The Purple Box - Student Feature by John Henry

Sweet Owen is proud to showcase young, local writers in our community. The following short story was written by John Henry, a 7th grade student at Owen County Middle School, as part of a narrative fiction writing assignment in Mrs. Amanda Anderson-Mathew's English class. This is chapter on of the story he created.

Artwork by Danni Williams

BEEP BEEP

I hear cars honking on the road as I walk into the corner store before school. The air smells like wet   pavement and gasoline. A dog barks somewhere behind me, but I’m on autopilot. Every morning, same routine.

I head straight to the checkout and grab my favorite Watermelon gum—third shelf, right next to the mini chocolate bars. Jeff, the owner, looks up from a crossword puzzle behind the counter.

"Hey Jeff, just the usual gum," I say, tossing it onto the worn counter.

"Okay, John," says Jeff with a smile. "It's on the house today."

I pause, surprised. “Wait, really?”

He shrugs. “You’re a loyal customer. And besides, I have a good feeling about today.”

“Thanks,” I say, a little confused but grateful. “Bye…”

As I walk out, I stuff the gum into my hoodie pocket and head to the bus stop. The sky’s still gray—early October mornings always feel a little sleepy. I lean against the stop sign and scroll through my phone. Just memes and the usual drama on our group chat. Nothing interesting.

The bus finally pulls up, its brakes hissing like a cobra. I climb aboard and scan the rows. There’s Zach, sitting near the back with his usual messy hair and Blue hoodie. He’s always got some weird story to tell.

I plop down next to him. “Hey Zach, you want some gum?”

“Sure!” he says, smiling crookedly. He takes a piece, then looks around like he’s checking if anyone’s watching.

“I have something for you,” he says in a low voice. “But you can't tell anyone about it.”

“Huh?” I raise an eyebrow.

“This,” Zach whispers, slipping something small and cubelike from his backpack. It’s wrapped in purple foil, almost glowing.

GASP.

"Is that—?" I stare at it, my heart starting to pound.

"Yup," Zach says, eyes serious now. “The Purple Box.”

“NO WAY!!!” I blurt out way too loud, people start staring.

He waits a second for everyone to stop looking, “shhh” he hisses, covering my mouth. “Nobody can know…”

I look down at the box in his hands. It’s not just shiny—it’s pulsing. Like, actually glowing faintly from within. The foil has no writing, no logo, no brand name. Just… purple.

“I thought it was just a rumor,” I whisper. “I mean, people say it’s real, but nobody’s ever actually seen it.”

“Well,” Zach says, carefully placing the box in my hands, “Now you have.”

The moment I touch it, a strange sensation runs through my fingers. Warm. Tingly. Like static, but smoother. There’s a hum, quiet and low, like it’s alive.

I look up. “Does it work?”

Zach glances out the window, then back at me. “I think so. But my brother’s friend found it at a garage sale. Said it was hidden in a box of hot wheels he bought for his baby cousin.”

“What makes it work, magic?" I half-joke, but my voice cracks a little.

Zach nods. “Or something worse.”

The bus jolts as we turn onto Maple Street. I clutch the box tighter.

“So why are you giving this to me?”

“Because it chose you,” Zach says. “You’ll see what I mean.”

He leans back, closes his eyes, and says nothing else the rest of the ride.

I sit frozen, staring at the purple box, my mind spinning.

And somewhere in my chest, deep beneath the confusion, excitement, and fear… I feel it too.

The box is waiting.

I slipped my dollar for lunch inside. I pressed the top, and in return, two dollars popped out. My heart started beating faster and it felt like it was pushing my ribs up.

I look at Zach, but he’s still pretending to sleep—or maybe he actually is. Like this is all normal for him. Like this box doesn’t just break every law of physics we know.

I glance down at it again. The Purple Box hums faintly, as if it’s breathing.

I slip it back into my backpack, heart pounding. The bus bumps over a pothole, but I barely feel it. I’m somewhere else now. My mind is racing with possibilities.

If it can duplicate money… What else can it duplicate?

gold?

Keys?

Math homework?

People?

I feel a sudden chill run down my spine. There’s a thin line between wonder and danger, and I’m standing right on it. Suddenly I start to sweat and the seat feels sticky.

As the bus screeches to a stop outside school, Zach finally opens one eye and says, almost casually: “Just be careful what you feed it.”

Then he’s gone, swallowed by the crowd of students.

I sit there for a second longer, the box humming quietly in my bag, heavier now—not in weight, but in meaning. I pull the strap tighter on my bag, merging with the crowd. Rule number one: Trust no one. My new routine has just started.

The bell shrieked, tearing through the quiet morning. My old routine was already over. I already knew,

Today is not going to be a normal day.