The day I got my college acceptance letter, I didn’t get a hug from Eleanor. Instead, a heavy, dusty wooden box slammed shut right by my feet. The box was old and locked. It was “Nesta’s Box,” the one thing she had never allowed me to touch. “Open it,” Eleanor said, her voice dripping with ice. My hands shook as I unlocked it. Inside, there were no childhood photos, no nostalgic letters. There were only two thick stacks of hand-cut paper slips. One stack was a dingy yellow with rough edges. Written on them in blue ballpoint pen were things like: [Shivering in the freezing rain], [Eating rancid leftovers], [Sick with no medicine]. The other stack was pale pink, beautifully printed. They read: [A warm classroom], [A fresh hot meal], [A clean, cozy bed]. Eleanor told me that from now on, my life would be dictated by whatever I drew from this box. Before I could even process what was happening, Eleanor snatched the box away. She dumped both stacks of slips onto the table, shuffling them together like a deck of cards. Her eyes were bloodshot. She stared at me with a wild, crazed hatred I had never seen before. “Clara, you’ve always wondered where your sister is, haven’t you?” She grabbed one of the yellow slips and slapped it in front of my face. “Let me tell you. She is probably living through every single nightmare on these papers right now! And you? You get to enjoy all of this!” She scooped up a handful of the pink slips and threw them directly at my face. “It was you! You stole her life! Now you have to pay it back!” Eleanor’s voice shrieked, piercing my eardrums. “From this day on, for every bit of comfort you enjoy, you will suffer a nightmare for Nesta! That is the only way to make it fair!” She violently shoved the mixed slips back into the wooden box, leaving only a tiny gap big enough for two fingers. “Draw! Three slips every single day! Whatever you draw, you do! You owe her this! You deserve it!” I stood there, completely frozen. My blood ran cold. Was this raving lunatic really my mother? The same woman who used to tuck my cold hands into her jacket? The woman who used to tear up whenever I said, “I love you, Mom”? “Draw!” Eleanor screamed, her glare sharp as a knife. I closed my eyes, slid my hand into the freezing box, and felt the rough edges of the paper. I pulled out three slips. The first was pink: [A warm bed]. Eleanor let out a cold laugh. “That’s the comfort you enjoyed last night.” The second was yellow: [Frostbitten fingers]. The third was yellow: [Ice water poured over your head]. Eleanor snatched the two yellow slips from my hand. A cruel, satisfied smile spread across her face. “It’s 37 degrees outside today. Perfect weather. You enjoyed the warmth. Now, pay the debt.” She grabbed my wrist and dragged me out to the fire escape. Then, she went into the kitchen, filled a massive bucket with ice-cold water, and dumped it over my head without a second thought. The freezing water instantly soaked through my sweater. My body convulsed, my teeth chattering uncontrollably. Before I could even gasp for air, Eleanor grabbed my dripping wet hands and forced them onto the freezing iron railing of the fire escape. “You drew frostbitten fingers, didn’t you? Feel it! This is nothing compared to what Nesta went through!” She pinned my hands down, ignoring my frantic struggles, until the sharp sting in my fingertips turned entirely numb. After that day, my life became a twisted, cruel ritual of penance. Every morning, the first thing I did was reach into that cursed wooden box with trembling hands. If I drew [A fresh hot meal], I had to go to the dirty dumpster behind the school dining hall and stand there for ten minutes, breathing in the stench of rotting garbage, before I was “allowed” to eat. If I drew [A bright classroom], I had to take a freezing cold shower in the dark communal bathroom at night. If I drew [A friend’s greeting], I had to be hostile to everyone I met that day, pushing away anyone who tried to show me kindness. To everyone else at college, my life looked perfectly normal. But inside, I was rotting away. I became a ghost wandering around campus. I didn’t dare make friends. I didn’t dare accept any kindness. Because I never knew what kind of torture slip I would draw the next day to pay for it. A month later, the first major winter storm hit the city. I caught a terrible flu. My fever was so high that my forehead felt like it was on fire. My roommates were terrified and tried to pull me out of bed to go to the clinic. “Don’t… don’t touch me…”
I shrank back, too weak to fight. My fear was far greater than my sickness. I hadn’t drawn today’s slips yet. If I went to the clinic and then drew a punishment that required me to go outside, I wouldn’t have the strength to do it. I dragged myself out of bed and fell to my knees in front of the box. My hands shook so badly I could barely hold the paper slips. I took a deep breath and drew three. The first was pink: [Medicine when sick]. That was the cold medicine my roommate had given me this morning. The second was yellow: [No doctors when sick]. The third was yellow: [Kneel in the snow]. Outside the window, light snow was already beginning to fall. My heart sank to my stomach. Eleanor’s rule was absolute: the daily “debt” had to be paid before midnight. I pulled on my thickest puffer jacket and stumbled out of the warm dorm building. The icy wind cut through my face like tiny blades. The snowflakes melted on my burning skin, sending violent shudders down my spine. I walked to the deserted woods behind the dorms, found a snowy corner, and painfully sank to my knees. The biting cold instantly traveled from my knees through my entire body. The fever made my head spin, and I nearly blacked out right then and there. I bit my lip hard, using every ounce of willpower to stay upright. Time crawled. Every second felt like an eternity. I don’t know how long passed, but just as my vision started to blur, a warm coat was suddenly draped over my shoulders. I snapped my head up. Through my blurry eyes, I saw Chloe, my roommate. Her face was pale with worry and anger. “Clara! Are you insane?! You have a massive fever and you’re kneeling in the snow! You’re going to kill yourself!” She tried to pull me up. “Leave me alone… please…” I struggled weakly, my tears mixing with the melting snow. “I owe this… I have to pay it back…” “Who do you owe? What the hell are you doing?!” Chloe was furious and crying at the same time. “What kind of mother does this to her daughter? I’m taking you back, and then I am calling your mother!” Calling Eleanor? My entire body went rigid. A chill colder than the snow shot straight down my spine. According to the rules, accepting Chloe’s help counted as [Being cared for while sick]—a new comfort. But the punishment slip [Kneel in the snow] had been interrupted. I hadn’t finished it. According to Eleanor’s twisted logic, enjoying a comfort without paying the debt was a mortal sin. I could already see Eleanor’s cold, mocking face, hearing her announce an even worse punishment. What if there was something far worse than kneeling in the snow waiting for me in that box? Chloe forced me to my feet. I couldn’t feel my legs at all. The moment she dialed the phone, I closed my eyes in utter despair. Eleanor’s ringtone seemed to echo right in my ears, pounding against my frayed nerves. In the end, Eleanor didn’t pick up. She declined the call. But I knew this was just the suffocating quiet before the storm. Sure enough, less than ten minutes later, my phone vibrated like a death warrant. The word “Mom” flashing on the screen looked absolutely terrifying. I instinctively pushed Chloe away, stumbled into the empty stairwell, and pressed answer. “Wow, Clara. Look at you, getting so brave. You’re hiring outside help now?” Eleanor’s voice was terrifyingly calm, like a frozen lake hiding a deadly current underneath. “You didn’t finish [Kneel in the snow], and you got a freebie with [Being cared for while sick]? You really think you can cheat the system?” I leaned against the cold concrete wall, shivering so hard my teeth clicked. “Mom… I…” “Don’t call me Mom!” She screamed, her voice piercing and sharp. “You think you can enjoy life without paying? Rules are rules! Since you didn’t pay yesterday’s debt and still took the comfort, the interest has doubled!”
Over the line, I heard the sound of papers rustling. Then came her cold, final judgment. “Tomorrow is Saturday. You don’t have classes. I’ve prepared a special ‘Combo Pack’ for you. Be home by 6:00 AM sharp. You’re going to pay back everything you owe, with interest, all at once!” “A Combo Slip?” My heart stopped. A terror far hotter than my fever gripped my chest. “That’s right! One slip, triple the pain! It’s the only way to teach a cheat like you a lesson!” She slammed the phone down before I could say a word. The dial tone echoed in my ear. My legs gave out, and I slid down the wall onto the cold floor. The draft in the stairwell blew through my damp clothes, feeling like a thousand needles stabbing my skin. “Clara! There you are!” Chloe found me. When she saw the state I was in, she panicked and wrapped her coat tighter around me. “What did she say? Did she scream at you? Don’t be scared, I’ll—” “Chloe,” I looked up, tears streaming down my face. I looked pathetic. “Tomorrow… I have to go home. Just… don’t get involved. Please.” I knew that if Chloe got dragged into this, Eleanor would count it as another “debt” I’d have to pay back in an even more horrific way. That night, I tossed and turned in my dorm bed, tortured by the fever and sheer terror. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Eleanor’s crazed face and that cursed wooden box. The next morning at 5:30 AM, before the sun was even up, I dragged my burning, exhausted body out of the dorm. I felt dizzy as I boarded the early morning bus, feeling like a prisoner walking to the electric chair. I arrived home at exactly 6:00 AM. Eleanor was already sitting on the living room couch, fully dressed, her face expressionless. The evil wooden box sat on the coffee table. Next to it was a new stack of slips—noticeably thicker and made of dark brown Kraft paper. “Punctual. Good.” She looked up and pointed at the dark slips. “Draw. Let’s see what kind of hell you’ve brought upon yourself.” I walked to the table. My fingers were stiff and cold. The opening of the box looked like the mouth of a monster waiting to swallow me whole. I closed my eyes, slid my hand inside, and pulled one out. On the dark brown paper, written in blood-red marker, were three chilling lines: [The abandoned hospital corridor] [Blindfolded walk] [Listening to ‘Nesta’s’ cries] I gasped, the blood draining from my face. Eleanor took the slip. As she read the words, a twisted, ecstatic smile spread across her face, as if she had been waiting for this exact moment. “You know the abandoned asylum on the west side of town, right?” She said slowly, “I’ve already picked the spot for you. As for the ‘listening’ part…” She turned around, pulled an old cassette player and a pair of headphones from the TV cabinet, and threw them at me. “This has recordings of the sounds your sister probably made. Go. Stay there for two hours. And remember, you must be blindfolded to truly hear her.” She threw a strip of black cloth at me. Her eyes held no maternal warmth—only the fanatical obsession of a cult leader. Looking at her—the woman I had called Mom for eighteen years—I finally realized something. This wasn’t a punishment. This wasn’t a debt. This was a human sacrifice.
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