The wind screamed snow into the foyer as The Stranger opened the door and entered in from the storm. He approached the front desk, and asked Deacon's mom if they had any vacant rooms. 

"I'm sorry, we're all full up. The Ivory Inn in Hilltop may have a room. I can call them if you wish."

Deacon peered between the railings of the second floor landing, watching The Stranger shake snow from his hat, revealing a moon of a bald head, craters and all.

"Unfortunately I am stuck. My automobile has found itself lodged in a snow bank a half-mile up the road."

This was a lie.

Deacon knew.

He had seen The Stranger from the attic window. The shadowy man emerged from the woods behind the B&B and not from the road as he had just claimed.

Deacon wanted to tell him mother this, but couldn't. It would be self-incriminating. The attic had been converted into a cozy guest room with a slanted roof that made it feel like a tent. Knowing the occupants, a young couple, were still out skiing, Deacon had snuck in and rummaged through their luggage. Near the bottom of one of their suitcases he found a small velvet box with a diamond ring inside. He held the ring up to the attic window and let the light spread into a million colors. That's when he saw the Stranger.... exiting the white capped evergreens beyond the yard – bringing the winter storm with him.

Deacon had a game, you see. His parents called it a troubling habit. The game was Treasure Hunter. His parents called it snooping through their guests' luggage. Deacon didn't mean to be a snoop, it's just that he was a curious boy. Deacon was marooned in his parents' Bed and Breakfast. He didn't go to school like the other kids, so each vacationer that resided at Snowy Valley B&B brought with them treasures locked within chests from the wide world outside. His parents called these treasures private belongings. But to Deacon, these were his to explore. The treasures were never that interesting: Clothes, shaving kits, lady stuff, pills...

It wasn't the contents that made his imagination swirl. It was the moment. After he'd crept passed his parents, teffed a spare room key, avoided all the known creaky spots on the stairs, opened the locked guest room, tip-toed to a bag, and just before he unzipped, unhooked, or unlocked the treasure chest - the moment arrived. He'd let the chest keep their secrets a second more... Then he'd flip the lid fully open to reveal... nothing much.

The moment would pass, the game of treasure hunter at an end. He'd put everything back, return the key, and promise himself never to play Treasure Hunter again. But when a new guest would arrive, treasure chests in tow...

Deacon had been caught red handed on more than one occasion and the consequences went as so: His father would yank him out of the guest room and march him to their quarters. Then father would yell and yell some more. He would make him sit in his room without supper - well, a little supper - but no ice cream. Then father would explain that going through people's private belongings, especially our paying guests, is not only forbidden, but is not a moral thing to do. These lectures only made Deacon better at being quiet, better at sneaking, better at knowing what times to go and how to look and touch, but also how to put bac, so that it would seem no one had ever touched anything at all.

*

"Perhaps we can call Jim Little, he runs the tow in Hilltop." Deacon's mom went for the phone.

"That would be very kind 'mam, very kind indeed." Said The Stranger as he dusted the snow of an ornate box that he cradled under his arm.

She plucked the phone, clicked the receiver three times and then hung up. "Storm must have taken out the lines. Well, we can't turn you out in this. It's only going to get worse. Not that we're complaining. Almost thought cross-country skiing would be cross country mudding this season..."

The Stranger received the joke with a painful pursed smile. Deacon's mom blushed. She adjusted her heavy wool sweater with the embroidered Christmas reindeer and politely announced, "We can set a cot in the lounge. You'll have to wait till the other guests go to bed to get some privacy, but it's better than the snow."

The Stranger set down his box and looked to the second floor landing, finding Deacon between the rails. The Stranger's eyes burrowed in deep dark caves like sinister gophers, peeking out. He smiled a toothy grin not filled with teeth, but wood squares painted white.

*

The storm still shrieked, but inside the lounge the guests were bathed in orange courtesy of the hearth. The Hershfield family squatted around the coffee table and played Monopoly. The young couple with the matching neon snowsuits, the one's with the hidden diamond ring, snuggled on the sofa. Deacon's father, as usual, played the old piano. Everyone sipped warm apple cider and enjoyed the music and ambiance - Everyone except The Stranger. He sat in the tufted chair in front of the fire, stroking his box as if it were a cat.

This box was not luggage. This was not a duffle bag or a suitcase. There was no way socks, shirts, pants and toiletries resided within. This was a chest. Deacon's heart raced. He wanted... no, needed to see what hid inside. As he collected empty cider mugs he crept close enough to see that the box was sided with old tin-plating, embossed with children playing. The dark cherry wood drank up the glow from the fire. Deacon reached out...

"Deac!" his father didn't miss a note. "The mugs. Please."

Father continued a soft rendition of the Moonlight Sonata as Deacon kept his eyes on the man by the fire as long as he could.

When he had finished drying and placing each mug back in its place, he heard his father finish the last of his medleys. Soft clapping of applause became a standing ovation of louder clapping of feet as the guests ascended to their warm quilts. Father was pleased with Deacon's cleaning job. He mussed his hair and told him to go to sleep sooner rather than later. Deacon had other ideas.

The lobby was dark and quiet. Only a slow tide of ember light washed in from the lounge. The Stranger hadn't moved. His shadow reached well past the foyer and into the dining room. Deacon crept closer... was The Stranger asleep?

"A curious child, aren't you?" The Stranger whispered. "Don't be scared. I like curious children."

Deacon's gut said run, but the box said come and see. Firelight gave The Stranger's skin the look of candle drippings.

"Children have always been curious about the box. Are you curious, child?"

Deacon nodded as the shadows of the embossed children on the tin plating danced in rhythm with the flickering fire. "Inside are wonders and marvels. Wondrous wonders and marvelous marvels. But you wouldn't be interested in that. It's not for you. Unless..."

His gnarled root fingers pointed to the latch...

"Deacon! Leave this gentleman to get his rest. We need to have a talk. Now!" Deacon jumped as his Father marched in and escorted him to his room like a prisoner. He knew he was in trouble and boy was he ever.

*

Deacon's parents tried, most unsuccessfully, to rant quietly as not to disturb the guests.

"We've told you time and time again, don't go through the guests' belongings."

"I didn't!" Deacon tears welled up and betrayed him.

"Mr. Singer said he found his engagement ring on the window sill."

Deacon had forgotten to put the ring back. If only he hadn't been sidetracked by The Stranger.

"Mr. Singer's girlfriend found it, and while she said "yes" you ruined his surprise. Tomorrow you will apologize to both of them."

"I didn't."

"Stop lying! How would you like it if our guests went through your things?" His mother said through clenched teeth.

"I don't have anything," The tears flowed.

His parents gave each other a concerned look. They moved in closer to console, but Deacon pushed them away.

"We'll talk about it in the morning. Until then, you will stay in your room." His father marched out. His mother went to give him a hug and kiss, but Deacon turned away. She left without saying goodnight.

*

Deacon did not stay in his room. What could his parents really do, send him away? That's exactly what he wanted anyhow, to be sent somewhere in the big world that held so much more than cross-country ski paths and cider mugs. His thoughts turned from anger towards his parents to The Stranger's curious box. If his curiosity normally whispered, then tonight it howled louder than the blizzard outside.

He crept downstairs and peeked in the lounge. It felt lonely without the piano, roaring fire, the guests and the smell of cider. The room was just shadows, muted winds, embers struggling to glow, and Him.

The Stranger had not moved from the big chair and his breathing was both deep and shallow. He was asleep to be sure. The images of the children pressed in tin called to him to play. See the marvelous marvels. See the wondrous wonders.

As a rule, Deacon never peeked in someone bag while they were in the room sleeping. But this box was exceptional and exceptional things called for exceptions. Aided by shadows, Deacon peeked around the chair. The Stranger's face was slumped. Deacon's moment was here. And what a moment it was. His chest felt like a sea galley, a drummer pounding thunder as oars rowed blood through his body, propelling him closer.

He placed his hand on the box, still warm from the fire. He took another look at The Stranger, then lifted the lid ever just so, not realizing The Stranger had opened one eye, smiled, and closed it again.

Finally he lifted the lid and looked down.

The box opened up to a cavernous space. The bottom went deeper than it had any right to go. Beyond where the bottom should have been, beyond where the floor should have been, sat crystals. They looked familiar. Deacon knew those crystals. They were the chandelier's, the one that hung right above his head. At first Deacon thought the bottom of the box was mirror, but then where was his reflection? His stomach twisted into a thousand upsetting knots as he realized he was not looking down anymore. He was looking up from the bottom.

The Stranger's face was as big as a rising harvest moon as it crested the towering cherry wood walls.

"A curious boy." He said as he shut the lid, allowing the absolute darkness to mute Deacon and the other curious children's cries.

THE END