The Box

THE BOX

I must acknowledge Mike Vickers, whose "Total Rubber Occlusion" set this whole thing in motion and also The House of Gord for never ceasing to give me ideas….

A bright sunny morning.

She wanted coffee and croissants.

He asked if she were pregnant.

She slapped him.

It was a normal Saturday.

He eased himself through the door balancing the cardboard platter in one hand. A ray of sunlight filled with dust motes nearly blinded him, but he stumbled onward and through the door to the front room where he stopped as if shot.

She was barefoot but otherwise fully dressed for a change. Faded blue jeans fitted her legs and bottom perfectly. A short black top showing more than a little midriff completed her attire; he looked at her and the immediate area around her with more than a little surprise.

"I thought you were taking that back…. what the bloody hell is THAT?"

She was pacing around the room like a caged animal, her eyes focussed all the while on the black, square, object in the centre. She answered the questions in the order they were asked.

"Don't you like it? It's a box."

It was time for a sigh, even though it was only nine thirty.
"I didn't say that. YOU said it looked too young and yes, I know it's a box. It's got box written all over it."

"No it hasn't! It's got FRAGILE in big red letters written all over it!"

She did have a literal mind sometimes, but only when the possession of same was likely to irritate him. He set the coffee and croissants down carefully on the top of the box and looked at her as calmly as he could.

" I know what it says and I know what it is, but why is it here and what exactly is in it?" Slowly and carefully as if to a child who wasn't really listening, then suddenly suspicious, " Have you been ordering things again? We've still got three hundredweight of vet wrap in the cupboard, thanks to you!"

She tutted and then she raised her head. He found himself looking into small dark pupils. Dark and intense.

"It's heavy. It's very heavy!"

"Is it ours?"

"Of course it's bloody ours, it's got our address on it!"

"Well I didn't order anything…"

She was looking at him again and she realised the implication.

" …and neither did I!" She didn't actually say, "so there!" but it was implied.

She was still looking at him. There was something in her eyes. Something that he very seldom saw and therefore didn't readily recognise.

Was it fear?

She walked around the box until she was standing close to him. So close that he could smell her, a smell that was always somehow intoxicating. She had washed her hair but that was all. She wore no perfume, but her smell was there, warm and inviting as always but mixed right now with something else.

He opened his mouth to speak but she shushed him with a finger to her lips. She moved closer and whispered in his ear, causing him to shiver.

"There are holes all around it. Listen!"

He did as he was told. It was a warm day and the flat was quiet. There were no central heating noises to obscure any sounds. As his ears became accustomed to the silence there was a definite pulsating noise coming, apparently, from the bottom of the box and there was also something else.

A regular sound.

Not a hiss but surely something slightly sibilant.

Regular and quite slow.

In and out.

Slightly mechanical as if aided somehow.

Slow and deep.

In and out.

In and out.

He looked at her in amazement.

She simply stared back at him. Her pupils now big and round. It wasn't fear in her eyes he realised now, but something he had seen much more often and had misinterpreted.

For some reason he felt the need to whisper.

"Can't be!"

She touched his hand briefly and then moved back toward the box.

"It is. It is! I've heard it too many times before!"

He looked at her quizzically for a moment and then it dawned on him.

Sensory deprivation.

All the times she had been blindfolded and her ears plugged.

Bound and gagged.

Unable to move.

Her senses on hold.

She touched the box briefly. Almost a caress. And then she squatted down on her haunches and looked up at him.

" It's like the noise you hear in your own ears. Only the heartbeat's missing. Bloody hell, you of all people should have recognised it. You've heard me often enough!" she paused for a moment and put her head against the wooden side of the large, black painted box. Then she looked up again, " Bill, there's someone in this box and we've got to get them out of it!"

*

Once Sheila had set her mind to something she never gave up. Someone had once described her as "a little terrier". He personally thought that "great big Rottweiller" would have been a more adequate description but as he watched her now he couldn't put the image of a small Jack Russell worrying at a bone out of his mind.

And all the time she was whistling something, fairly tunelessly, through her teeth. Many people contended that women couldn't whistle, but this one could and it was only after several minutes that he realised what she was whistling. In fact when he returned, as ordered, with the pliers in his hand, the whistling had turned to song.

Breathy and indistinct, but song nonetheless.

"I ache for the touch of your lips dear,

But much more for the touch of your whips, dear…"

"The Masochism Tango" by Tom Lehrer. Something he had introduced her to by pure accident, or rather, something that he had downloaded because it was no longer available on the High Street and that she had stumbled across one evening.

Nearly fifty years old and yet as fresh and exquisitely silly as the day it was written, it had subsequently been played so many times since that he had begun to fear for his sanity.

Suddenly he felt eyes on him. He came out of his reverie and moved his head slowly in her direction. She was standing stock-still. Bare feet apart, hands on hips. Then one hand began to move slowly forward until it was outstretched in front of him.

"Pliers?"

He shook his head as if to clear it. He couldn't see but he was quite sure she was tapping her foot.

"Oh yeah. Sure! Pliers!" He slapped them into her hand as if giving them to a surgeon.

"Are you actually going to help or do you intend to stand there like a great gormless Pratt for the rest of the morning?"

"Er, too many cooks! I didn't want to get in your way." Which was true, but he made a mental note of the insult in his own personal demerit book. He moved closer to the side of the box and to her. The breathing sounded much louder now.

"Okay, what do you want me to do?"

She bent over to pick up a large screwdriver.

"I want you to stick that in there." He looked at the rear end only a few tantalising inches away from him.

"What now? I thought you wanted to get the box open!" It only took a second for her to turn round, still bent over, and head butt him in the stomach, but it took him several minutes to regain his composure.

*

After a quarter of an hour of hard and fairly useless labour they were both sweating. The breathing noise had changed in tone. It seemed quicker now and somehow more urgent, whilst the box seemed relentlessly impenetrable. The top was smooth and it was nailed in place, the nails fitting into bevels like screws and impervious to pliers. Trying to pry it open with the screwdriver had proved a disaster and had left him with a cut hand and her with a torn top. He tried to tell her that a plaster would have been fine but the only answer he got was,"Fuck off, shut up and let me wrap this round your hand!"

From her crouched position she now looked up at him.

"Will you stop bloody panting for a minute and let me listen?" She put her ear to the side of the big wooden box that was the size and shape of a tea chest and listened intently.

"It's a lot quicker. Do you think they're running out of air?"

He crouched down beside her.

"Shouldn't think so, there's plenty of air holes and that other noise sounds to me like it could be a fan of some sort."

"Yeah, well you could be using up all the air with that heavy breathing of yours!"

"You don't usually complain!"

"Well I'm not usually trying to open a frigging box with only a bent screwdriver and Guy the Bloody Gorilla to help me am I?" She put her face close to the box, laid her palms flat on the surface and closed her eyes as if trying to read it psychically. When she reopened them and looked at him her face was a mask of concern.

"We've got to get her out of there Bill. We've got to!" He looked at her puzzled.

"How do you know it's a girl?"

" I just know! She can't stay in there forever and we're just making things worse!"

She looked down at her torn top and his bandaged hand. Blood from the cut was already beginning to seep through the wrapping. He in turn looked at her, at the woebegone expression on her face and then at the box and made his decision.

"Okay." He said and strode purposefully out of the room. He didn't see her grasp both hands together and place them tightly against her cheek.

"Oh I love it when you're strong and silent!" She batted her eyelids seductively. The room was quiet again but the sound of breathing seemed to fill the void left by him. The only other sound was that of the word "bollocks" being said quietly and through clenched teeth from somewhere in the hall.

*

Her eyes opened wide with astonishment when he returned to the room.

"What's this? The Texas Circular Saw Massacre?"

It had been his Father's and he had never used it before - but there was a time and a place for everything.

"Got any better ideas?"

"The idea is to get her out of there - not cut her bloody head off!"

He put the electric saw down on the leather sofa and took her hand.

"I have no intention of cutting her head off. I'm just going to cut through the lid at the four corners which ought to release it enough to let us get the screwdriver underneath it fully and get some proper leverage on it..." He looked down at his hand, which was beginning to throb painfully, "...Okay?"

She looked at him sceptically.

"Be careful!"

"It's all right, I definitely don't intend to do myself any MORE damage today!"

She tutted.

"Not you, numb nuts! HER!"

He shook his head a little to clear it of pain and Sheila and then he moved over to the sofa, picked up the saw's plug and began looking for the nearest socket. Sheila meanwhile had dropped to her knees again and had adopted what appeared to be an attitude of prayer. Fascinated, he plugged the saw in and crept quietly behind her.

" …and I want you to stay right in the middle. Do you understand? Stay right in the middle. Now in a little while you're going to hear some noise - don't be frightened, it'll seem loud but we're doing it to get you out of there. Just stay in the middle of the box and stay still…" He touched her lightly on the shoulder.

"Do you really think they, er, SHE, can hear you?"

She looked up at him earnestly.

"YES. Yes I do. I always hear YOU.."

He winced at the still quite painful memory of the time he had mummified her, at her own request and, with great care and attention, proceeded to blindfold her, gag her, plug her ears and place tubes in her nostrils to restrict her breathing only to have her hear every word he had said to her whilst apparently oblivious to everything.

He thought for a moment.

"Mmm, but that's different, you've never been looked in a box with no obvious way of getting out."

She looked at him sharply.

There was something in his tone.

Something vaguely wistful that suggested that it would, somehow, be a good idea, but before she could say anything he had moved back to the couch, hefted up the circular saw and placed it on the nearest corner of the box that had become their nemesis.

Before switching on he took a final look at her, but she was communing once more with the box's inhabitant. The sun had gone in and one of the frequent squally showers that had been around for the last few days was beating against the windows. The light seemed to fade as he watched, causing even Sheila to look up and then dart towards the light switch but she never made it because as she straightened he switched on the power just as the clock struck eleven and the box suddenly and for no apparent reason came abruptly to life.

It began with a whirring noise, like a small but powerful electric motor and then the seemingly impenetrable lid began to move sideways.

"Shit!"

He stood immobile, the lid still sliding forward and the saw buzzing powerlessly away in his hand. Sheila seemed to be drawn towards the box.

"Turn that bloody thing off!"

He did as he was told and then dropped the saw harmlessly onto the couch.

It was obvious now that the nails in the lid and the lid itself were no more than dummies because, as it finally slid as far as it would go to the right, it revealed a second lid that was really two halves of good quality sanded and bevelled wood. For a few seconds neither of them moved and then he saw it. Wispy at first but becoming rapidly thicker.

Smoke was beginning to rise from the body of the box, but it quickly became apparent that it wasn't the smoke produced by burning material because it smelt sweet and cloying and it was rapidly filling the room.

Sheila was edging closer and closer as if hypnotised and drawn toward the box by some kind of spell and the second lid was beginning to open, both halves raising themselves upwards like Tower Bridge and more and more smoke was pumping out and into the small lounge.

Afraid of what might happen next, he lunged forward and grabbed her around the waist. She whirled round on him as if assaulted

"What the fuck are you doing?" Her eyes were wide with anger.

"You don't know what's in there!" The smoke was thicker now. So thick that they could no longer see the walls of the room.

"What are you expecting? A bloody alien or something?"

There was a hissing sound. It was coming from the box. He tried to push her away. To put her behind him so that he could look inside but Sheila wasn't easily sidelined. She struggled away from him.

"Fuck off! I said fuck off! You can't protect me all your bloody life, now let go!"

Reluctantly he eased his grip on her and she shouldered herself forward and to the edge of the black box. He followed, not wanting to lose sight of her in the smoke. She was leaning over and peering inside when he caught up with her. She stifled a gasp.

"What the…..?"

He looked inside. The box was still hissing and it seemed to have a lining. A black shiny lining. A back shiny lining with a strong, all pervading smell. Glistening as if it had been coated with something. Something clear and shiny. Almost like mucous, but the black lining was still receding as if it had previously been filled with something and it continued to hiss.

She reached forward and touched the shiny substance. They were in a totally unreal world now. Surrounded by nothing but smoke. Cut off from reality. She recoiled.

"Yeucch!"

He reached out and touched it as well and his spine juddered. It was cold and slimy, the way you would expect a snake to feel and it was still moving back and then finally it dawned on him. The texture, the hissing noise, the smell…

"Air bags! They're air bags like in a car. Black rubber air bags. If there IS anyone inside there they'd be held rigid…."

She glanced up at him and this time he recognised the look in her eyes.

"Wouldn't be able to move?'

"Nope! Absolutely immobile. Held in place by the pressure of the bags."

Her eyes brightened and then dimmed. She touched the slippery, shiny lining again and her voice was little more than a whisper.

"What about this?"

He shook his head.

"Don't know…"

The hissing had ceased now, only to be replaced by another noise. A faint hum. The smoke was now so dense that he wondered if it would set off the alarm in the kitchen. He turned because normally he would have been able to see whether the door was open or closed but all he could see now was thick white smoke.

"Bill!" Her voice was low and quiet. "Bill look!"

It felt as if his head snapped back into position. She touched his hand and held onto it. He closed his own around hers. There was movement inside the box. Something was beginning to rise from out of its padded confines. Something dark and rounded. Something shiny and glistening. Something alive because its breathing could now be heard very clearly, rasping back and forth, in and out, slowly and deeply, resounding from corner to corner of the smoke filled room and adding greatly to the air of unreality.

Sheila was standing next to him, her hand still in his, unable to take her eyes from the glistening creature that was emerging, like a monstrous butterfly, from its cocoon.

"What the fuck is it?"

He shook his head.

"Don't know!"

It was black. Black and shiny like the inside of the box. It was human. Or at least it had a human shape. It had arms but they were somehow pinioned to its sides. It had legs. Black and shiny legs that seemed incapable of parting. The torso was slim and shapely and recognisably feminine. Small pert breasts and nipples that were plainly visible and obviously erect. But the head…

The head was not of this world.

It was huge shiny and bulbous. Black and featureless. Rotund and glistening. The strong but somehow comforting smell of rubber seemed to permeate the entire room.

There was something else too...

Sheila was already moving around the box. Studying the creature from every angle while he watched for signs of movement, or anything which might mean danger, but the creature seemed thankfully inert at the moment. Sheila waved a hand in front of her face to clear smoke away and then she stopped as if frozen to the spot, her voice no more than a whisper.

"Bill, come here and look at this…"

He was still watching the gleaming creature that seemed only an inch or so shorter than himself.

"What is it?" He asked absentmindedly, but there was no reply. Sheila was no longer visible in the smoke and, suddenly panicked, he called her name and started forward only to bump into something in what was now a whiteout. He recoiled but he felt something clawing at him from the side and in self-defence he threw out a hand.

"It's me you Pratt!"

He stopped instantly.

"What's wrong?"

"What's wrong? That's what's wrong!" His eyes followed her hand. "She's got a tail Bill. She's got a fucking tail!"

*

Coal black and glistening the creature stood in front of them unmoving, seemingly oblivious to their presence. It reminded him, to some degree, of the pictures of Hans Rudi Giger, the man whose designs were used to create the original "Alien". Just one thing was missing - a face.

Sheila had been right about the tail but closer examination proved it to be more of an umbilical cord than anything else.

An umbilical cord that horrified Sheila.

"And you're telling me that it goes up her Garry?" Smoke was still issuing from the bottom of the box and she tried to blow some away that was wisping across her face.

"Her WHAT?"

"Her Garry. Her Garry Glitter! It's rhyming slang, Linda uses it all the time!"

"Rhyming slang? What for? Paedophile?"

"No, you great ponce! Garry Glitter - shitter. Poo chute, ring piece, jacksie, tradesman's entrance, anus, BUM!"

He nodded slowly.

"Ah! Well yes, yes it does and while it looks like a tail it's probably wired up to a pair of vibrators that are currently lodged in…"

"…her arsehole and her fanny?"

"Yes again. Unless you're American of course."

She peered at him through the murk at the same time running her hands gently up and down the "tail".

"Why?" She asked, innocent as a four year old.

"Well to the Americans a fanny IS an…er..."

"Arsehole?"

"Precisely! Whereas to us it's a…"

"Cunt?"

He sighed.

"Your language…"

But she cut him off in mid-sentence.

"Fuck my language!" She looked at the tail reflectively, still caressing it gently. "Doesn't seem to be much going on at the moment."

"No there doesn't, but you know that humming we heard earlier?" She nodded, "Well I think it was working then, but," And here he looked at the tail more closely, "I think it serves other functions as well."

Sheila continued to stroke the umbilical while he did his best to explain.

"I think it also carries the wires for a small TENS unit that's probably wired up to at least one of the vibrators." Sheila's eyes widened in amazement.

"What? So she cums and gets shocked all at the same time?"

He shook his head.

"Probably not! I should think that the Vibrators are programmed to come on in short random bursts, as is the TENS unit…"

She was ahead of him now

"…so she gets shocked and fucked but never actually manages to…"

"…orgasm! No. I don't suppose she does. It's like being held in a kind of exquisite agony."

Her face was very close to his now.

"Yes and I know all about that don't I?" The last time he had mummified her he had used a vibrator on her for a very long time but had never actually landed the coup de grace. He watched intently as she once more touched the umbilical that was keeping their reluctant visitor in thrall and decided that now was the time.

"That tail's probably got another purpose as well," He began, barely able to suppress a smile.

"Yeah? What's that?" Thick white smoke still hovered around them, getting no thicker but showing no signs of dispersing either.

"Well, given the amount of preparation involved and the amount of travelling time, she's probably been in that box for a very long while, which would mean that at some point she would need to pee unless…"

"Unless what?"

"What did you used to do when you tied yourself up?"

Her eyes flashed momentarily. It was still a sore point with them both, but it had been the reason they met. Noticing that her mail had not gone and not meeting her on the stairs on the way to work as usual had worried him and he had "broken in" to her flat using the spare key, only to be attacked by Bruce the cat and to find her bound and gagged by her own hand, dressed in a rubber cat suit and helpless on the couch.

"You know what I did! I fasted and restricted my fluid intake for a day or so before…"

"So you never used a catheter then?"

"No I bloody didn't! That's almost as bad as an enema!"

His smile was huge and expansive.

"I think she's already had one of them!" Sheila's eyes grew even wider. " And I also think that the vibrator in her, er, front has probably been hollowed out to allow for a tube to pass through it and in turn allow her to, erm, make water."

"You mean she's been catheterised?"

He grinned in triumph.

"Yup! And that "tail" you're currently holding in your hand probably feels warm because it's conducting the waste away and into a receptacle in the bottom of the box."

Sheila stood motionless for a few seconds regarding him blankly, and then she looked first at the creature and then at the "tail". When she did finally speak it was slow and halting.

"So this …"THING" …is full of …"

He nodded sagely.

"…Urine!" He nodded for a third time and with a certain amount of satisfaction. It had taken him a long time to get her to say "urine".

They stared at each other for what seemed to be an age.

"…And I've been holding a tubeful of someone's PISS for the last 5 minutes?" She said slowly and with exquisite distaste. Knowing that Sheila had a mental block where it came to matters scatological and not even noticing that she had lapsed again, he looked her in the eye and took a pace backward

"Probably." He nodded for the fourth time.

"YOU BASTARD! You utter bastard!" And she dropped the "tail" as if it were red hot.