Heart Shaped Box

Heart Shaped Box
By Stephen A Abell

Number of Words: 498



Rain lashed the motorbike courier as he dodged through heavy traffic. Tied to the pillion was a soaked brown mass of a parcel. The state of it did not concern him; the money, however, did. Two hundred pounds if it reached its destination on time. Glancing at his watch he calculated the journey and remaining time. It was going to be close. He twisted the accelerator and scraped the side of a car. Under his helmet and over the road noise he never heard the driver’s angry cries.

Fighting the bike for control, in the hazardous conditions, he braked hard and aquaplaned round the bend, the rear wheel bouncing off a parked car. Up ahead stood the office building; solemn and dark in the grey downpour. With a good ten minutes to spare, he killed the engine and kicked the stand down.

In the foyer, the Company Board told him Phoenix Financial Services were situated on the third floor.

Behind the reception desk, the beautiful brunette pointed out Ernest Higginbotham’s door, which opened into a small office. Behind the desk sat a small overweight man in a navy blue pinstripe suit. “Can I help you,” he asked.

The courier dropped the package on the desk and removed his helmet, “Are you Mr Ernest Higginbotham?”

“Yeah,” he answered in a confused tone, “Name say’s so on the door.”

“And you live at 135 Bates Road in Manson?”

“Yeah, what’s this all about?”

“I was told, Mr Higginbotham, to make sure only you received this package, please sign here.”

As the pudgy hand guided the pen over the sheet, the courier pulled an envelope from his pocket, “and you have to read this first.”

As the door closed shut behind the ominous figure, Ernest opened the letter and removed one A4 sheet with large print.



My name is Raymond Rhys and I came to you for help. We needed some extra cash to help our dying daughter get a lifesaving operation. You denied us. Said we were a bad risk.

My daughter died. My wife committed suicide.

I just wanted to give you some advice before you kill anyone else. Maybe you should…



That was all there was, so with trembling fingers Ernest ripped open the damp brown package revealing a leathery object inside. Slowly pulling it free Ernest fought back his bile.

It was a dried heart with the ventricles and arteries cleanly cut short. On top was a roughly hewn opening, with a button sewn on, as a handle.

Nervously Ernest pulled back the flap. The organ was hollow, except for three items, a rose gold wedding ring, decorated with a Gaelic knot, and two folded pieces of paper.

Gingerly he unfolded the first and staggered on his feet. It was his wedding photo. On Alison’s hand was the familiar ring. Catching his breath and steeling his nerves, he unfolded the other piece and read, HAVE A HEART.

A bright yellow smiley face grinned nastily up at him.