The Box

James was elected to hide the box for the scavenger hunt. He hid it so well that even he couldn't find it. We looked for the box all weekend, following the map he gave us. Carrying our shovels all over town, we dug at least fifteen holes. By Sunday night, we were angry. No one talked to James on Monday. After school, we planned on meeting back at the club to vote him out. Everyone arrived at the rickety porch on time, including James, who swore that he had been at the same place right up until we opened the door. There, set in the middle of the room, was a box.

"I don't know where this came from!" stammered James.

"Yeah, right. I bet you didn't write this note either," Tom said accusingly.

On top of the box was a note yellowed with age. Pieces fell off as we unfolded the note. It read, "I told you, NEVER move my box!"

"Nice try, James. I've seen this paper at the craft store," I said.

Suddenly, a voice boomed through the house, "I SAID NEVER MOVE MY BOX!"

All four of us screamed, jumped up, and bolted from the house, never looking back. Some days I wonder if the box is still there on the floor. I guess I'll never know.