TimeBox Oddity

Hazle Marks received the call she dreaded most; in the middle of the night. Her father was dying, fading fast. She hustled out of bed, tossing on her house shoes and coat. Driving into town, she turned into Homestead Hospice Care and performed the worst parking job she had ever done. Slamming the car door, she did not bother to lock it. Instead, Hazle walked as fast as she could inside. A nurse, whose nametag said “Lyn,” waited outside her father’s room for her arrival. Her heart beat loud within her chest. Her emotions roiled inside her, ready to burst.

Hazle was too late; one of the nurses drew the white sheet over her father’s head. He was at peace, but losing her father and only remaining family weighed heavily upon her shoulders. Michael Marks was the only family Hazle had left in the world. What would she do now that he was gone? Hazle sat watching the nurses make their rounds; as if nothing had happened. She wiped tears from her face with the back of her hand. Michael’s attending nurse, Lyn, comforted Hazle as best she could, but she could offer no more than a hot cup of vending machine coffee and a quiet place to sit while she gathered Michael Mark’s things.

Lyn handed her a hospital bag of her father’s things once Hazle signed all the paperwork. Then, leaving Homestead Hospice Care for the last time, she barely remembered driving home. Once inside, Hazle dropped everything at the door and fell into bed, overcome by exhaustion. When she woke again, bright sunlight filtered through her window, creating glimmering golden dust motes. Looking up at them, she had a spare moment of reprieve from her sorry before reality crashed into her, pressing all the air from her lungs, and her tears flowed freely down her face. Her father was gone.

After a while, the numbness of last night returned to her as she mechanically did the essentials. She brushed her teeth, combed her hair, and ate. Cereal was all she had the patience for, and she found herself weeping into her cereal bowl. When she put everything away, Hazle’s eyes locked upon the bag of her father’s things. Curiosity broke through her malaise as she brought the bag to her kitchen table and upended it.

Inside the bag were a few expected things: a toothbrush and paste, pajamas, socks, packs of tissues, and a tube of chapstick. But, at the very bottom was a crumpled-looking manilla envelope; the envelope contained something weighty and rectangular and several handwritten pages. Checking the outside of the envelope, she saw her name so, she assumed it was meant for her. Flipping through the letters, she saw her father’s tidy handwriting. Hazle smiled despite the tears running down her face. Sitting down, she read each page slowly, taking in every detail and reading it in her father’s deep voice.

Unaware of how long she sat pouring over the letters about her father’s early life and how he met her mother. The historical events he had lived through provided his own perspective. He had spent years writing these letters to her. Some were from when she was a girl, and others after she became an adult. He had been a man of few spoken words, but every page made her feel ever closer. Then, the subject came up, the little gray matchbox. Sliding the lid of it open, inside was a small brass key and a slip of paper. Upon the slip of paper was the name and address of his bank.

The letters instructed her to go to the bank and retrieve the contents of his lockbox. He cautioned her not to open the palm-size box inside but to read the letter first. It would explain everything Hazle needed to know. Hazle did not hesitate, feeling obligated to fulfill her father’s last request. Getting into her sedan, she wasted no time driving to the bank and presenting the key to the teller, who disappeared to the vault. He returned with a small lockbox. Inside was a palm-size box with another letter.

She obediently slid the palm-sized box and letter into her purse. Her fingers itched to open everything and figure it out in the lobby or inside her car, but she could be patient and wait until she got home. Her father had instructed her to do so. Whatever it was, it might have been over-sensitive. Though her father was dead, she did not want anything to soil his name. As she reached out to open her car door, a hand grabbed her wrist and tugged her off her balance.

“Who are you? What do you want?” She demanded as she stumbled, fumbling with her keychain to get at her pepper spray, Hazle attempted to lock eyes with anyone on the street and cry for help, but as she looked around, the busy street was deserted.

“You’re in no danger, Hazle,” his voice broke through her panic, familiar yet not. She stopped struggling to look up at the man who still held her wrist with a white-gloved hand, “I am here to collect what I am owed, nothing else.” He had unkempt dirty-blond hair, a bottle-green striped suit, thick black spectacles, and almost luminous deep-set green eyes.

“I don’t understand,” Hazle’s brow furrowed, her curiosity getting the better of her again.

“You wouldn’t,” He drawled, cocking his head at her, “Give me the TimeBox Oddity, and I will be on my way.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t have a TimeBox,”

“Don’t lie to my girl,” He shook his head, “Don’t make me do this the hard way. The box you retrieved from your father’s lockbox belongs to me. Please, give it to me.” His voice dripped with honeyed charisma.

Hazle’s hand twitched toward where she had it in her purse, but she did not do as he requested; she set her jaw, “My father is dead; everything in his lockbox is now mine.” She attempted to open her car door again, and he slammed it shut again, almost pinching her fingers.

Taking a step back, Hazle stumbled, finding herself far away from her car. She stood with the odd man’s gloved hand on the small of her back. How had he done that? He was leading her to the dark doorway of a shop. She stopped just before the threshold, feeling a wash of nausea and unease at the smell of the stale air.

“Come along, Hazle,” He whispered. His words were soothing and enticing, and a shudder ran through her.

“No,” She muttered, at first too low for him to hear, but she found her voice, “No, I don’t know you or where you have brought me.”

He sighed, “you are difficult, like your father,” then he muttered something incomprehensible, and Hazle was forced through the doorway, which closed and locked behind them.

The shop inside was derelict and musty, with a long mercantile counter at the back, which her austere companion strolled toward, lifting an edge. He seemed more comfortable behind the counter.

“May I have the TimeBox Oddity back now, please?” He questioned, holding out his white-gloved hand.

“Answers first,” Hazle frowned, crossing her arms.

He rolled his eyes, “Is this how it will be?” He questioned, “Fine, your father rented the TimeBox device from me a long ago; I have all the documentation here somewhere.” The odd man turned his back on her and walked over to a wall full of scrolls. Taking one down, he unrolled it and held it down with four black weights, “there now, come look.”

“How old is this?” Hazle frowned, wrinkling her nose at the piece of vellum before her.

“Old enough, just read it.” He commanded, jabbing one of his gloved fingers at the page.

Reading the paper before her, it was a contract signed by Michael Marks for something called the TimeBox Oddity. She scanned her eyes over the intricate entangling language and attempted to get the gist of it. Her father was to borrow the TimeBox Oddity, use it for whatever purpose had acquired it for, and drop it off on a specific date and time. Judging how the thing was in her purse, it must have never reached its dead drop.

“What does it do?”

“It can change any one point in time,” He said, “May I see it?”

“What’s the catch?”

The oddity keeper grinned, “When you use it, you have to be exceptionally careful, you only get one shot, and the effect will ripple outward from that moment throughout time.”

Hazle frowned, fidgeting, “What did my father use it for?”

“That is a question for him, not me,” He shrugged.

“What is your name?”

“What does it matter? I am the oddity keeper, and once you return my TimeBox Oddity, you will never see me again.”

“And, what if I want to use it after?”

“You would have a contract, same as everyone else. But, what does a young thing like you need so bad you would meddle with time?” The keeper questioned.

“Just like my father, that’s my business.” She said, opening her purse and sliding the TimeBox Oddity across the table to the oddity keeper.

“And how do I know you will not run with it like your father?”

“I would not use it to go back very far; you can tag along if you like.”

“I’ll pass,” He muttered, drawing a sheet of vellum from the stack beneath the counter; pulling a pen from his pocket, he began to write the contract. As he did so, Hazle looked around the shop at the dusty shelves, which she discovered were not as empty as they first appeared.

There were a couple of doors around the room that she wondered what was behind, but as she drew too close to one marked 1123, reaching her hand out to touch the brass knob, he was beside her, batting her hand away. He did not explain and then jabbed it back toward the counter. She followed him about where the newly drawn-up contract sat. The ink was a deep almost-bloody crimson. Hazle had difficulty believing that he had drawn up such an intricate document in so little time. Even the header had illuminated letters.

As Hazle took the pen from him, her eyes scanned the contract, finding more than a few addendums tightening up any loopholes she could use to keep the TimeKeeper Oddity. She smiled at the cleverness and signed her name at the bottom. Giving him a smug smile, she held out her hand for the TimeKeeper Oddity.

The oddity keeper reluctantly handed the TimeKeeper Oddity to Hazle, “How does it work?” She questioned, opening the lid of the box.

The keeper was beside her. How had he gotten there so quickly? He pointed at the red button at the center of the box, “Think of the place and time you want to be. The more details you know, the more accurate it will be. Once you have envisioned it fully, you press the button. What you do from there is your business.”

“How do I get back?”

“If you press the button again, you will dead-drop the device at this location.” Then, he said, handing her a slip of paper, “You read the contract. If you do not return the device, you will die.”

“Will you kill me?” She questioned.

“Something like that,” he replied, “Off you pop,” He shooed her away.

“Will you see me out,”

“Yes,” He said, strolling toward the door, “Good luck in your endeavors, Miss Marks. I hope you don’t mess up the future too badly.” He winked, opening the door for her.

Why had he winked at her? As she exited the shop, the keeper walked back in and locked the door with a snap. As Hazle wondered where her car was, she pursed her lips. The shop behind her had vanished, leaving her stranded. She did not need the car for what she wanted to do. The device allowed her to change one moment in the past. Clutching it in her hand, she closed her eyes, envisioning the one moment she regretted more than any other. Pressing the button, she opened her eyes and found herself exactly where she was meant to be. Putting the control in her pocket, she walked up the driveway to Homestead Hospice Care. She would see her father one last time while he was still awake. It was still day, and she had until midnight to stay by his side.

Admitting that she had done what he had told her not to do in his letter, she contemplated keeping the button to relive this moment as often as possible, but it would only work once. So after her father passed, she slipped into the bathroom and pushed the button again with her eyes closed, returning to her own time. Her heart was whole, and her father’s last request was complete. Finally, she read the letter that had accompanied the button in the lockbox. It was an apology to the keeper of oddities for holding onto the button for so long. He was trying to figure out how to make it multiple uses, which vexed him until the end.

Moving to the dead drop point the keeper's hand gave her, she found him standing beside the crate, a pocket watch in his hand as if he were timing her.

“Don’t look so surprised,” Hazle tutted, “The world does not seem so worse for wear, and here is your box.”

The oddity shopkeeper smiled as he pocketed the TimeBox Oddity. He gave her a short bow, “It’s been a pleasure.”

“Wait,” She muttered, “There have to be other lost oddities like this one.”

“What is your point?” He questioned.

“I can help you track them down.” She offered.

“No, out of the question. I work alone.” He bristled but shook his head, “If you want to throw your life away, be my guest.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He sighed, “You’ll see, you’ll see.”

They both went to the shop, where Hazle took one of the contracts from its tube and began to read the item's details; eyes widening as she did so. Then, she balled up her fists in determination. She would find this item and all the other items. The oddity shopkeeper watched her curiously, his head cocked to one side.

“Hazle, do you want to see what’s in the back room?” He questioned, gesturing to the back of the shop.

“Of course,” She smiled, following him to the back, where there were all sorts of oddities.

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