I was standing in my kitchen when I first heard the noise.
"Oh, that must be Longmont Dairy dropping off this week's milk and eggs," I thought.
It was Monday evening—around 7 pm—their typical drop-off time.
I walked over to the front door, ready to grab the milk from the cooler that sat permanently on our front porch for deliveries and empty gallon pickups.
But when I opened the door, I saw something different…
The cooler lid was open. And the cooler was empty.
But there was something else on the porch. A cardboard box, about two feet wide and two feet tall.
And it wasn't just sitting there.
It was moving.
The box was shaking with a low hum purring from inside. Or maybe it was from underneath? I couldn't tell.
"What the hell did Chels order?" I said to myself.
I leaned in, looking for her name on the shipping label.
But there wasn’t a label at all…
No return address either.
Just a single word—"Yours"—scratched deep into the cardboard, like someone had carved it with a dull butter knife.
I reached down to grab the box. And the second I touched it, the shaking and humming stopped.
I let go of the box and took a half step back.
A few seconds passed. Then a few more. The box remained still.
"That was definitely moving a minute ago," I thought.
“Hey, Chels?” I said, calling back into the house.
No answer. She was in the back, getting our 21-month-old son, Jack Jack, ready for bed.
I reached down to pick up the package again. And once I had my hands on it for more than a split second, I could tell it was faintly warm, like it had its own pulse.
I carried it inside, set it on the counter, and grabbed a knife.
The second my blade sliced into the packaging tape, the box screamed.
The lid burst open. And inside was something I never could have expected.
A tiny woman—no more than a foot tall—in a deep blue western cocktail dress was standing inside the box.
And she had a gun.
She pointed the gun right at me.
And before I could make another move—Bang! Bang! Bang!
Three tiny bullets pinged off my forehead, like hail bouncing off a windshield.
"OW!" I said as I flinched and stumbled back.
The tiny woman (who was more like a cowgirl) in the blue cocktail dress adjusted her stance. The fridge tassels that lined her sleeves whipped back and forth as her scuffed leather boots dug into the floor of the box.She was fast, feisty, and fierce as she narrowed her eyes at me.
"WHO ARE YOU?" she said.
I opened my mouth. No words came out.
"WHERE ARE WE?"
Her tiny gun clicked as she reloaded.
"Woah! Don’t shoot me in the head again!" I said, holding my hand out to block any new rounds shot my way.
"Yeah, well, what do you expect for kidnapping me??!"
Her words were sharp, quick, and filled with detail I knew nothing about.
"Kidnap you??? You were in a box on my porch???"
The tiny woman paused.
Then she dropped her head, slouched her shoulders and let out a sigh.
“Damn it,” she muttered, lowering the gun.
Then, under her breath, she whispered two words that made me even more confused...
"They found me."
This short story was part of a Creative Writing Exercise inside Tribal Quillkeepers.
Me and the other 13 writers inside Quillkeepers started with an initial writing prompt, then added more to our story with 3 more prompts (delivered one by one).
The goal was to get us out of our writing comfort zone, express creativity through constraints, and practice story telling.
If you’re interested in creative writing, you can check out the assignment HERE.
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