did was pass the shuttle and manipulate the harnesses. Children also entered the house - they created the vibrant colors. Their laughter echoed through the house and made the weaver happy. Their games would join the fabric together and create little patches of delight in the rug. Children could be found in all corners of the house... they would play with the things in the rooms - ask questions about them - and follow the woman as she cleaned or worked. It was the people in her life - not herself (or so she thought) - that she wove into the fabric.

The dreams were different. Their patterns were less vibrant and more etherial. A dream had the tendency to travel through many lives and alter a few. The alterations could be seen when the dream intersected reality. A color would suddenly - of its own accord - pass through a life. The weaver never knew when this occurrence would happen. She always watched for it because then she could observe the person to see how they changed.

So the weaver continued to create her rug - some days she would leave her work and go into the mountains. Here she was at peace - she never had silence in her home because either dreams or people would interrupt her. It was in the mountains, overlooking the world, that she could find silence. It was in this realm that she lived - her most intense feelings would come out - her own dreams would surface. She could laugh and cry and smile and relax without wondering when the next invasion would occur. Eventually, she would wander home and once again do what she was born to complete.

The rug continued to grow and become more complex. As people entered her world, the rug became more intricate. Also, as the children grew or the people matured, additional complexities occurred. But noone who knew the weaver ever asked her anything about herself. Noone was curious about why she came to the village or why she wove or why she went into the mountains. They just enjoyed the atmosphere of her and her home.

The weaver was never challenged to change herself or look at her own dreams until a little boy wandered into her home. This child was not from the village - in fact - noone had seen him before. He had an aura of peace around him. Other children liked to play with him, but the games were never violent or fast. Rather they were quiet and altered to include anyone who wished to join.

But back to the weaver, she was at her loom when he wandered into her life. He sat on the bench and looked at the rug. He gazed curiously into the pattern. He began to see the love and laughter that dominated the pattern. Then he looked closer and saw the dark threads that intersected the joy. He began to ask the woman about the dark patterns - and she began to look at what she wove. She began to see her place in pattern. She was not one of the dark threads. She was astonished to see the colors that were part of her dreams.

Her dreams had a tendency to pass through many others. She connected with dreams belonging to people she had never met. She travelled the world through others. So she thought about the emptiness of that reality. She began to think that her life was incomplete, that she was not a real person, that noone would notice if the rug ended.

She decided to quit weaving. She would wake in the morning, head towards the loom and stop. She did not pick up the shuttle, she did not spin anymore yarn. The loom became dusty; the woman became tired and bored. The boy stayed and watched the woman. People began to stop visiting - the house was no longer a haven. The weaver was annoyed with the children's questions - so the children began to drift away. The woman watched herself become lonely and did not know how to stop it. The loom gathered more dust, until one day, the woman could not stand the dust and idleness. She picked up a cloth and cleaned the loom, she took a brush to the rug and swept off the dirt. She became engrossed in the colors again. For an entire day, she sat and peered at the patterns of the colors. She saw the lives of the people around her. She realized that her life had a purpose - she saw her place in the tapestry.

So the next morning when she woke, she picked up her shuttle and stepped towards the loom. It greeted her like an old comfortable friend - but it was hard to get to work. She sat at the loom and stared at it. She finally passed the shuttle once, beat back the row, shifted the harnesses and began another pass. She could only do a few rows before she became distracted. This process continued for several days - until the times at the loom began to be longer than the periods of idleness. She started to smile and greet visitors again - the children returned to the house and played in the corners. Laughter and tranquility replaced the despair. The weaver had once again found her place in the world. She realized that her position was not flashy or loud, but it was restful. She saw that everyone needs a place of peace and she was happy that her house was a home where people could find it. She was content to be a person who sits and completes patterns so that others can have them to see. She was happy that she could use the patterns to help others and that she could see patterns in the tapestry. The boy wandered away from the village - his role was complete. He had helped the woman to question her life and she had overcome the doubts. Therefore, he could leave because the rug was being created and the dreams of others would continue to grow and interact.

There was a girl who lived in a box. The box was contructed of colorful glass. The outside world was a myriad of color and texture - mainly due to the colors in the walls. Her world was safe and secure - noone entered the box or came through the walls. Time passed...

One day a frog came and stood outside the box. He peered into the room and looked at the girl. The girl was intrigued... she saw a distorted image of the frog. So she began to talk to him - his name was Mr. Bobbins, he lived in the pond a ways from the box. Eventually, she began to trust Mr. Bobbons - she began to wonder what he really looked like. So one day she gathered up her courage and pushed a crack open in the wall. Mr. Bobbins entered - he told fanatastic stories about the outside world.

But Mr. Bobbins could not be happy enclosed in a glass world that distorted what passed into it. So he asked the girl to let him leave. Then he invited her to travel through the world. She could not leave her box - the world she knew was inside it. She understood the rules and limitations. What would happen if her safe, secure home was changed? How could she ever define herself?

So she stayed in the box and every day Mr. Bobbins came and told more stories. His world was large, his love of life was great, his home was infinite. Eventually, like all children, she became curious - so one day, the box opened again. This time, it was to release the girl -- she timidly stepped out onto the grass - she had never encountered that texture before, she had never really felt or seen the sun. She twirled around on the grass until the world rotated around her - then she lay on the grass and watched the trees and birds float in lazy circles above her. Mr. Bobbins came along - he was much different - but the same - in the grass. He hopped along in front of the girl and led her towards the forest. Suddenly, the world was too large, the feeling of inadequacy overwhelmed her - so she ran back into the box, closed and sealed the wall.... then turned her back to Mr. Bobbins and cried. Her tears spilled onto the glass floor and her sobs echoed off the glass walls. Her box was too small to contain her and she was at a loss for what to do next... she was frightened of the woods but the box was too lonely.

Mr. Bobbins returned the next day to talk - he never mentioned that she could leave the box. He kept returning, asking questions and telling stories. Once again she decided to leave the box, she woke with the sun, pushed the wall open - the sky was magic - it was so large and blue. Instead of looking for Mr. Bobbins, she followed the meadow until she saw a treee - this tree was not as frightening as the forest. So she sat in the shade and waited for Mr. Bobbins - along he came. This time, he crouched down next to her and told more stories. It was the stories of things she had never seen or felt that she loved - then she began looking into his eyes.

His eyes greeted her and welcomed her into his world. He looked so friendly - so she followed him for awhile - until the sky began to darken. She returned to her box and shut the wall. The next morning she ventured out again and chose another direction. She found a pond that was clear and blue. She could see the fish that Mr. Bobbins had described. The lillies were growing along the shore; weeping willows overhung the banks. So she sat by the water and watched the animals come to drink and sit by the water. She talked to many of them - she learned that rabbits, skunks and deer all have knowledge. Then Mr. Bobbins came along - once again his stories helped her see more of the world and consequently more of herself. So every day she left the box and explored the world and herself.

Her journeys began to encompass more of the surrounding area - until she began to spend some of her nights under the stars. Eventually, she would return to the box. Then - she began not to close the box at night. Her animal friends would come into her box and share it with her - she would wake up in the morning with a rabbit or a deer or another animal curled up in her arms.

One day, a squirrel beckoned her to follow him - he had a treasure to show her - so she picked up Mr. Bobbins and quickly followed the squirrel - he had a treasure! They reached a huge walnut tree - the squirrel scampered up the branches - the girl with the frog in her pocket followed. At the top of the tree was the treasure - she looked at the excited squirrel and held up Mr. Bobbins. The squirrel told her to look out - beyond the tree and through the branches.

She saw the WORLD - the hills rolled beyond the horizon, trees popped up every so often, the forest grew up around her. Beyond the meadow and the pond was a large, blue lake. She felt small - so she became frightened - the world was too large; her choices overwhelmed her.

In a panic, she climbed from the tree - Mr. Bobbins was hurriedly dropped into her pocket - she fled back to the security of her box. She wanted to retreat - Mr. Bobbins bounced along in her pocket trying to convince her that the world was a treasure. The squirrel, who just wanted to share a present, could not understand what he had done wrong, so he too followed. They returned to where the box was - all that remained were the glass walls - they were no longer a box. The colorful panels lay all over the ground. The girl dropped onto the ground and began to gather the pieces together - but they would not become a box. They would not enclose her and protect her. With tears streaming down her face and the pieces lying her lap - she looked to Mr. Bobbins and the squirrel....

For the first time in her life - she stood up and ran to her friends. They gathered her into their arms and let her cry. The tears streamed down her face, the sobs wracked her body - but the cries did not echo - in fact they were muffled by her friends. The tears did not gather on the glass floor, but soaked into the ground.

When the tears ended, Mr. Bobbins and the squirrel washed her face and let her sleep. They curled up next to her to keep her company. She woke the next morning and walked over to the pieces of her box.

The colors were interesting - but they no longer could hold her. So she picked up the pieces and threw them into the air - the sun captured the colors and they became brighter. She whirled around the meadow laughing and dancing. Mr. Bobbins and the squirrel ran into the woods and gathered her other friends - she was happy.

After awhile she sat down - once again she gathered up the box pieces. She looked at each piece, she looked at the colors, the texture, the edges and realized that she could share the box. Mr. Bobbins sat nearby watching - she looked through the pieces again. Then she found the piece that was a brilliant blue with green flecks - this piece she picked up and carried over the Mr. Bobbins.

She walked slowly towards him - her face changed rapidly - at first there was a shy smile, then a look of fear, then shyness again, finally resolution. She approached her old friend, extended her hand holding the glass and offered it to Mr. Bobbins. He accepted it, looked it over then carefully placed it in his jacket pocket. By this time, she was looking really hard at the ground; her eyes would not meet Mr. Bobbins' - she was afraid - she had never given anything to anyone before - rejection was one thing she had not thought about before she offered a piece of the box to him. Since she was looking so intently at the ground, she did not see his face breaking into a joyful smile, or his arms reaching towards her. Finally, she tilted her head up slightly and peeked - she saw him waiting for her. So, she opened her arms and leaped into his hug. Her laughter echoed through the meadow.

For the first time, she knew both love and freedom.

There is an old tradition that begins with the recitation:

"Look, look into the flame and see the man who has no name."

It is recited seven times while sitting around a campfire. Then if you are fortunate and believe, you will see a man's face appear in the flames. His story is not well known and his name has been lost over the years. But his story is what follows...

A long time ago lived a boy - noone really knew him. His parents paid little attention to him. His bedroom was the attic - the place where all the forgotten and used things were put. But the boy was comfortable in the attic with all the used things - he could explore the rooms and look in all the old trunks for treasures. He would spend all his time in the attic.

He went to school like all other children. He sat in the middle of the room and was generally left alone. Noone really cared what he did or where he went after class. So when the other children went to play games, he went home to his attic. This place was secure - he could travel through the world or enter into a fairy kingdom. All his travels and friends resided in the attic. Until one day, he looked into an old trunk - there was a small ornately carved box. He gingerly lifted the box - there were no seams that showed how the box opened, but the pattern was elaborate and twisting. His eyes traced the vines, trying to find the end. Then he began to trace the pattern with his fingers. The pattern became more distinct. The boy was engrossed in tracing the pattern. The next day he went to school - noone noticed that his eyes were bloodshot or that his face and hands were more pale than usual. Noone saw the twitching of his fingers, or the rapid, fidgety movements of his eyes. After school, he raced home to trace the pattern some more. This process continued for several days - until the pattern on the box was resonating.

Was the box becoming the boy or was the boy becoming the box?

By this time, the boy had forgotten that sometimes boxes were not meant to be opened and that some things should remain forgotten and unused in the attic. Eventually, the boy found something else to occupy his attention. He left the box for other things... the story could end here but some entities will not rest once disturbed.

The boy grew to be a man and as he grew so did the box which had become a corner of his soul. The man still lived in the attic, even though he now worked in the mines. Every day he would go down into the mine - he was comfortable because he always worked in the part furthest from the other miners. He would go to the darkest, forgotten corner and dig at the rock. One day the box was out on a trunk - it was much larger now and the pattern was even more distinct. The man was just as intrigued as he had been when a boy. Once again he began to trace the pattern...

This time he could slip his fingers beneath the vines and leaves. The pattern appeared to have its own mind. He went to work then rushed home to trace the patterns - the pattern became his life. Until one day he remained in the attic obcessed with finding the opening of the box. He pushed up a leaf and beneath it was the beginning of a latch - he massaged the wood - the latch began to form.

Was the boy the box, or the box the boy?

A seam also began to appear in the wood. Then one day - the latch was fully formed - the man - very excited and agitated - could hardly release the mechanism. Finally, the box popped open - but nothing appeared to be inside. Then man was disturbed - then he noticed that the room appeared to be gray - but it was not the room. A gray shadow had surrounded the man - in fact the gray shadow entered the man and consumed all but a corner of his soul. The shadow could not totally devour the man's essence because then the body would die and the shadow would have no host. So the sliver of man that remained resided in a corner of the body.

The creature began to devour people in the village. Men would disappear in the mines - but no accident would occur. Mothers would go upstairs to get their children for school and find empty bodies. The village was in despair. The man began to watch the shadow to find where he was vulnerable. He began to notice that the shadow always sat in the coldest part of the room - far away from the wood stove. He never stood next to a lamp or candle. The man realized that the shadow was afraid of fire. So he began to watch for the opportunity to destroy the entity - knowing that with the shadow's death came his own.

One night, the shadow was in a barn. There were several lanterns in the room - the man forced the shadow to knock one over - then the hay caught on fire. Hay burns quickly; the shadow panicked. The horses were screaming, their flesh was burning. The townspeople rushed to put out the inferno. The shadow and the man burned - but the corner of his soul was free.

Now, to remind people that some things are not to be opened, his face appears in the flames. The boy is free to fly with the fire and light the world.