ThunderPear Adventure in a Box
“Hey hey everybody, what’s up! It’s your buddy, Alvin Simon, here doing another live unboxing video.” Staring into the web-camera, Alvin lifts a packaged bundle from his desk, his home address wisely covered on the label. Behind him are posters of video game characters and action heroes, staring down benevolently on the one-man operation.
“We’ve got a new one this week, and not even from a sponsor. Some of you know my channel collaborator, Midnight-Nate’s Horror Hunter, and I recently checked out an old shop filled with dusty tomes, click the link in the upper left hand corner to check that one out if not. While we were shopping, I found a flyer stuffed into one of the oldest books, and advertising a swag-box, of all things. Given how dated it looked, I mailed off the request and check without much hope, but it looks like the ThunderPear Adventure Box is still delivering!”
Piercing the plastic with his thumb, Alvin pops the envelopes’ perforated seams, easily ripping it open. From within, he pulls a wooden box, splashes of green and orange paint freckling the largely bare exterior. As he turns the delivery, the top comes into view of the camera, briefly showing a pear-ish logo, along with what appears to be some sort of symbols in shimmering red paint.
“Hot damn,” Alvin says. “Real wood? I haven’t seen anything not cardboard delivered in forever. Nice build quality, solid design, and what looks like… gibberish?” Alvin turns the box so that the top is facing him, looking down at the now invisible red lettering. “Oh, no, I guess it’s not nonsense after all, you just have to squint a little. Let’s see what it says.”
Hunkering closer, Alvin’s nose is nearly pressed into the wooden surface. “What we… set free… cannot be returned.” He leaned back, puzzling the warning over. “That’s got the be the creepiest way of saying they won’t do exchanges on open merch I’ve ever seen. Time to dig in.”
Alvin presses his fingers to the seam of the box, wandering digits searching for the release. He suddenly jerks his left hand back, sucking on the index finger. “Shiiiiiiooot. Shoot. Sorry, hit a splinter, but I don’t want to get this video demonetized.”
As Alvin speaks, the box’s lid gives way, rising up by the slightest of margins. He reaches forward, lifting it the rest of the way, lid facing the camera and blocking the contents from view. Strangely, the red lettering can no longer be seen in this shot.
“Guess I hit the switch while feeling around, let’s see what we’ve got. Looks like there’s a bunch of velvet or something in here, wrapping the individual pieces so it’s not all given away at once. I have to say, so far the quality on this is outstanding. Time to find out what they send for actual swag.”
After a few moments of rooting around, Alvin produces an orange and green ceramic pear with a lightning bolt engraved in the center. “Company emblem, I guess? Nice heft, but not sure what I’d do with it.” He sets the pear down on his desk, joining several figurines of fictional video game characters. Returning to the box, Alvin rustles around shortly before suddenly jerking his hand back in surprise.
“What the fffffudge. Or eggs, I guess?” Tilting his palm forward, Alvin permits a mound of scrambled eggs to fall onto his desk. That they were in the box is strange enough, even more curious is the fact that they are steaming. He stares down, lost in more than mere surprise. “That’s bonkers, is there some kind of heating element in there? And the smell, it’s so real. Even down to the little chives cut up in there, just like I remember them. Haven’t eaten these since I grew allergic.”
Sniffing, Alvin leans closer. “You know what’s weird, I swear eggs started smelling bad to me right around when I couldn’t have them anymore, but these are kind of tempting.” He draws nearer still, mouth parting slightly, before remembering himself and the camera watching and jerking upright.
With noticeably increased caution, Alvin reaches in again, this time producing a small item of dark material. For a second, with the lighting, it’s easy to mistake the spider figurine as the real deal, but there is a distinct clack of stone on wood as Alvin sets it down near the ceramic pear.
“Ugh, glad to get that out of my hands. Longtime subscribers know how I feel about spiders, and if you’re not in that group, why not take a moment to hit the button and join? We do great videos like this all the time, and if you sign up now…” Alvin’s voice trails off as he lifts the next item from the box, a small silver pendant dangling between his digits.
Suddenly, all patter is gone as he looks at the necklace, blood draining from his somehow still smiling face. The posters behind seem to be gazing down as well, all attention on the newest discovery. Eventually, words form, thick and slow, as if Alvin has forgotten there’s an audience he’s speaking to. “How… how is this… I lost you. Not long after Grandma was gone, Mom was so sad for weeks, one of the only pieces we had from her. Where the hell did you come from?”
Alvin whips his head around, searching for answers, only to find the room almost precisely as he left it. If one figurine from his desk was missing, a dark new addition at that, then he could hardly be blamed for the oversight in the moment.
Setting down the pendant, he looked to the box once more, no longer so cavalier. Steeling his nerves, Alvin reaches in, fumbling about. For an instant, the camera darkens, before the picture returns to show him removing a silver key and a sheet of parchment. A keen eye might note a slight shift in the lighting, as there is now a dark spot in view above the posters.
Ignoring the parchment’s audible crunching, Alvin unfolds the document fully, nearly blocking his face from the camera’s view. “Congratulations on purchasing your ThunderPear Adventure in a Box. All that is lost can be found, all that is missing can be discovered, all that you seek lies out there, waiting for you. But be warned! Adventure and peril are two sides of one coin, to court one is to lie with the other. Your box contained a sampling of wares good and ill, we hope you enjoy the taste of adventure. Should you seek more, follow the pear and use the key.”
Alvin pauses, squinting closely at some bit near the bottom. “PS: The spider lies often, not always. Do not let the shadow take the key. You won’t like what it chooses to unlock.”
Lifting his head from the page, Alvin stares down the camera once more, eyes darting from the key in his hand to the ceramic pear on his desk. A pity the gaze doesn’t sweep about the room, or he might notice the same thing as the camera: the dark spot on his ceiling sinking steadily lower, closer and closer to him.
Just as Alvin opens his mouth to speak, darkness lunges and the picture cuts out.