The box was sitting in the basement of the house I bought, sight unseen. It was a large, rectangular, cherry wood box with a bright aluminum lid secured by brass hinges. For some reason the wood was stained and varnished as if it was a piece of living room furniture.

I bought the house through an on line auction that specialized in selling houses that were repossessed or abandoned. I flip houses, mostly for fun. Occasionally I make a profit, but truth be told, I don’t need the money. I made a bundle before the first dotcom bubble hit. Usually, I restore the houses and then give them to a local church with instructions to give the house to a needy family. The strange thing about this one was its location, Cassadaga, Florida, a community well known for its spiritual guides, mediums and card readers. Not that I knew that when I bought it. Maybe I should have suspected something was up when my first bid was accepted without a counter.

A friend of mine who lives in Orlando explained that the house was right in the middle of the fabled spiritual community. I would find it difficult to sell, he said, and it might be hard to give the place away. He offered to run up to Cassadaga and take a look. The next morning he called. “Isiah, you’re not gonna believe this. The house is in great shape, nothing like you described.”

I was shocked. I had seen the pictures on the auctioneer’s Website. It looked to me like we would have to gut it and start from scratch. “You sure you went to the right house?” I asked. We compared notes. The address was right. I went back to the Website and took another look at the recently sold page. Another shock; 21 Warren Street was nowhere to be found. Not on the recently sold page and not in the listing of available homes.

I called the Cassadaga Town hall and checked. The property transfer had indeed occurred. The transaction’s closing date was accurate. Another thing that didn’t add up; I discovered that the money I spent to buy the house with a cashier’s check for $121,000, never left my account. How then had the transfer occurred? The auctioneer had sent the keys overnight, presumably after my check cleared. I called the auction house. A woman with a very British accent assured me that everything was according to Hoyle.

I had to see it for myself. I had nothing important to do for the next couple of days, so I took the first flight I could get to Orlando. I pulled up to the house in my rental car and sat outside for a moment.  I double checked the address; this was the place. I hesitated before getting out of the car. It didn’t have an eerie glow, like what you see in a bad sci-fi movie, but there was something odd about it. Then I realized that this pristine dwelling was surrounded by tired looking ranch homes, badly in need of paint and landscaping. Again, this was not what I saw online.

I got out, unlocked the front door and walked through the house. It was completely empty. The smell of fresh paint and wood told me it was new. Nothing else seemed out of place until I opened what I thought was a closet door. Instead I saw steps leading down to a basement. Most houses in Florida are patio homes. With such a high water table, basements don’t make sense in an area like this. I went down the steps, slowly I’ll admit.

When I saw the box my first instinct was to get out of the house and call the authorities. I just knew there was trouble in that box, yet I was drawn to it. I tried to lift the lid, but it wouldn’t budge. There was no lock so I went back out to the car and found a tire iron. When I got back to the basement the lid was off the box. Time to leave. Someone was playing an elaborate prank and I wasn’t interested in learning too late that it was fatal.

But I didn’t leave. I don’t know why. Curiosity maybe, or perhaps it was destiny calling. I approached the open box. I looked in and saw it. Something pushed me over the side. I have only one wish now, a fervent one. I wish you could fall into the same box.