John Mawley had been searching for the little back-street shop in Oxford for nearly a week now. His patience had begun to wear thin as Thursday neared it’s end, and he began to doubt it even existed. Leaning against a wall in frustration and exhaustion, he wiped his brow before deciding to give it another ten minutes before venturing back to his grotty hotel room.
Fifteen minutes later he’d trudged around the last narrow street he could find and was so angry that he would have hit the first person that so much as looked at him. Furious, believing he’d been duped, he turned around and headed back.
Look for something and you won’t find it. Look for something else and before you know it, it’ll pop up. Murphy’s law. And Murphy was smiling on John today, as John saw the shop of his obsessions standing right in front of him as he tried to find the road back. He could have sworn that it was where the wall he’d been leaning against earlier was. Sighing, but glad he’d found it whatever the reason, he walked up to the door and looked through the never cleaned glass. Too dark to see. Even the name above the frontage was so old, tatty and faded that it was unreadable, but John knew this was the right place. It was late, but the shop lacked any opening time information, and on a whim John tried the door.
Stepping inside was like stepping from Summer into Winter. Two empty wooden chairs stood to the right, the only things not covered in dust. Between them was a low circular table, etched with intricate markings. The wood of the bookshelves was thick with dust and so ridden with woodworm the fact that they were still standing beggared belief. John tugged his collar up a little as he looked around and walked a little further into the cramped space. Books on all the subjects normal people were afraid of or too nervous to approach. Dried dead animals (or parts thereof) hanging from the exposed beams, some from rusted metal hooks. Human skulls, unrecognisable things in jars of formaldehyde. The dead were everywhere, but there was nothing living to be seen. It seemed to get colder as John made his way toward the door at the back of the shop, hoping to find somebody on the other side.
“Can I help you?” the voice boomed, making John jump in shock. He turned around to see a near-toothless little old man (a dirty old man, clearly) had appeared in one of the chairs. How he’d got there was a puzzle. Surely the booming voice couldn’t have come from him.
“Can I help you?” the horrid old bastard repeated loudly.
Startled, John made his way toward the old git, whose vulgar stench was beginning to assault his nostrils.
“Sit down”, said the old man, beckoning John to the empty chair.
John gave him a very suspicious look as he cautiously lowered himself into the cold uncomfortable seat.
“Let’s not waste any time. You want this,” Said the old git as he pulled an etched wooden cube from within his grime covered garments and placed it on the table, “but are you willing to pay for it?”
John’s face lit up. “Is it…is it real?”
“Of course it’s bloody real,” spurted the old bastard, flem flying from his foul breathed mouth, “What do you take me for?”
“How much is it?” John reached inside his coat and removed a large bundle of bills.
“Perhaps more than you have, sonny.”
John looked at the old man who he instantly hated. The old bastard was going to play games with him, and he would have no choice but to sit them through unless…
“Don’t bother thinking of killing me for it, I can tell you that you’d not survive the attempt. You wouldn’t be the first to end up as an exhibit in my shop from that little trick.”
“Just name the price old man,” grimaced John.
The old man stood the box on one of its points, and slowly rotated it. As the light caught it, it flashed John in the face, making him cover his eyes from the shock.
“Fucking stop it! Just tell me how much you want and I’ll go!”
The old man dropped the box and leaned forward, “It will cost you more than you could ever imagine. You’re a smart lad, so I’ll tell you about the last person who had this particular cube, if you can prove to me you want it.”
“How do you want me to do that, then?”
“Tell me what it’s called and what it does. Some people come looking for it, thinking it's something else entirely. If I know you’re on the right track, I’ll tell you.”
John took a deep breath. “It’s known as LeMarchand’s box, also called the Lament Configuration. Some whisper about it as the Cube Of Dark Dreams. It opens doors, to other places and experiences. They come for you, and teach you things undreamed of.”
The old man smiled his black toothed smile. “Good enough,” he said, and began his horrendous tale.

A couple of months ago a young lady dropped in here on a whim. Terribly upset she was, lots of pain buried deep inside. Things she wanted to change, but couldn’t. She didn’t look for me intentionally, no, no, but she needed my cube and so found her way to it. Happens like that sometimes, it does.
Ali Johnson was this tart’s name. Pretty girl, amateur practising Wiccan, who was protesting against the animal experiments out at Huntgrove Life Sciences. It’s just outside of the city. She came in and looked around. Second she set eyes on the box it called to her, wanted her. She knew. She wasn’t stupid, this one. Apparently one of the others at the protestor’s campsite had told her about a mythical box that could make dreams come true. Ali thought this was it. She felt it in her gut that this was that box.
So I offered her the cube. “How much do you want it?” I asked her, “How far would you be willing to go for it?”
Surprisingly she said as far as it took, except murder. She wasn’t willing to do that. Sensible girl. She told me about herself, I needed to know see, to make the price appropriate. Now she was an interesting young woman, yes she was. Lots of tales to tell, and strong opinions about this and that, set in her ways already. But I found what I wanted. She was one of those Lesbians that are so popular at the moment! Disgusting! Woman with woman! I knew what to do here, yes I did.
The nerve of the girl! She complained when I got my cock out for her! She refused to suck it, saying it was too dirty. I should be grateful that she agreed to do it all, she told me, as doing this was beyond disgusting enough.
So I told her, I said “Suck it bitch, as it is, or forget the cube. Every night for the next month! If you want the cube bad enough you’ll do it!”
Oh it was fun! I made her lick every last millimetre of my cock, and swallow everything. All night, every night. It’s better than soap and water! She usually chundered outside afterwards, but what do I care? After the fourth week she was getting very angry with me, she didn’t believe I’d keep my word, the slut! I may be many things, but I am a man of my word.
So I gave her the cube, with a warning; “There will be repercussions,” I says, “You can’t do what you’re planning and get away without a little pain here and there. What you’ve done for me is Heaven compared with what’s comin’ “.
“Fuck you.” was her reply.
“Please do”, I says, smiling at her with my beautiful smile.
And she was gone. Now I knew what she had in mind. It had been in the papers, see. She had a court case against Paul Green, the man who ran the experiment centre. He’d run her little mutt over on his way in one morning, and she was going to have ‘im for it. She wanted the cube as a way to get even in an even better way! Oh, the fur was going to fly! Heh, Heh!

Now it’s late that following night when she gets back to the camp, and climbs in bed with her girlfriend, whose name I’ve forgotten. Doesn’t matter anyway, does it? It’s cold and raining outside, and she’s soaked to her skin, so she is.
“Did you get it?”, Ali’s lover asks her, pulling a large old book out from her rucksack beside the bed.
“Yes,” Ali says, dropping the cube on the bed covers.
Her girl picks it up and looks it over before opening the old book and comparing it with the diagrams within its musty pages.
Her bird says, “This is it all right. It’s spot on. All the markings match, the description of the size and colour, everything. It’s remarkable. You can feel the power inside.”
“A fake is what it probably is. I’ll kill the evil old bastard if it doesn’t work, after what I had to do to get it.”
“Put it behind you Ali, sometimes we have to do unpleasant things.”
“I didn’t see you rushing to suck his smegma ridden dick. If you think it’s so fucking easy to just do something vulgar, you try it next time.”
Anyway, her tart realises that she’s upset her partner, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound patronising. If this does what the book says, then the cruelty will be over before we know it. They’ll stop it.”
“If the bastard ever figures out how to open it.” Ali says, turning to look her girl in the eyes, slipping her hand up between her legs.
“He will. I feel it. I can feel the box telling me right now.”
“Forget the box for now. I’ll send it to him tomorrow. I’m cold.”
With that, Ali’s tart puts the cube and book out of the way, and they get down to business, two girl style.

“Whoa. Hang on a minute!” said John, interrupting the old bastard’s tale, “You expect me to believe all this?”
“Of course I does. It’s true.”
“Is it now? And how do you know all of this? How do you know what happened between them in the tent? They probably just fell asleep!”
“I know. I knows things. It’s a perk of the job. If you don’t want to know, then you can just fuck away off right now.”
John stood up, pushing the chair back angrily. “It’s probably is a fake box. You’re telling me all this to try and convince me otherwise. I’m no fool. I’m not falling for it.”
“You came all the way from Manchester for this little wooden toy of mine, “ Said the old man, holding the box up in front of his face, grinning at it. “Are you really going to just dismiss it and walk away?”
John looked down at his tormentor, fuming at the old bastard’s mind games. “How do you know I’m from Manchester?”
Holding a finger to his nose and winking, the old git said “I told you. I knows things I does. And everything in my story is true.”
John sighed and sat back down, pulling the chair back up to the table and facing the old man. Slowly he placed the box back down on the table, rotating it so the circle sun side pattern faced John. He leaned back in his chair, looking a little tired.
“There’s a thousand stories in here, “ he said, pointing to the box, “Everyone enough to scare the most hardened of horror fan. But it’s a matter of which one to tell whom. The one I’m telling to you is good because it’s very recent, and has so many involved. It’s not often we get something this big happen. Do you want me to continue then?”
John was fed up with this to some degree, but was putting his irritations behind him to concentrate on the main thing: obtaining the box. For some reason the old man was trying to scare him out of buying it. Perhaps cheap thrills were just something the old bastard enjoyed? It wasn’t all bad really. Two girl action was certainly something that turned him on.
“All-right. I admit, you’ve got my interest, whether it’s true or not. At least I’ll go home with a story if nothing else. Continue.”
The old man had another idea. “You know where to begin now, “ he said, “Think about what I’ve just told you, and put your hand on the top of the cube. It will tell you the rest itself.”
“Pardon?!”
“It can project the images straight into your mind. If somebody who owns a cube wishes to show an involved person part of its doings, he can do so. As long as the intended recipient of the information is willing, anyway. If the box tells you itself, then I can’t be lying can I?”
John put the palm of his hand on the top of the box and closed his eyes, not believing any of this.
“Don’t try nothing funny, you can’t get away with stealing it. Just relax. Think out what I’ve just told you, and the rest will follow.” The old man got up and walked away, “I’m going for a cup of Tea. I’ll be in the back. Let me know when you’ve finished.”
For a moment John was ready to beat the old man to a pulp for trying to pull a cheap gag. Then it occurred to him that the old bastard may have got him to do this so he could fetch a weapon of some sort. Ready to leap up and kill the con-man, John found himself unable. His body was completely relaxed, and didn’t want to know about the signals John’s brain was sending. Worried, John concentrated on the story and soon the mists in his mind parted, to take off where the old man had finished. It was truly strange, like a movie being played out within his own head, everything was so clear. No words from a storyteller, just the pure truth as it had happened.
And suddenly John knew it all. What the girls looked like, when and where…everything! In his mind’s eye the next scene unfolded; it was two days later……

Paul Green arrived for work exactly at 9.00am, as he did everyday. Some said punctuality was his middle name. Others said it was butcher, or murderer, but they were the ones waving their cheap cardboard banners in vain, and living in tents around his centre. Mr. Green was prepared for the usual barrage of insults and threats from the protestors, and ignored them (as usual) as the Police and security guided his expensive car through the barbaric throng.
But there was one who worried him. Ali. And there she was, arms folded, staring him out. It wasn’t like her not to try throwing something at him. This was strange. Her eyes bore deep into his, straight to his rotten soul. He averted his gaze as he drove past, but couldn’t avoid her mouth miming the words I am going to get you. He gulped and drove past, through the gates and into his reserved parking space.
“Good morning, Mr Green,” Said Shirley the receptionist, welcoming him with the usual four words she used every single tedious day.
Green walked up to the desk. “Any post for me?”
“Yes. The usual technicalities and things, but something interesting came for you as well,” she said, lifting the box of mail from under the desk.
Shirley placed the box on the counter and removed the handful of post, then a larger square parcel. She put her hand in and removed the LeMarchand Cube from within. Green looked at it confused for a moment, before she offered it to him. Quickly he took a step backward.
“What is it?”, he asked nervously.
“We’re not sure really. A paperweight I think. Harry thought it was one of those Chinese puzzle boxes, but there doesn’t seem to be any joints or slots or anything in it. No moving pieces. What do you think it is?”
Green was very cautious about it, “Have security checked it? It’s not a disguised bomb or something?”
“No, it’s fine. They had a good examination. Whatever it is, it’s safe. Take it. You’ve nothing to worry about, “ She smiled.
Still nervous of the etched wooden cube, Green took it out of Shirley’s hand, and studied the markings. “It’s well made, quite intriguing. Who sent it?”
“No idea. It was addressed to you. All there was, was a little note saying it was a complimentary sample. Didn’t even say where from.”
“That’s a bit suspicious.”
“Oh stop being such a baby, Paul! Someone sent you a present, and a nice one too. Not everybody hates you, you know. So the company or individual responsible forgot to put their name on it, so what? It’s complimentary! It’s yours now.”
Paul looked at it closely, running his finger over the patterns, smiling at it. “Those boxes play tunes if you solve them, don’t they?”
“No idea. Don’t forget the meeting at ten. The Solicitor is coming to see you.”
With that, Green mumbled something under his breath, collected his mail and went to his office to sit down and have a cup of coffee. As usual.

Sharon, for that was what Ali’s girlfriend was called, came up to her and draped an old sheet over her shoulders as it began to drizzle. Holding the makeshift garment tight, Ali gave a little shiver. Light spots of rain speckled Ali’s brow and ran down her face, onto the shroud-like sheet. Sharon held her close, and together they looked at the sealed compound with all it’s atrocities within.
“No matter how much I try to comprehend it, I can never come to terms with what’s happening in that building. So near, and yet so far.” Sharon said quietly.
“They’ll pay for it. They’ll get what’s due to them. The box will work. I know it. My dreams told me,” Ali responded, turning around to kiss Sharon on the cheek before walking back to the tent. “Let’s hope it doesn’t take too long.”

The first crash of Thunder was heard in the distance as the Lawyer entered the conference room where Paul Green was awaiting him.
“You’re late,” Said Green. “I don’t like to be kept waiting.”
Mr. Braeburn, the solicitor, dressed in his finest grey suit, pulled up the chair across from Green and sat down.
“So…..What news? Is the girl still going ahead with the charges?” asked Green.
“She won’t budge, I’m afraid. There’s nothing we can do. She rejects every settlement we offer. She wants to close you down, and sees this as her means. It doesn’t matter how much we offer, she just won’t accept.”
“Bitch. Jesus. There’s nothing more we can do?”
“Nothing. Just wait until the court date. It seems busier out there today.”
“She went to the papers. Since then, more people have been turning up. Part-timers. They come for the day and go home in the evening. It’s not much of a problem. We get used to them.”
Braeburn leaned back in his chair and touched his fingertips together, his concentration drawn to the box that Green had bought into the room with him. “That’s interesting.” he said.
“It’s a paperweight, “ said Green, rotating it for Braeburn to see, “it came today. I rather like it.”
Braeburn shook his head slowly, with his eyes closed. “That’s not a paperweight. It’s a puzzle box. I’ve seen similar ones it in China. It’s very rare, if it’s an original.”
“It’s a free sample.”
“From whom?”
“I don’t know. The name was missing. Rare? It looks brand new.”
Braeburn leaned forward slightly, and raised his glasses to look closer. “Very nice. No it’s definitely a puzzle box. Or an imitation one that doesn’t work. It’s supposed to be near impossible to solve. These things go for a fortune if you’re lucky enough to find one. Can I see it?”
Green handed him the box, “Go ahead. If you can find out how to solve it, let me know.”
Green sat there getting progressively more annoyed with Braeburn as he studied the box, looking at every conceivable marking and potential joint. Braeburn had been at it for ten minutes solid, and seemed to forget that he had come for an important meeting, before Green eventually lashed out, snatching the box from his hands.
“That’s enough. I pay you to come here and sort my mess out, and instead you want to play with this?” Green slammed the box on the table.
Braeburn was startled. He seemed to have drifted away while attempting to open the little wooden cube. “T-Terribly sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I’m ever so sorry.”

It was late that evening when Green finally arrived at his expensive and extravagant home, but that was more as a result of his wife’s efforts than his. Complications at work had provided him with another late night there, and the pouring rain in the darkness had made it difficult to see while driving home.
He sat patiently as the electric Garage door slowly opened, and looked at the box on the passenger seat, atop the paperwork that never seemed to leave him in peace. It was strange, he thought, how this piece of wood and brass had pre-occupied his thoughts so much today. He was more curious about it, than interested in the solving. As the door clicked and clunked into it’s open position, he drove the car slowly in and let the door shut.
“What is it, Daddy?”, his young son’s voice started him as prepared to alight his vehicle.
He had not seen his son and wife enter the Garage while thinking about this and that. The stress was really getting to him today. He climbed out of the car and kissed his wife on the cheek as she smiled at him, and handed the box to his son.
“It’s a puzzle,” he told his son, “Solve it, and it’ll play you a beautiful tune, or maybe have a surprise inside.”
“It opens, daddy?”
“I think so yes. Somebody gave it me at work today.” Green knelt down to see his son at his eye level, the boy looked closely at the box, seemingly drawn to all the markings, ”Do you like it?”
“It’s funny, daddy. How do you open it?”
“You have to solve it, don’t you? I didn’t have time to try today, so I thought I’d let you try.”
“Thank you, daddy.”
With that Green’s boy turned around and walked slowly back toward the house’s hall door, studying the box intently. Green’s wife, Cheryl, smiled mildly before hugging her husband tightly.
“I get so worried about you when you’re late.”
Green looked over his wife’s shoulder at the boy, carefully pushing bits of the box, trying to get them to move. “It’s strange, but Harold Braeburn the solicitor was just the same when I gave him it to try, “ he said.
“What?”
Green released himself from his wife’s embrace and pointed at the boy, still walking slowly and seemingly oblivious to everything around him, ”The puzzle box. Harold couldn’t help himself either. But he still couldn’t solve it. I’m beginning to doubt if it’s real.”
They followed behind their son, and Green went to turn the light off. The bulb suddenly blew with a huge bang just before he touched the switch.

It was two hours later and the log fire painted dancing shades of orange on the walls. It was way past Green’s son’s bedtime, but he was so preoccupied with the box, that his parents had decided to let him have some extra time to toy with it. He lay on the floor with the box, just in front of the Television set, which seemed to keep going out of tune this stormy night.
Thunder crashed, and lightning gave the curtains an eerie blue halo around the edges. Sitting close together on the sofa, Green and Cheryl were watching their son and the television at the same time.
“Darn. The picture’s broken up again. What’s wrong with it?” asked Green, trying to catch something on the news.
“It’s just the storm.”
“Maybe. But it’s never been this bad before. David isn’t scared of the thunder tonight. ”
Crackles, hiss and snow on the Television, and bangs and lights outside, it was a strange night. The Green’s security guard patrolled their gardens, keeping an eye out for any ambitious protester who thought they might try getting to Paul Green’s family. It was not a night he enjoyed his job.
The late news had concluded with a very frustrated Paul Green turning the set off, having seen more screen snow than information.
“Maybe we should get cable,” He said to his wife. “I doubt that would be effected by storms.”
David was still immersed in the box, and didn’t seem to be the remotest bit tired. He appeared to want to play with it all night. Cheryl was a little bothered about this, it was totally out of his character.
She stood up, and walked over to David, and took the box from him. He looked up at her very angrily.
“David. Don’t you look at me like that. It’s way past your bedtime.” She gave the box back to Paul, who held it tightly.
“Mommy! I’d nearly solved it!”
“To bed. Now.”

Dragging his feet and sulking, David made his way slowly to the bathroom, trying to make his parents feel guilty for denying him extra time.
Cheryl looked at the box on Paul’s lap. “Take it back with you tomorrow. I don’t want him playing with that again. I don’t like it.”
Paul held it up, looking at it’s patterns. “Maybe it is a fake. It doesn’t work?”
The thunder was retreating across the distant hills and the rain had mellowed down to a mild tapping on the glass, leaving the room very quiet. They had not noticed how quiet it had become in the last few minutes, until the telephone suddenly rang, making them both jump. The sudden shock caused Paul to drop the box. Hitting the floor, the box gave out a strange red spark and tinkling sound.
There was a telephone on the small table beside the television. Cheryl picked it up as Paul retrieved the box from by his feet.
“Who?...Oh.....How did you get our number?......No. Go away. I’ll call the Police!”
Paul looked at her worryingly. “Who is it?”
“It’s that Ali girl. She wants to speak to you. She just said it was about the wooden cube you’ve got.”
Paul looked at her for a moment. “What is it with this?” he asked her, “Why is everybody so interested in it? I’ll speak to her.”
Cheryl brought the phone over to Paul, swapping it him for the box. She’d not really taken a proper look at the box, and decided to now, giving all the rising interest. To her it was just a box. A wooden box with some strange patterns.
“What do you want? How did you get my telephone number?” Paul asked Ali.
“Never mind. I am here to offer you a deal. Are you interested?”
“You want the box?”
“No. I want you to solve it.”
“Did you send it to me?”
“I heard you’d got one. Listen up then. Here is my offer. The cube is supposed to be virtually impossible to solve. I want to know what is inside. If you can solve it by the end of the week; two days from now, and show me what you found inside......I’ll drop the charges.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“What have you got to lose? You can’t possibly win the case. You know that. Well?”
Paul thought for a moment, wondering if this was some sort of trick.
The voice came louder down the phone. “This is your only chance. If you say no now, I’ll push the case through. No chance to change your mind later.”
“Very well,” Said Paul, frustrated.
“I’ll be waiting for you tomorrow morning. Show me the cube as you drive past. Then I know you’re keeping your word.”, and with that she hung up abruptly.
Paul placed the receiver down and looked at his wife. “She says that if I solve the box, she’ll drop the charges.”
And with that he went to bed, feeling sure that it wouldn’t be too hard, come tomorrow.

Ali gave the mobile phone back to her friend Mark, as the rain continued to pelt the thin fabric that separated them from the elements.
“Thanks. That should do the trick.”
Mark put it in his inside pocket, and zipped his coat up as tightly as he could. “Don’t mind if I wait here a while do you?” he asked, “It’s died down a lot, but I’ll still get drenched if I go back to my tent now.”
Ali looked at Sharon questioningly.
“fine by me,” Sharon said.
“So how did you get his number?”
“Don’t try calling him, Mark. And don’t give his number to anybody else,” Ali said sternly, “This is something big we’ve been working on, and don’t want it screwed up. Not now. Not when we’re so close. Hopefully if this works, he’ll be gone by the end of the week.”
“So you really found one of those boxes? A real one?”
Sharon sighed, “Hope so.”
“So? You still haven’t told me how you got his number.”
And Sharon smiled.

The following morning was a glorious contrast. The beaming sunlight broke the darkness in Ali and Sharon’s tent, and Mark, who has slept the night cramped in with them, welcomed the new day with a loud burst of flatulence. With somebody in the next tent sniggering at Mark’s burst, he quickly made his exit before the girls awoke.
“Was that you?” Ali asked Sharon, still half asleep.
Sharon had not heard her partner, and dozed on, lost to her unspoken dreams.
Ali’s dreams had been another matter. She had trouble recollecting them, but she knew they’d been bad. She sat up in bed and wiped the sweat from her brow, reaching around the tent for the bottle of water that they always kept handy. The tent was starting to smell unpleasant when Ali had staggered outside, wiping her eyes. That was another recent bad morning following on from bad a night for Ali. She felt completely drained and extremely depressed, but had no idea of why. Ali looked at the streaks of glowing yellow that the sun painted through the nearby forest, spreading down across the field. It was going to be a good day, even if she didn’t feel like it.

By eight a.m., everybody had risen ready to start the day’s good fight. The scum were arriving for work, and everybody had their places and parts. Piss filled balloons were hurled at the cars, as was abuse, and sometimes worse. Ali stood out of all the dramatics, waiting for Green’s arrival. When he finally arrived, late for once, he drove slowly past her and held the box up so she could see it. Ali nodded at him in acknowledgement, before he drove out of the seething anger, and into the centre.
“Ali! Ali! What the fuck was that all about?” A voice boomed from somewhere in the crowd behind her.
Ali turned to see Derek, one of the main organisers, storming toward her, fuming. He stopped not less than an inch from her face and stared her right in the eyes. Ali, still not feeling well, had taken a shaky step backward and almost tripped over a large stone, until Mark caught her.
“Give it a fucking rest, Derek. She’s not feeling too well,” Said Mark in her defence.
Ali steadied herself. “I can fight my own fights, Mark.”
Derek pointed his finger close to her eye, which she grabbed and twisted making him howl in pain.
“Y-You’re up to something with him. Ah…I saw you exchange glances. You’re planning something!”
Ali let go of his finger. “Oh grow up. Yes, I’m up to something with him! I’ve tricked the bastard into doing himself, what we’ve been trying to do for years!”
“What?”
“Fuck off, Derek! You have no idea what’s really happening. Jesus, look around you. We’ve been here how long….two and a half years perhaps? And what have we achieved? Four people have resigned from the centre. The others only seem to get more defiant. We’re getting nowhere doing this. They’re so used to us now, that it’s like we’re not even here! Shit!” Ali held her head in her hands, “God, my fucking head hurts. I’ve been working on something else. A plan, to bring them down from inside. And if that asshole does what I hope he does, we might even see it closed today! So fuck off!”
Derek was confused. Nobody had mentioned anything about what had been going on to him. Ali didn’t care whether he knew or not, and went back to her tent, with Mark holding her upright.
“I want to go back to bed.”

Huntgrove Life Sciences was a huge complex. There was a labyrinth of corridors inside, with hallways into hallways, and doors in shadows. Only a few people there truly knew every dark corner of the evil place. At the end of the south-east corridor was a small metal door next to the cleaner’s cupboard. Almost unnoticed, and deceptive in appearance. Very rarely did anybody come down here, apart from a small group who officially didn’t even exist.
Green saw this as his most important destination today. There were things to tidy up inside, things to deal with, problems to solve. This was a part that he himself didn’t like, but saw as essentially harmless and necessary to the survival of his business. This was where Dr. Hausman did his illegal experiments on the unfortunate animals who were overstock as a result of excessive breeding.

Green walked slowly along the corridor, headed toward one of the main labs. Deep inside he was in terrible conflict. When he took over the running of the Labs, he cared nothing for the suffering of the animals. So little did he care, that he had taken on the illegal cosmetics experiments by Hausman. But gradually, he was beginning to have doubts. But he didn’t know why. Was it disgust as Hausman’s unnecessary barbarism, or perhaps the protestors outside were finally getting to him? Something had struck him deep in his subconscious. Doubts grew everyday.
In the Lab, he stood close to the door, looking across the dogs with their heads locked down. The whimpering was almost a musical chorus. The scientists working in the room didn’t even seem to notice as they cut and sliced.
Green bowed his head and left. Inside he repeatedly told himself that it was all for the good of mankind. He had to. It was the only way he could keep going now.

Lunch time had passed. The day got darker as storm clouds soaked up the sky, and showered it down. Metal roofs rapped loudly. The drains overflowed, and an occasional streak of lightning gave a sudden burst of surreal beauty to the day. The protestors had all retreated to their tents, given the severity of the weather. They sat huddled, waiting for it to stop.
Ali was still asleep, having dark and haunting dreams of strange creatures in leather, walking in the darkness, calling to her from somewhere distant, somewhere cold. They called her seductively, and offered gifts of pleasure.
Ali awoke and opened her eyes. Mark and Sharon looked at her.
“welcome back, sleepy head” smiled Sharon. “Sleep well?”
Ali still lay, without moving. She seemed unsure. “Strange dreams of strange beings. It’s going to happen today. I know it. It was what they were trying to tell me.”
Inside the complex, Green had almost forgotten everything around him. His lunch tray had been delivered as usual, but he hadn’t touched a bite. His coffee stood cold. His office itself had gone cold, despite the radiator still being on full. His breath hung in the air in front of his face, but he didn’t notice. He was immersed in the little wooden puzzle, becoming gradually obsessed with it. Odd, given that he had originally picked it up from his desk just to have a quick look.
At the back of his mind, he had a strange feeling almost as if there was somebody speaking to him without words, driving him on.
Suddenly, he found something on the box that seemed different to the rest of it. He gave it a little push, and the opposite side of the box rose up.
Green smiled, excited. For the first time all afternoon, he felt his attention drawn away to the room. The room appeared to be creaking a little. He thought he saw some of the shadows moving through the corner of his eye. He thought he felt somebody watching him, and almost thought he could hear whispering voices calling his name.
Quickly his eyes darted about. The atmosphere was definitely different and uncomfortable, but there didn’t appear to be anybody there. Putting his feelings down to the effects of the storm, of which he was aware for the first time, he dismissed it.
Green looked the box over, but the slight shift in its parts didn’t appear to yield any reward. All he saw was wood. Thinking the movement a red herring designed to throw him off the scent, he pushed it back into place and started again.
What he failed to notice was all the sudden barking, crying, screeching and aggressive behaviour that all the animals in the compound suddenly began at the exact moment the he slid the box apart. The baffled personnel were doing what they could to stop the noise, that now continued long after Green had closed the box. Something had scared the animals even more than what they were already subjected to, and they knew that something was coming. Something very, very bad.

Paul Green had taken leave of his sanity this afternoon. Exactly when is hard to say, but it had long gone. So when his wall suddenly wrenched itself open, and two beings dressed in leather entered through said portal, he was not shocked. So he looked at them, bathed in back-light, wide eyed and smiling.
The creatures, of which he couldn’t tell if they were human or not, did not return the expression. They were completely emotionless. White skinned. One with an elaborate pattern of scars, each join decorated with a nail hammered into the skull. His (was it a he?) companion lacked any real facial detail, save a mouth of chattering teeth.
The nail-headed one looked around slowly, sensing their location. Paul Green began to stand, and placed the star-box on the desk as the Chatterer moved toward him. The creature had no eyes, but somehow knew exactly where Paul was. Suddenly Green’s sanity came back to him as the panic outside invaded the silence of his office. He could hear chains clinking, tearing flesh, and human screaming. The chatterer moved around the desk.
Green tried to run, but a metal chain burst its way through the wall, and quickly imbedded itself in his shoulder. The nail-headed being turned to look at him.
“Good evening, Mr. Green,” the Cenobite said in a deep, commanding, but somehow also polite voice. “Thank you for inviting us into this fine establishment.”

Ali knew instinctively what was happening. She cried in horror at what she had wrought. She had not wanted this. As the tent flaps blew violently in the wind, she saw an old tramp walking through the downpour, oblivious to it. He stopped and turned to look at her for a moment, before continuing on his journey toward the fence. He stood and looked, watching, waiting. The Police and security guards approached him, but kept their distance as he made no further attempt to gain entry.
He would get the box later, when the time was right.
Ali would never recover from this. She suddenly realised that she was responsible for the slow deaths of every living thing in the complex, and it would torture her for the rest of her life.

John Mawley awoke from his trance, removing his hand with such a rush that he knocked the box onto the floor.
“Watch it!” the old man blurted out from the other side of the room, drinking his tea. “That’s expensive merchandise.”
Mawley reached down to pick it up, then stopped, having second thoughts. Did he really want to touch it again?
“Go on sonny. It won’t bite” the owner laughed.
Mawley lifted it back onto the table, cradling it in his hands. He turned to look at the old man.
“It’s all true?”
“Every last bit. Saw it with your own eyes.”
“The research plant….”
“The owners set it on fire afterwards. They thought the staff had gone mad and murdered each other. So they burned it, to hide the evidence.”
“I heard about that.”
“Aye. Well, now you know.” He said, and looked Mawley square in the eye. “Do you still want it then?”
John Mawley looked at the cube. So seductive. So enticing. So ornate. He imagined it playing a little music box tune. “If that was true, I know it can be opened.”
The old git stood up and walked toward John. “Exactly. But are you man enough for the rare pleasures contained within?”
Mawley sat motionless for a moment, thinking. He knew what was in the cube, and what fate awaited him if he solved it. But he had so desperately wanted it for so long. He needed it.
Mawley turned to look at the old man who smiled at him, already knowing the answer he was about to receive.
“I want it.”
“Excellent.”
“How much do you want for it?”
“Well now, let’s not get too hasty. You need to earn it. We can start here…”
And the old bastard approached John Mawley, and unzipped his fly.