Witness
I knew it had been silly to accept the box which my grandma had given me; I knew it was even sillier to actually look inside of it especially as she had asked me not to but I couldn't help it. Every day, I looked at the tiny mahogany box, the need and want to open it increased.
The day which I decided to open it was the worst day of my life, up until today of course.
At the time, I didn't even think about the consequences that would occur by lifting the lid of that little brown box. I didn't understand the numbers on the cards nor did I recognise the man on the photo although it wasn't long after that until he haunted my nightmares.
I didn't realise at the time that my grandma had been a witness to one of the biggest murders of all time. I had never even thought that she would have been a friend of one of the worst serial killers the world has ever had.
"That's a pretty box," my mum had commented, I vaguely remembered the curiosity in her voice but she hadn't dared to open it. It was all my fault. All my fault.