I woke up at 3 a.m. to 12 missed calls from my mom and a text saying, “I got robbed! Come fast!” I rushed to her house. When I arrived, Mom said, “I didn’t send you a text!” I showed her my phone. Her color drained, and she went inside. When she came back, she was holding a small, old-fashioned metal box in her hands.

“What’s that?” I asked, bewildered by her sudden change in demeanor. She seemed to hesitate for a moment, her fingers trembling around the box. It looked ancient, the kind of thing you’d expect to see in a museum, not something you’d find in a living room drawer.

“I don’t know where it came from,” she said quietly, her voice shaking. “But it’s been with me for years.”

I stared at her, confused. “What do you mean? Is it a family heirloom?”

Mom shook her head, her eyes darting nervously around the room as if she feared someone was watching. “No, I… I don’t even remember where I got it. I’ve just always had it.”

I stepped forward, drawn to the box. It was small, perhaps the size of a shoebox, but made of tarnished metal, with intricate engravings running across its surface. There were symbols, lines, and shapes that seemed familiar yet alien, as if they were part of something ancient and forbidden. The box was cold to the touch, even though the room was warm, and as I ran my fingers over the symbols, a strange feeling washed over me—a sense of unease, as though the box was alive.

“Mom, this looks… strange,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “Is this what the robber wanted? Did they take it?”

Her eyes widened in horror. “No… no, I never told anyone about it. I kept it hidden for so long, and now, I don’t know what to do.”

“Mom, this is serious. Did you get a good look at the robber? What happened exactly?” I was starting to feel more and more out of my depth. My mom had always been a practical woman, not one to make up stories, yet her face told me she wasn’t lying now.

“I didn’t see the robber’s face,” she said, pacing nervously. “They came through the window in the middle of the night. They grabbed me, demanded I give them whatever I had that was valuable. I told them I had nothing—nothing of value—but they didn’t listen. I tried to fight them off, but they were too strong. Then, just as suddenly as they appeared, they were gone, and the box was missing. I didn’t even realize it was gone until I saw that text.”

I was silent for a moment, trying to process everything. “But the text came from your phone, right? You didn’t send it?”

She shook her head. “I swear, I didn’t. I thought maybe it was a mistake, but then you showed up and…” She trailed off, glancing at the box in her hands.

“What does it mean?” I asked, my curiosity getting the better of me.

She looked at me, her eyes filled with both fear and sorrow. “I think it’s something… something that’s been passed down through generations. A cursed object, maybe. I never wanted you to know about it, but now that it’s out there, I don’t know how to protect you from it.”

I felt a shiver run down my spine as the implications of her words sank in. “Cursed? Mom, you have to tell me everything. What is this box?”

She took a deep breath, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s called the Box of Shadows. It’s said to hold the power to manipulate fate—change the course of events, alter reality itself. But there’s a price. Anyone who tries to use it or even possess it for too long is cursed, doomed to be hunted by those who want it for their own. That’s why I hid it. I didn’t want you or anyone else to get involved.”

I could hardly breathe. My mom had been hiding a cursed artifact all these years, and I had no idea. “But why now? Why is this happening now?”

She lowered her head. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s time for it to resurface. And you… you might be the one they’re after next.”

The air grew heavy as I tried to make sense of what was happening. I was no longer sure what was real, or whether we were still in control of our own lives. The presence of that box seemed to alter the very air around us. Was it the curse, or was it something else?

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. We both froze, eyes locked on each other. My mom’s face paled even more. Without another word, she hurried to the door and opened it. No one was there. But on the ground, in the dark, was something that made my blood run cold—a small, shadowy figure standing motionless in the night.

A figure that looked eerily like the shadow of a man.

The hunt had begun.