As he watched the footage on the camera he’d found, he felt his stomach twist into a knot. As sweat dripped down his face, he could feel his hands shake. He dialed 911 with shaky hands, trying to keep his breathing regular, and waited for someone to pick up. He had only agreed to pick up his neighbor’s mail while he was away. What exactly had he done? And why is that? Clinton Martell’s next-door neighbor was unusual. He had to clench his teeth every time he pulled into his driveway. His neighbor was always bothering him.
He’d seen his neighbor coughing up cinnamon, tipping a cold water bucket onto himself, and sitting on his car as it rolled down the hill in the previous week. Clinton’s grip on the steering wheel tightened with each new annoyance. Clinton’s neighbor, you see, was in his mid-twenties and unemployed. His big dream was to become a well-known YouTube sensation. But none of the videos he’d posted so far had gotten much attention.
Dillon would jump around and do stunts in front of his old, battered camera. He was just hoping that one of them would draw a larger number of viewers, which had so far been nonexistent. Dillion arrived at Clinton’s door one morning and informed him that he was leaving for something outrageous, something that would make him a celebrity. Clinton didn’t care where he was going as long as he got his mail while he was gone.
Clinton was relieved that Dillon was leaving; he could breathe easier as he pulled into the driveway. But something in the back of his mind told him that his neighbor’s big stunt would have an impact on him, and he was correct. For the first few days, Clinton was content. For once, the neighborhood was peaceful. He reluctantly took his neighbor and kept them in his garage, as he had promised. But something would happen that would rock Clinton’s world.
Until that point, the mail he’d gotten was nothing special, just a few bills and subscriptions to various services. Then, one evening, a large box arrived. A large red sticker on the package said RETURN TO SENDER. Clinton was a strong man, but the box was too heavy for him to lift. He pondered how he would transport the large object from his neighbor’s porch to his garage.
He gathered all of his strength and heaved the box to his front door. That was his big mistake: he thought it should stay inside. Clinton second-guessed himself and decided to park it in the garage. It’s not like it was unsafe inside. His garage door, on the other hand, was far from dependable. He was tired of fighting with his unreliable door. He now parks outside because it is more convenient.
Clinton, on the other hand, fought to open the gate while holding the heavy package in his arms. The initial problem that would set events in motion that could not be stopped. As he opened the door to his garage, Clinton felt his knees buckle under the weight of the box. However, something terrible occurred. He cursed as he felt himself losing his grip and the package fell heavily to the ground. He also heard a faint “crack” from within the package. He just hoped nothing was broken on the inside.
He wasn’t going to say anything to his neighbor and then return to see if he noticed. Even if he did, he could deny it, forcing his neighbor to assume it happened on its way. Clinton dragged the heavy box into his garage. He placed it in an open corner and left it there. But he had no idea that his relationship with the box was far from over. Clinton locked the garage door and promptly forgot about the strange cargo inside. That was his second blunder. A strange odor began to permeate his house a few days later.
The sickly-sweet stench began almost imperceptibly and gradually worsened. It eventually became so intense that Clinton sought out the source. Clinton quickly identified the source of the nauseating odor after following it. It was coming from the package. Clinton slammed the garage door open, stunned by the stench inside. He ran back to the house to get a pair of scissors, thinking it must be one of those meat-of-the-month subscriptions.
The meat had to have gone bad. He was now irritated and wondered why his obnoxious neighbor hadn’t warned him. And how much meat did the cretin order? A whole freaking cow? He retched as he approached the box, pulling his shirt over his nose. When Clinton’s eyes stopped watering, he noticed that the bottom of the cardboard box was wet. “Great,” he snarled. If he tried to drag the box outside, it would split and spill spoiled meat all over his garage floor.
He’d have to open the box and remove the putrid meat pieces one by one. He slid the scissors through the packaging tape quickly, but once the box was open, he almost blacked out. Clinton staggered back as stench after stench hit him like a punch to the gut. He simply couldn’t stand the smell or the box’s horrific contents. He ran outside to gather his thoughts before attempting again, and the stench was so strong that it clung to his clothing and burned his nostrils.
And nothing he tried to get rid of the stench worked. There will be no air fresheners, no face mask, no change of clothes, and no three showers. And every second the box sat in his garage was another second the smell was allowed to infiltrate his house. It was time to take the plunge. Clinton returned to the garage, prepared this time. He approached the nightmare box in the corner that seemed to be waiting for him, armed with a clothes peg, rubber gloves, a garbage bag, and a bottle of bleach.
He put on the gloves, determined not to touch what was inside. But, as it turned out, he didn’t require any of these things. He swung his head around and reached into the box. Clinton almost jumped as his fingers closed over a hard rectangular object near the top of the box, expecting something soft and wet. He slowly pulls it out, surprised to find an old digital camera in his hand.
Clinton now realizes that the contents of the box are far more sinister than a spoiled meat-of-the-month package. His heart started racing. Clinton locates and holds the ‘ON’ switch for a few seconds. The camera suddenly beeps to life. He is taken aback and jumps at the unexpected noise. He looks at the blank fold-out screen and presses the ‘play’ button.
He hears the audio — a scratching sound of the microphone being dragged on cardboard — and the image sharpens. The camera turns off as the low-battery icon flashes on the screen. He dashes back into the house to plug in the camera. Clinton is enthralled as he fast-forwards through the hours of footage on his bed. When he realizes what he is looking at, beads of cold sweat run down his brow. “Oh my God!” he sobs.
He must summon all of his courage to peer inside the box. How could this be possible? He yells at the camera ineffectively. He never agreed to this! He takes a deep breath and staggers back to the garage… back to the nightmare he’s been living inside. He quickly peers over the side of the box, one hand covering his face to keep from retching. He can only make out the outline of an arm… a finger… and shrinks in terror. He dials 911 while trying to keep his hands from shaking.
The video was taken from one of his neighbor’s idiotic vlogs. It was also recorded from inside a box. The police arrive a few minutes later. The video started with a shaky vlog of his neighbor speaking directly to the camera. “Today I’m going to do something EPIC,” Dillon declares into the microphone. With one hand holding the camera, he films himself getting into a large box and declaring, “I’m going to MAIL MYSELF to my house!”
The camera pans to the bottom of the box, revealing Dillon’s packed food, blankets, flashlights, and bottles. He continues to record himself inside the box at short intervals, providing “updates” as he is transported to his destination. As Dillon gives his final progress report, the camera tilts to the side and the image fades to black. It records hours and hours of complete darkness. The last “update” on the camera, however, is a shot of Clinton’s stunned expression as he pulls the camera out.
When the cops arrived, Clinton explained everything. They ignored the footage and immediately began investigating the box. Clinton was about to get another surprise. Five military-grade cans of putrescine were rigged to an elaborate timer that was set to dispense the foul-smelling “riot bombs” — they were set to go off every hour on the hour.
Putrescine is a chemical that produces a scent similar to organic putrefaction. Along with the cans, they discovered a mannequin and concrete sacks in the box. Dillon had done what? Dillon must now be given credit where credit is due. He staged the entire thing as an elaborate, if not downright revolting, prank. He recorded the footage from a different box in his bedroom.
He poured concrete into the box and placed a mannequin inside for good measure. He wired up the putrescine cans to give the box a revolting odor. He then put the camera in the box. So, where had he gone? Dillon had no idea the prank would end with the police being called. He assumed that Clinton would notice the mannequin inside the box and realize he’d been duped, and that the joke would end there.
The prank, however, had gone horribly wrong. The cops and Dillon’s unfortunate victim were not amused. Nonetheless, Dillon had watched the entire spectacle unfold from the safety of his window, recording Clinton’s unwitting battle with the box from start to finish.
He’d been inspired by the latest viral craze, in which vloggers desperate for attention mailed themselves to various destinations via the postal service. Surely, with such priceless and candid prank footage, he’d become YouTube famous by now?