The lack of certainty about what had happened was not nearly as frustrating as the fact that the entries stopped. The following day, Henry wasn’t able to contact Mage, and after several days he was worried.

He hired me to look into the matter. I was not his first choice, but not many people are desperate enough to be that close to dark magic. Lucky for him, he contacted some people who knew how hard up I was.

Henry was able to convince Mage’s landlord to give me access to her studio apartment. It was a part of her life that terrified him, and rightfully so.

Henry did not join me on my tour of the apartment. At first glance, there was nothing for him to be afraid of. The room of tasteful furniture held no occupants, just a few of her personal effects. Notably, her journals, which took up several shelves and storage containers, and a jewelry box that I originally mistook for a feminine cigar box.

Clothing, food, and toiletries were all gone. There were a fair amount of shoes in the closet, but I couldn’t tell if those were too small of a collection or not. How many shoes does one person need? I didn’t bother counting, but I imagine it was somewhere between eight and fifteen pairs.

After a tour, the super left me alone. I started with the last entry of the journal, skipping the jewelry box altogether because I’ve never known one to be helpful in a missing person case.

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It didn’t take long for me to realize I should stay as far away from the potential paranormal trap. But since I’d started reading from the last entry, I didn’t notice the change in tone.

I used the apartment as a base of operations to try and track her down. It was a welcome retreat from my office that was frozen in the 1960s. But my search was also fruitless. My only real set of contacts was her office, and nobody knew where she was, since she abruptly quit. So, I passed the time reading her diaries.

It all led back to the jewelry box. I’ve heard stories of people being trapped inside these contraptions with other creatures. Ones that don’t share well and make for a terrible existence. There was no telling what else may be imprisoned with her. The only way to know was to open it, and I was not going to be the one to set loose whatever was inside.

I don’t think she would be in the mood to grant wishes, and that’s assuming she’s in there at all. I could open the thing and get sucked in myself.

Eventually, Henry got tired of paying the rent, and the super got tired of finding me there when he was trying to show the place to new tenants.

As the super was removing my personal effects that I had moved in, I exchanged some quick texts with Henry explaining I had taken my work as far as I could. My thoughts on the case were inconclusive, and despite that fact, he needed to pay his bill for my services. I mentioned I would swing by their home in the evening to drop off the journals and the jewelry box.

He said he might not be there, but I could leave it with the kids. I mentioned that the jewelry box was dangerous. Speaking in layman’s terms, I told him it was “possessed.”

“Oh God, what should I do?”

“For starters, don’t open it.”

I reassured him I’d seal it up in a separate container so it wouldn’t open accidentally.

Then I called Tommy.