Prolouge

Jazlyn sat by her mother's bed on Halloween. Faintly she could her the doorbell

ringing, briefly she wondered if she should go downstairs and put out a bowl of candy or turn off

the lights. Those thoughts scattered when she heard the bedsheets rustle. Slowly her mother's

eyes were opening, confusion showing on her face. Jazlyn helped her sit up, handing her a glass

of water. She sipped at the water, followed by a coughing fit.
"Whats going on Jazlyn?" She asked as soon as she got herself under control.
"I don't know Mom. . ." Sighed Jazlyn. She wished that she had some answers that she

could give her mother. "I just don't know."
"I'm dying aren't I?"
"I'm sorry. . . I should have been able to save you." Jazlyn started to softly cry. Her

mother sushed her, protesting Jazlyn's treatment of herself.
"Theres nothing you could do. Its my time to die."
"It shouldn't be. Patrick should be the one dying, not you."
* * *
Six years later, Jazlyn sat on her couch, holding a small black box. Her mother gave

her the box on the night that she died, explaining to her that it was an heirloom that had always

been passed from mother to daughter in their family. Now Jazlyn had her own daughter, a

beautiful five year old girl named Abby. Jazlyn had been told by her mother that night that no

matter what she must never open the black box. When Jazlyn had asked why all she was told was

that her grandmother had told her mother never to open the box, ever.
Over the years she had made a lot of guesses as to what lay inside the black box, and

curiousity always tried to get her to open it and see if she was right. So far she'd been able to

resist, but she still came up with all sorts of things that could be hidden inside.
She knew it must be something dangerous, otherwise, why wouldn't she be allowed to

open it? Every time that she came close to opening the box she thought of that, and that

prevented her from opening the little box. She couldn't leave her baby girl alone in the world if

something happened to her because of whatever was in the box.
Jazlyn stood and placed the black box back in its cabinet. Quietly, she walked through

the halls of her house on the way to the kitchen. This was another night where she couldn't sleep

and needed the comfort of looking at the box. Nights like these had been occuring ever since her

mother had died and she was given the box. Now, whenever she felt like she was alone in the

world all she needed to do was hold the box and remember all the times she'd had with her

mother.
She hoped that one day her own baby Abby would be able to hold the box herself and

think back to all the wonderful times she had with her mother. Though she hoped that day was

very far off in the future, Jazlyn wasn't planing on leaving her little girl with the box for many,

many years.
Once in the kitchen, Jazlyn started warming up some milk for herself. Warm milk was

what her mother had given her when she was little and couldn't sleep. Now Jazlyn prepared the

milk for Abby and herself whenever one of them couldn't sleep. Abby always knew when her

mother was awake late at night, and figured that since her mother was awake she was allowed to

be up and running around too.
Sure enough, just as the milk was getting to the right temperature Jazlyn could hear the

little sounds of her daughter's slippered feet in the hallway.
"Mommy? Why are you awake?" Abby's sleepy little voice was clearly confused. It

wasn't sunny out yet, why was her mommy up during the night?
"Mommy just needed some milk. Do you want some to help you get back to sleep,

too?" Jazlyn knew that Abby wouldn't sleep again until she'd had some warm milk and was

tucked back into bed.
"Mhm. . ." Abby sat herself down at the kitchen table, waiting patiently for her milk to

be ready. Abby was always patient, something that was very uncharacteristic for a five year old.
Pouring the milk into seperate glasses, Jazlyn looked over at her baby and saw that she

was already asleep at the table. Sighing, she set the cups down and walked over to her daughter.

Picking up Abby like she used to when she was two or three years old Jazlyn brought her back to

her room, gently setting her on her bed. After tucking Abby back into her covers, Jazlyn returned

to the kitchen to grab the cups from the counter and clean the pot.
Just in case Abby woke up again Jazlyn placed her cup of milk on the bedside table,

trusting that if Abby needed the milk she would remember to sit up so she wouldn't spill on the

bed. Taking her own glass up to her room she sat in bed, looking once again at the little black

box. If only she knew what was inside that box. . .