What Lies in the Attic?

In the darkness and the cobwebs lies a box. A plain worn slightly moldy brown cardboard box. Inside it's weak exterior perhaps magic can be found. If you dare to venture up the winding stair torch in hand you may find this box. And it's contents could all be yours.
Squeak goes the metal stairs as you ascend, step by step as curious as a child about all the mysteries and memories you are about to uncover.
Gasping for air, it's quite a way up. How can there even be this many stairs in your house, it's only a small house. You hear the whistling of wind trying to sneak through some unknown crack from outside.
As you reach the top the roof to the ground, it's so short. So you kneel and crawl through, webs caressing you. Spiders seem to crawl all over your skin, creeping under your clothes. Carefully you move along afraid of the bite but too full of expectation to turn back.
It's much too dark and the batteries of your torch are going flat, the whistling sound seems to have been coming from a tiny blackened window. You reach it and with your sleeve wipe clean it's filthy pane. As moonlight flows in you can see the box. The single precious box of joys untold.
Turning away from the window you crawl your way over to the box, as you shift dust enters the air disturbed by your movements. The box is not labelled but upon inspection you see some marks of a thick black texta. A smiley face, two black lines for eyes and a bracket for a mouth.
The box smiles at you insanely, you are unnerved by it's persistent grinning. It's just a box, you swear it just winked, but it's just a box. The moonlight seems to be playing tricks on your eyes.
You reach out your arm, trembling with excitement, anticipation, you're practically drooling.
What could be inside? Old comics? Old game consoles? The soft toy clown you used to drag with you everywhere? Maybe that book you haven't been able to find anywhere?
Quickly pulling it open, thrusting aside cardboard. You see it, everything and more. It seems to sparkle it's calling out to you "yes, closer, closer."
Wait, that really was a voice. Now that you come to think of it there's a tingling warm sensation right near your belly. What is that? You move slightly away from the box and look down at yourself, your shirt is all wet.
One look at the grinning salivating box which seems to be licking it's large cardboard fangs makes you think that maybe, just maybe this isn't any old plain cardboard box at all.
"come on, I won't bite." it laughs manically, "much." it opens and closes its cardboard mouth, cardboard fangs grinding together in hunger.
You're all ready run, but the confines of the room mean you can only shuffle crawl your way away.
From nowhere the cardboard box sprouts some nifty cardboard legs and begins to run after you. You can hear the jingling noise of all your precious well loved junk being tossed about inside it as it moves.
You're sure you'll get away you've already reached the staircase. But your skin feels like it's being pricked by needles. Suddenly you're so itchy. You can't control the urge and begin to scratch yourself all over, you crush the tiny biting spiders as you do.
But now the box is looming over you, it's mouth opened to a ridiculous extent an a long cardboard tongue flicks out and lassoos itself around your wriggling form.
Darkness as the boxes mouth closes over you. Trembling with fear and your body folded in such a strange way inside the cramped space in the box. You begin to push about, your whole body is getting numb from the position. As you shove the lid of the box gives in and you manage to pop your head out, you bend over to look down at the boxes upside down face.
It looks up at you annoyed, "hey, be good food and stay in my belly!" your eyebrow moves on it's own an you give it a good cold hard stare. Then step out of the box. It growls up at you "what? Do I have to eat you again?"
The box keeps trying to eat you, but you just keep stepping out of it. It's quite a useless killer box if it can't even digest it's prey.
Shrugging you grab the box and take it downstairs to it's protests of "put me down! Unhand me you fiend!"
Placing the box carefully down you rummage through it's guts and pull out all your goodies. It glares at you unsatisfied with the fact that youre still safe and alive.
Once emptied you manhandle the box one more time, taking it to your backyard you pull out the large hedge clippers from the shed. Its eyes look up at you with a lost puppy expression right before you slash it into tiny little pieces.
There's nothing like hearing the sound of a box screaming when it's recycling night. In the bin goes it's tiny corpse fragments.
And you are safe to foolishly live your life, thinking that killer boxes are no big deal. That they're not lurking in every attic, store, warehouse, garage and practically everywhere you look.
Not aware of the fact that duct tape can fix anything and that killer boxes have an obsession with revenge.