The Little Brown Box
The Little Brown Box
By A.S. Morrison
Copyright 2013 A.S. Morrison
Table of Contents
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI
Chapter VII
Chapter VIII
Chapter IX
Chapter X
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Chapter XIII
Chapter XIV
Chapter XV
Chapter XVI
Chapter I
The Town of Swansberry was a small and secluded place far away from any major city or roadway, and the residents wouldn’t want it any other way. They kept to themselves, rarely leaving town for any reason at all. Occasionally merchants came by, but they were sent away quickly. The people of Swansberry didn’t want those neat gadgets that were used in the cities; they only wanted to be left alone. It really was a town stuck in the past.
To the west of town was a small river, to the south a path that led to the nearest major roadway thirty miles away. The north and east sides of town were covered by a dense forest with a winding trail big enough for a car. The trail twisted and climbed up a steep hill.
If there was anything that the people of Swansberry agreed to more than solitude, it was that nothing good was to ever come from where the trail led to. Beyond the forest, at the top of the hill a large house stood, known as the Swansberry Hill House. Nobody knew the exact age, but it had been there longer than anybody alive could remember. It stood dark and foreboding, casting immediate doubts in the mind of anyone who dared get a close look. The owner of the house, a strong and stately woman, frequently came down to town. She seemed nice enough, but her reputation preceded her. It was said that she cast away her own daughter as a child after killing her husband. No one could verify this, but who would want to get that close to the situation? Certainly nobody from town.
It wasn’t always like that. The oldest residents of Swansberry could still remember being told stories by their parents about the friendly family that once lived in the old house on the hill. How parties were held monthly and everyone was invited at all times. Those same old-timers could only guess at what happened in that house years ago, when the current owner was only a child.
Two hundred miles away in a big city a young girl sat under her covers, watching an old clock that sat on her dresser. Its intricate designs and careful coloring would make anyone notice. It was a shame that it broke years before. The little girl’s mother gave her that clock, and she made the same wish on it every night. That her mother would get better. A loud cough echoed through the dark house. She wished even harder.
Her door opened and a tall stressed looking man came in. He crossed to the bed and sat down, attempting a smile. The girl had never seen her father another way, he always looked like that. He still had his nametag on. Mr. Winbolt it read.
“Good night my dearest Hazel.” He leaned in close and kissed her forehead.
“Good night, daddy. How’s mom?”
He frowned, not even he could find a way to smile about that. “She’s struggling.”
Hazel nodded, trying to remain strong.
He stroked her head. “But you know what? It came on so fast, maybe it will go away just as quickly.”
“I hope so.” Said Hazel.
Mr. Winbolt shifted uneasily. “I have something to tell you, Hazel.”
She didn’t like the sound of that. When her father said something like that it never meant anything good.
“Your mother has been getting worse, and I know you have been helping, but I want you to enjoy the last month of summer.”
What did that mean? Hazel tried to see past her father’s hints.
“I want to help – I like to help.”
“I know you do. But . . . the doctor came by today.”
Hazel’s heart sank. The doctor often came by and her father never talked like he was talking then.
“He said that your mother’s condition, well he doesn’t know what it is.”
“I can help, I have helped.”
“Yes you have. The problem is that the doctor did not recognize what she has, and that’s not good.”
Hazel said what she often said when a new problem arose. “So what are we going to do?”
Mr. Winbolt smiled. “I love that you want to help so much. You are the smartest ten year old I have ever seen.” He became stern. “I want you out of the house for a while, and your grandmother said she would like to take you.”
Hazel couldn’t believe it. Her grandmother? It would have to be her mother’s mother since her other grandmother was dead, but she had never met her.
“What?” Hazel said in disbelief.
Her father put his hands up in defense. “I need you to be strong about this, like you always are.”
“I can help here, and besides, I’ve never even met her.”
“I know, but it’s the only place that we can send you. It would be best for all of us. Your grandmother needs someone out there to help her out; she’s getting up there in age.”
“So this is for her?”
“It’s for both of you. When you go out there then you can run and play and be carefree like a ten year old is supposed to be in the weeks before school.”
She didn’t get it; she could run and be free at home. There must have been something else going on. “But I –”
Mr. Winbolt stopped her. “You are going to go, I’m sorry.”
He kissed his daughter good night and left the room, turning off the light as he went. Hazel sat in the darkness, thinking about how unfair it all was. She could think of plenty of things she would rather be doing in August then spending it with her grandmother she knew nothing about. She threw herself back on her pillow and tried to get to sleep. Her mother’s coughs kept her up most of the night.