The intruder entered the old shop without being heard. He was just a boy, 11-12 years of age, brown hair with bright blue eyes. His father's favorite card had been a blue-eyed monster of some sort... that was a subject his mother did not like to discuss. Mom would be very distraught to learn he had left the house at this time of night and without her permission. He couldn't help it. Even as the thunder rolled in and the lightning crashed down, the boy felt compelled to jump on his bike and pedal to this old, musty shop. Something in one of the object-filled rooms was beckoning to him. He didn't have the faintest idea of what, or why, for that matter, he just knew that this was where he needed to be. The shop was more of a hoarder's paradise; it was cluttered with shelves and tables, and those shelves and tables were cluttered with seemingly useless trinkets. The boy faintly recalled his mom saying that the building, owned by Mr. Yamato (and his father, grandpa, and great grandpa before him) was easily the oldest structure in their small town. It had been a fixture of the town's culture for as long as anyone could remember. This added a certain mystique to the old wooden walls and high arched ceilings. It was a joke around town to say the old Mr. Yamato did not actually exist- he was hardly ever seen and his shop had settled into mysterious obscurity. This helped to reassure the boy- no one would be in the building to catch him. However, as he crept silently through the clutter of a centuries worth of junk, the boy could feel he was not alone. The thunder seemed to grow louder up above as more rain crashed down. It was all the boy could do to remain in that old, wooden building, especially when he could sense someone else their to. As the boy contemplated his next move something on a far shelf caught his eye. It was unlike the other trinkets..it was strange. The boy moved quickly towards the far corner, careful to make as little noise as possible. There was no mistaking why he was here. This object, whatever it may be, was important. He would not take it, he was no thief, but maybe...He reached the far wall and could now see his treasure. It was a a small rectangular box. The box was fashioned out some type of smooth, cold wood, it even had a strange sheen to it; almost like it glowed when the light hit it. The boy reached out his hand... from a distant corner of the shop, Mr. Yamato started laughing.