Chapter 3: The Box
783 Words
POV: THIRD PERSON
San Fernando Bank. May 2, 2026. 10:04 AM – 10:38 AM.
INT. SAN FERNANDO BANK - DAY
The lobby is all MARBLE and BRASS. A CEILING FAN turns once every six seconds. One TELLER. One SECURITY GUARD sleeping.
The bank was too cold. Not air-conditioned cold. Morgue cold. The kind that sinks into your bones and makes you count your fingers to check they’re still there.
San Fernando Bank sat on Consunji Street like it had been dropped there in 1950 and never updated. Marble floors, brass tellers’ cages, a ceiling fan that turned once every six seconds. The only thing new was the security camera. It blinked red, right at Nyx.
The manager’s nameplate said MR. CALIXTO. He was 60, maybe 70, with a mustache that had given up and skin like old parchment. He didn’t smile when he said her name. He pronounced it. Like it was a verdict.
NYX, 18, stands across from him. She wears a hoodie despite the heat. The SKELETON KEY is on a chain around her neck now, tucked under her shirt.
“Box 303,” he said. “Last accessed October 10, 2008. By a Ms. Lilia A. Revenar.”
Lilia. Mom.
Nyx kept her face blank. “She died when I was six.”
Mr. Calixto’s eyes flicked to her chin. To the scar. “My condolences. Again.”
Again.
The vault was downstairs. Past a door that needed two keys: his and hers. The skeleton key slid into the lock like it had been waiting. No resistance. No click. Just a soft sigh as the tumblers gave up.
The box was long and flat. Not a safe. A coffin for paper. The number 303 was engraved, but someone had scratched at the second 3 until it was almost a 0. 300. The time, upside down.
Inside: three things.
First, a birth certificate. SECPA paper, real. Nyx Aurelia De Los Santos. Female. Born: April 30, 2008. 3:03 AM. Mother: Lilia A. De Los Santos. Father: Unknown. At the bottom, stamped in red: DECEASED. October 12, 2008. Barangay Del Pilar. Cause: Smoke inhalation.
Second, a photo. 5x7, glossy, edges curled from humidity. A little girl in a white dress, standing beside a small white coffin. The plate on the coffin: NYX AURELIA DE LOS SANTOS. The girl had Nyx’s face. Nyx’s scar. Nyx’s eyes, but empty. Like someone had taken the birthday candles out of them and left the wax.
Third, a baby shoe. White leather, Mary Jane style. The toe was burned black, the leather bubbled like skin. Inside, written in faded marker: N.A.D.L.S.
Nyx picked it up. It was still warm.
The vault had no windows. But she could have sworn she heard a dog howling. Far away.
She checked her phone. 10:22 AM.
Mr. Calixto cleared his throat. “Your mother paid the fees yearly. Cash. Always on October 10th. Even after…” He stopped. “Even after she passed.”
Nyx looked up. “Who paid after 1998?”
“Anonymous deposit. Envelope under the door every October 10th. Exact amount. No note.” He gestured to the box. “Take what you need. We’ll close the account after today.”
“Why?”
“Because the contract is up.”
He didn’t say what contract. He didn’t have to.
Nyx put everything back except the photo. She slid that into her jacket. The paper was cold against her ribs.
As she signed the release form, the pen skipped on Revenar. Blue ink, then nothing, then blue again. Like the name didn’t want to be written.
At 10:33 AM, the vault clock hit 3:03. Not PM. AM. The hands spun backward, stuttered, then locked in place.
Mr. Calixto didn’t look. “Power fluctuation,” he said. “Happens this time of day.”
But it was 10:33 AM.
The skeleton key was cold now. Like it had given something up.
INT. VAULT - LATER
Nyx is signing the RELEASE FORM. The PEN SKIPS on Revenar.
NYX
You said the contract is up. What contract?
MR. CALIXTO
(didn’t hear her. Or pretends not to)
We’ll close the account after today.
The VAULT CLOCK on the wall suddenly SPINS BACKWARD. Stops at 3:03.
NYX looks up. The clock is stuck.
MR. CALIXTO
Power fluctuation. Happens this time of day.
NYX
It’s 10:33 AM.
MR. CALIXTO
(looks at clock. Doesn’t react)
Is it?
He takes the box. Locks it. Hands her a RECEIPT.
NYX looks at the receipt. The time stamp reads: 03:03 AM.
She puts the PHOTO in her jacket. It’s ICE COLD.
MR. CALIXTO
Don’t come back, Miss Revenar.
NYX
It’s Santos.
MR. CALIXTO
(smiles. First time.)
Not yet.
- Writer
