More Boxes

Dark humor / mature themes

“I’m going to need some more boxes to finish packing up this family,” said Steve.

“I’ll get some from the truck.” Mark grabbed a box and headed for the door.

Steve stared at the stack of sealed boxes against the wall. He glanced at his watch. “Damn. We're way behind.”

“Big families mean more boxes.”

Steve flinched and turned.

Mark handed him an armful of collapsed moving boxes. “Just make sure you tape it really well. We don’t want anything falling out.”

They worked in silence.

Steve loaded the last box onto the back of the truck. Mark closed the doors. Last Stop Movers was painted in bold letters.

“That took a little longer than I expected. Hopefully, we can get to the house and unload before it gets too dark.”

“Big families mean more boxes,” Mark said. “You never give yourself enough time.”

“Yeah, yeah. I haven’t been doing this as long as you have. Next time I’ll start earlier.”

Steve backed the truck out of the driveway.

The streets of the suburbs gave way to the interstate. They drove in silence for several miles.

Steve pulled off the interstate and onto a two-lane country road. A few miles later, he turned onto a dirt road. The truck bounced.

Pulling past a rusted pickup truck, he parked behind a lone house tucked away in a large cluster of trees.

Mark hopped out of the cab. He walked to the back of the truck.

Steve followed behind him. They opened the doors.

The uneven road had caused some boxes to tip over and open.

A severed head lay on the floor of the truck.

An arm and torso beside it.

Mark breathed through his nose. “I told you to tape it really well. Now we have to scrub the truck again.”

“How’s this my fault?”Steve scooped the pieces back into the box.

“I cut up the mom and the boys. The other two are yours.” Mark grabbed a box and headed to the house.

Quickly resealing the box, Steve carried it into the house.

Mark placed his box on the floor next to the hundreds of boxes that already filled the room.

“Big families mean more boxes.”