The Boxes

 His family had a huge wooden cottage in the middle of the WhiteOak Forest. It was a well-built winter cabin with chestnut ceilings and steep staircases. The family had settled amidst the city and barely visited the cabin. Ignoring it out of simple nonchalance; they still claimed it to be their family’s most ‘well-kept secret’, for it had a dark attic with mysterious cardboard boxes.

The entire cottage, made out of chestnut wood was disturbed by one metal door guarding the attic. Guarding the boxes. The only window was bolted shut and often covered with heavy shades. The family had hired help to polish the cottage once in a while. The help had access to every corner of the house except the attic. It was off-limits. The attic remained grimey and grim while the other rooms were spick-and-span. 

It was once rumored that the cottage was built over a graveyard and consisted of a catacomb which was later, renovated into a ‘basement’.

The hired help would reside in the cabin the entire day but had to leave as soon as the clock struck 6. The attic was supported by a faint light bulb, lit daily at 6:30pm and turned off next dawn by someone. Nobody knew who that ‘someone’ was. 

The local people tried to solve the mystery, but saw no one entering or leaving the cabin after 6. But one night, they saw a yellow light reflecting from the half-draped window. An aged man was spotted, lifting the boxes on a mahogany table and carefully bringing out items and judging them under the weak bulb. 

The man understood how his identity was sacrificed. A wooden case was nailed to the window the next day. 

A young chap; took it upon himself to find out the hidden ‘artifacts’ in the boxes. He impersonated a member of the hired help and was admitted in. He remained in the cabin, lurking in the shadows, only to wait and see the aged man opening the boxes. 

It was 6:45pm and a man arrived, not through the front door, but via a passage in the basement. The young boy heard him treading heavily on the cemented stairs that led up to the attic. A metallic handle rattled. The boy had his way in, but did not follow the man inside the attic, being too afraid to get caught. Instead of gaping at the man, the boy stared at the inside of the attic. It was a mess. Test tubes, flasks, chemicals and books were scattered across the room. He waited until the boxes were opened. The man, who seemed to be a professor of science, walked slowly across the room, carrying his pocket knife to scrape open some taped boxes. 

What the boy saw, gave him the shivers. Various human organs were packed in ice coupled with several DNA samples. 

After a decade, the case was disclosed that the cabin was owned by the professor, he had no family. It was all rumors. His family had died long before the cottage was built. He had preserved their organs, only for a colossal idea of his own.

That day, the headlines of esteemed newspapers read-‘Clones Made in the Attic.’