It was supposed to be just another ordinary Saturday for Cutis. The sun had risen bright and early, the sky a soft blue canvas with no signs of drama. Birds chirped outside his window, and the aroma of toast drifted in from the kitchen. But little did Cutis knowâthis day was about to spiral into a memory heâd never forget.
Cutis, 17, lived in a quiet town nestled between gentle hills and thick patches of forest. Life was calm, predictable even. He usually spent weekends helping his grandma with chores, hanging out with his best friend Juno, or gaming for hours. But that Saturday, curiosity got the better of himâand thatâs where everything started.
Earlier in the week, Cutis had overheard something strange in the school hallway. Mr. Larenzo, the janitor, whispered into his phone as Cutis passed by. All he caught was, â…theyâll never find it in the woods.â It didnât mean much at the time, but it stuck with Cutis like a burr on socks.
So when Juno called that morning to bail on their usual hangout, Cutis decided to take a walk through the woods behind his neighborhood. He didnât expect to find anythingâjust needed fresh air, maybe a little distraction from his overthinking.
With a backpack, a flashlight, and his phone (just in case), Cutis started on the trail. It was all calm at first. Trees swayed gently, the trail was familiar, and the woods were peaceful. But as he wandered deeper, he noticed strange signs. A trail of broken branches, oddly fresh footprints, and something shiny sticking out from behind a pile of leaves.
He paused, heart thumping. Curiosity pushed him forward.
He uncovered the shiny objectâit was a small, metal box. At first, he thought it might be someoneâs lost lunchbox. But when he picked it up, he realized it was locked, and heavy. There was a number etched on the side: 739-A. That was no ordinary box.
âWhat in the worldâŚâ he whispered to himself.
Suddenly, a noise behind him made him jump. He spun around. Nothing. Just the wind brushing through the trees. Still, his pulse raced. Something didnât feel right. He shoved the box into his backpack and turned back toward the trail.
Thatâs when the real trouble began.
As he walked quickly back toward home, he heard voices. Not just voicesâmenâs voices. Angry. Searching.
âHe was right here!â
âHe couldnât have gone far!â
Cutis froze. Who were they talking about? Him?
His instincts screamed: Run.
And so he ran, dodging trees, breath heavy, lungs burning. He had no clue where he was goingâjust away, away from those voices, away from trouble.
After what felt like hours, he reached the edge of the woods and collapsed behind an old shed near the train tracks. He waited, heart pounding, hoping they hadnât followed. When everything seemed quiet again, he peeked at the box.
The lock had a number dial. He tried random combinations, hands shaking. 000⌠123⌠739âclick. It opened.
Inside was a stack of papers, a USB drive, and several small packets with red warning labels: BIOHAZARD.
His stomach dropped.
He didnât know what he was looking at, but it was big. Too big for someone like him to handle. He had found something dangerousâmaybe criminal. Maybe even deadly.
Panic crawled into his chest. He pulled out his phone and called Juno. No answer. He tried again. Still no answer.
Then his phone buzzed. A private number. Against better judgment, he answered.
A low voice growled, âYou have something that doesnât belong to you.â
Cutis froze. The call ended.
Terrified, he switched his phone to airplane mode and tossed it into his bag. There was no way he was going home now. If they knew who he was, theyâd know where he lived. And if they were bold enough to call him, who knew what theyâd do?
He wandered for hours, trying to stay out of sight, hiding under a bridge near the old train station when it started to rain. All the while, his mind raced.
Who were those men?
What was in the box?
What was Mr. Larenzo mixed up in?
And most importantlyâwhat was he supposed to do now?
By evening, he hadnât eaten and was soaked to the bone. He thought of going homeâjust for a moment. A shower, dry clothes, his grandmaâs cooking. But he couldnât. Not with that box in his bag. Not with people chasing him.
He knew he needed helpâbut not just any help. He couldnât go to the local police. What if they were involved? What if this went deeper than he thought?
As the sun dipped below the horizon, a thought struck himâMr. Tinsley. His old science teacher. The one who had once worked for a private research company. The one who always said, âIf you ever find something strange, donât ignore it. Scienceâand truthâneeds curiosity.â
He remembered Mr. Tinsleyâs office hours at the community center every Sunday. That was tomorrow.
It was his only shot.
He curled up beneath the bridge, using his backpack as a pillow, trying to ignore the cold and fear crawling up his spine.
The next morning, Cutis dragged himself to the community center. When Mr. Tinsley opened the door, he nearly dropped his coffee. âCutis? You look like youâve seen a ghost.â
âI think I found something I wasnât supposed to,â Cutis croaked, eyes hollow.
By that afternoon, they had transferred the contents of the box to a secure location and contacted a trusted journalist Mr. Tinsley knew from his research days. The story was too big for silence.
Cutisâs name wouldnât be in the article, of course. It was too dangerous. But the truth? It would get out.
That night, Cutis finally returned home.
His grandma burst into tears when she saw him. âWhere have you been, baby? Iâve been worried sick!â
He hugged her tightly, tears pricking his own eyes. âItâs a long story, Grandma. But Iâm okay now.â
Even though his world had turned upside down in just 24 hours, Cutis had learned something powerful: sometimes the smallest momentâjust following a strange noise or a weird clueâcan lead to something huge. And while it had been the scariest day of his life, it was also the day he found his voice.
Because even though he had been scared to go home, even though he had run from danger, he had done the right thing.
And that made him braver than he ever thought he could be.
