In a typical, unremarkable house in a mid-sized town, there lived a child. Let’s say it was a boy. This boy was very much like you or me when we were children. He was ordinary in every conceivable way.
For instance, he was generally well-behaved. Sure, he got into trouble from time to time. What boy doesn’t? But mostly, he followed the rules. He didn’t talk back, he got good grades, and he refrained from using bad language in front of his mother.
However, he was no perfect little angel. That wouldn’t make for an interesting story, would it?
No, this boy had one glaring, unforgivable flaw: he was completely and utterly ungrateful.
Have you ever given someone a gift, expecting to see their eyes light up and a warm smile spread across their face, only to be met with a half-hearted “oh, thanks”? This boy did that with every gift he ever received. Not once did he even try to show gratitude. It goes without saying that such behavior is selfish, thoughtless, and downright rude. His parents told him this all the time.
“Your behavior is cruel, selfish, and thoughtless,” they would scold him. Yet they continued to buy him lavish presents and indulge his whims. They were classic enablers, a flaw that would eventually lead to their own downfall. But that’s a story for another time.
You’re probably wondering what kind of comeuppance this boy faced. Don’t worry, it’s pretty harsh.
It happened not too long ago on one of our most cherished holidays: Black Friday (the most sacred being Cyber Monday, of course). The boy was waiting in line with his mother for a new game system she was going to buy him. He planned to react with his usual lack of enthusiasm and spend his school vacation playing it and calling people names online while his mother wasn’t around.
In front of them was an extremely old woman. She looked ancient, like a mummy misplaced from a haunted house attraction. She occasionally turned and smiled a toothless smile at the boy, who smiled back awkwardly.
“Are you excited to play this newfangled thing?” she asked him.
“Yes, ma’am,” he answered politely. “Is your, uh,” he hesitated, “great-grandson looking forward to playing it?”
“Oh, no. He passed away years ago. No, this is for me. I’m looking forward to beating you!” she said, turning away and putting on her headphones.
After an indeterminable amount of time, it was almost the boy’s turn to get his console. But in a cruel twist of fate, the old woman in front of him got the last one. She turned to the boy with her prize in hand.
To his credit, he remained stone-faced and polite. He didn’t cry or throw a tantrum. He was a bit too old for such public displays.
So his unfortunate, yet deserved, fate was almost entirely due to the old woman. One might even call her an agent of destiny.
The old woman tucked the box under one arm and reached into her cloak with her free hand, pulling out a plain wooden box.
“Here you go, young man. A consolation prize. It was one of my great-great-grandson’s favorite toys,” she said. “It’s a classic. You can’t beat the classics.”
She handed it to the boy, who took it despite having no interest in it. He was just that greedy. The old woman looked at him expectantly.
The boy looked at the box, which was quite heavy, and turned it over in his hands. It was becoming obvious that he wasn’t going to say “thank you.” At least not sincerely.
“Maybe you’ll like it even more than the new gaming console. The last child who owned this box certainly did,” she said, giving the boy one last chance.
“Oh. Why?” he asked, prompting his mother to clear her throat disapprovingly. “I mean, uh, thanks. Yeah, thanks,” the boy said, sealing his fate.
A few hours later, the box lay on the boy’s bedroom floor, covered in dirty clothes. He had opened it, seen the small wind-up angel toys inside, quickly lost interest, and tossed it aside.
That night, he slept soundly for a few hours. All the shopping and receiving of gifts had worn him out. As he dreamed, the clothes on his floor began to stir. The clockwork angels had come to life, clicking and clattering their way to his bed.
The boy awoke to find them at the foot of his bed. Terrified, he watched as the toys transformed into creepy clockwork devils. One of them smiled at him.
“I was the last child who received this box,” the little devil said in a voice like a music box. “I should have been delighted and appreciative. We all should have been.”
As for the boy’s reaction? You can imagine. There was no smiling, only crying, maybe some begging. Use your imagination for the details.
By sunrise, the boy was gone. His parents found his empty bed around noon. They never saw him again, nor did they notice the missing wooden box.
It’s understandable if you find this unbelievable. But consider this: how many children go missing each year without explanation? Perhaps this tale explains a few of those cases. And perhaps it would be wise to always say “thank you” and mean it.