The Black Box by Clayton James
Rob and Paula are sceptical of their town council's unsettlingly bizarre new waste management system, and distracted by their nightmare neighbours. Image generated with OpenAI Waste Management dropped off our new kitchen trash container at some point that morning, and when I first laid eyes on it, I thought someone had made a mistake. Instead of a sturdy plastic tub with an attached lid and handle, as pictured on Waste Management's website, I'd received a black wooden box that looked like something Saruman might have stored his palantir in. Since the envelope that accompanied it bore my name - Robert Conners - and my address, someone had sent me the ugly, medieval-looking box on purpose. The box itself - measuring twelves inches on each side - was as heavy as it looked. After scooping the envelope off my porch, I grabbed the iron handle atop the lid and lugged it into my kitchen, where my calico, Wesley, eyed the box with wide-eyed contempt. When I placed the box on top of ...