Three matching numbers makes a winner.
That's what he'd said.
The tall, caped man leaned across the counter and smiled beneath a thick, black mustache. He slid the ticket over to Patrice and asked if she had anything to scratch it off with. The sounds of the carnival seemed to fade in a way that she couldn't quite explain. The whirling of the rides, the screams of excitement, the waltz of carnival music, it all seemed to go a little quieter the moment Patrice pressed the edge of her penny against the ticket.
She scratched away the silver coating and brushed the scratched material aside, and soon she was staring down at nine random numbers, three of them sevens.
"We've got a winner." The man snatched the ticket from her and paused just before turning away, waving the winning ticket in the air. "This is your lucky day."
Carnival prizes usually came in the form of cheap stuffed animals or unwanted goldfish. She doubted he would return with anything that would make her consider herself lucky. And she was right. When he turned back he was holding a small black box that had silver calligraphy along the edges. She couldn't read a word of it. It was written in another language, either real or (more than likely) made up.
"What's this?"
"This is Guzule. His spirit lives within this very box." His eyes were wide and filled with excitement as he spoke, like a man humoring only himself while reciting a ghost story to a bunch of kids around a campfire.
"So I won an urn?"
The man let out a belly laugh and then tilted forward, his eyes settling on Patrice. He set the box carefully onto the counter before her. "You won fortune."
She was aware of the sour look she was giving him, but hoped he didn't notice.
"Keep him for three days."
"I don't know if I want—"
"In the three days that you have him, he will enrich your life in ways you never thought possible. If you can think it, Guzule can make it so. But you must not take advantage. You must pass on the fortune. You can't just give him away, either. The next in line must earn him."
It was a gimmick, like everything else you find at a carnival, but Patrice played along. There wasn't a spirit in the box, and it most likely wouldn't bring her any luck, but she liked the dark, mysterious allure of it. And besides, it would look good on her nightstand.
She reached for the box, and the man grabbed her hand before she could take it. This was an odd gesture, but he was probably just trying to make the moment more dramatic.
"Three days, only. No more." He glanced down at the shiny, silver watch around his wrist. "At midnight, three days from tomorrow, you should no longer be in possession of Guzule."
"I got it. Three days." She pulled the box away.
He smiled at her before turning around and slipping behind a thick, red curtain.
Patrice left the carnival with the strange box. She decided to play the game. What did she have to lose?
When she got home, she set the box onto her nightstand and got ready for bed.
The silver calligraphy glittered in the moonlight that spilled in through her open bedroom window. She tossed and turned, because now that she was alone in the darkness with the box, there was an eerie feeling that settled in the room. She couldn't turn her back to the thing. Unless she was facing it, each time she closed her eyes she imagined a tall, grim spirit standing over the bed behind her. Eventually, she fell asleep staring at the box.
