My Father’s Black Box

My mother died giving birth to me.

My father raised me alone.

He worked himself to the bone, and just after I graduated university, illness caught up with him.

Not long after, he went to find my mother.

Father left me a considerable inheritance.

And a black box.

Before he died, he held my hand and told me:

“Keep this box with you.”

“Never open it.”

“If you do that, you will live safely for the rest of your life.”

I forced myself through the grief and arranged his funeral.

Then I took what he left me and left that sad city.

I loved painting.

I wanted to become an artist.

After traveling through half the country, I finally settled in a small town I liked.

Mountains.

Water.

A river running through the center.

Simple people.

Quiet seasons.

It was an artist’s dream.

I took some money and bought a small house in a secluded corner of town.

From then on, I planned to study painting in peace.

On the first day, I threw Father’s black box into the cellar beneath the house.

My father had always been superstitious.

He often muttered about gods and blessings.

But if gods truly blessed him, why did he die from exhaustion and illness?

I did not believe in such things.

That night, however, something strange happened.

I had painted the sunset that day.

I had also met a handsome young man with melancholy eyes.

He and the sunset together had a wonderful mood.

If there was a chance, I wanted to ask him to model for a piece.

So I was in a good mood.

At ten, I went to bed.

My sleep schedule was healthy.

My life had no major pressure.

I had always slept well.

But that night, while half asleep, I heard footsteps.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

At first, the sound was faint.

My consciousness had not fully awakened.

Then the footsteps grew denser.

Louder.

Like a dancer in heels performing Latin dance across a polished floor.

I did not believe in ghosts.

My first thought was that someone outside my house was playing a prank.

So I tried to open my eyes and check.

Then something stranger happened.

No matter how hard I tried, I could not open them.

And I clearly felt that breathing had become difficult.

I struggled in darkness.

Could not move.

Slowly, it felt as if something heavy pressed on my body.

My limbs were frozen.

Sleep paralysis?

I told myself not to be afraid.

There was a scientific explanation.

In sleep neurology, this was a state where the body was asleep but the brain was awake.

Thinking of that, I calmed down slightly.

Then, after an unknown amount of time, I felt a cold hand touch my cheek.

Very cold.

Like ice from a freezer.

I trembled uncontrollably.

In that moment, I fought desperately to open my eyes.

Relax.

Don’t panic.

Don’t panic.

Finally, my eyes opened.

I sat up abruptly, gasping, and switched on the light.

The room was empty.

I touched my face.

Cold.

As cold as ice.

That was strange.

If this was sleep paralysis, why did the cold remain?

I boiled a cup of water to calm myself.

Then the lights began to flicker.

The light turned red.

My heart slammed so hard it felt ready to break out of my chest.

“Ah!”

A black shadow appeared.

It looked like a middle-aged man.

Its whole body was black as ink.

Slowly, darkness around him spread like mercury.

Wherever the darkness touched, the room aged visibly.

The newly decorated wall suddenly looked thirty years old.

Moss crept along the corners.

Paint blackened.

Rot filled the air.

Everything was terrifying.

Facing that horror, I threw every piece of scientific knowledge I had learned out of my mind.

Only one thought remained.

Run.

But my body did not belong to me.

I could not move.

The darkness reached me.

It swallowed me like deep water.

No matter how I struggled, nothing worked.

“Help!”

A beam of light shone into my eyes.

I gasped and opened them again.

This time, what entered my sight was gentle morning light and green scenery outside the window.

I sat up, breathing hard.

Had I dreamed a dream within a dream?

But it had been too real.

Even now, my heart would not settle.

I climbed from bed and drank water.

Only then did I freeze.

The water in the cup was warm.

I clearly remembered not boiling water before bed.

So who boiled it?