“The Supreme Nibbler Conservatory of Wellston Park Limited” was printed on the outside of the box in very fancy cursive letters and it was addressed to my daughter. “To the most noteworthy of children, Brixallyn Maeve Charlington, on this, the tenth anniversary of her birth.” The box was massive. Cream colored plasticine glued and sealed around the actual outer lining of the box inside. Setting it all up was pretty easy, for inside of the large box was a clear box and instructions on which end was down. In large font, it simply said: “Place on floor, in a clear area, prominently displayed, where it will remain undisturbed for the rest of your life.”

That was alarming. We had just moved into our new home. Only just – last week, that is. It was a very strange and awkward gift. We only had one child and she was a miracle. She wasn’t even really ours, to tell the truth. She had been laid on our doorstep with a note: “Please take care of me.” The note said, so we did, no questions.

My wife Cheryl and I had always wanted children. The doctors had told us that there was no way this could ever be achieved, but we prayed every day for it. And, one rainy night there was a knock on the door and there she was. That was ten years ago today.

It took all of my strength and that of Gallifrey, our slave, to move the box into the house. Gallifrey was a Gray man, but that was alright, it wasn’t like they were actually men or anything. Gallifrey helped me install it as well. To give him credit, it was his eye that found the perfect spot in the dining room for the box. Grays were skilled at some things and not with others. Gallifrey was good with spaces and problems. He was the one who supervised the movers to get us here.

It was up, one-two-three and done. The box we put up against the wall and hit the “GO” button that was illuminated there on the front in bright blue. The entire box wobbled, measured, shot out lasers and then raised itself up on skinny legs about seven feet above the ground, right to where an adult could easily reach it, but not bump your head. There was a loud thumping as it tested the walls, found the anchors, and installed itself. It beeped politely and the blue “GO” went dead. The lasers shut off, the legs retracted, and there was a FOOSH as the lightweight box popped off and fell to the floor. Where there was once a kerfuffle of noise, now there was the silence of furniture. An antique wall unit, part cupboard, part curio.

Gallifrey scooped up what remained of the lightweight outer packaging and took it away to be folded into our compactor, leaving me to stare at the new installation. It was something akin to an enclosed floating wall shelf. If I were to have to guess at the design, I would have to say that Nineteenth Century French Woodworkers hand carved it all, but I would most probably be mistaken. It was a hanging shelf console of curious design, for it did not have any of the ugly brackets that usually stick out of the bottom of wall shelves, but rather they were on top, as book ends, in the shape of towers. It was very beautiful woodwork, and there was not an imperfection to be seen. It was jet black.

Just then, a tiny panel near the top middle flipped open and I half expected a coo-coo to pop out and tell me the time. Instead however, a horizontal laser scanned the room, then a vertical one. It beeped a long tone and popped and the panel closed. Then the color began to change. Growing lighter, it became a deep reddish-brown and then lighter even still. Slowly it lit itself until it resembled a mid-range sandy ivory, which complimented the room marvelously. The recesses in the inlaid carved patterns were a touch darker to give it a shabby chic appeal. It was quite beautiful and it matched the carpet, walls and all the other furniture.