You came up from the basement with a big childish grin on your face, carrying the old Jack in the box you had found under the stairs. You sat it on the table and wiped the dust off, gave it a quick check for damage, and decided it was in good enough shape to give it a try. Somehow it didn’t surprise you that this alternate world knew of Pop Goes The Weasel as the canned music box tune played, and wondered what the toy itself would look like as the music played through.

You got only a split-second glimpse of the Jack inside which immediately shot back into the box with an awful grunt of the tune that made it sound like something had broken. You tried winding it again and, while the tune played, nothing would pop out. You leaned back in the chair, wondering if you could fix it, and said absent-mindedly to yourself “Why won’t you work?”

_{“You’re scary,”} said a tiny weak voice.

You stared, wondering if you had actually heard that, or if this world was finally getting to you. Upon closer inspection you noticed the box was trembling gently. This thing was alive. A million questions circled through your head, but right now you were worried about the creature inside. “Come out,” you said, keeping your voice soft and unthreatening, “I won’t hurt you.”

_“No.”

Whether you liked it or not, you basically were a monster here in this world, and you probably were pretty scary to a creature that had caught just a glimpse of you. You thought for a moment, and slid the Jack back on the table and moved your chair a good ten feet away. “Just peek, then,” you said, keeping your voice soft, “I’ll sit way back here. You’re safe.”

A moment of silence went by and the lid opened just enough for a pair of blue eyes to stare through at you. You smiled and they ducked back down, and then slowly the lid opened all the way and a little pony rose out of the box. She had a creamy white coat of fur with two red circles resembling blush, like she was wearing makeup, and her mane was styled to resemble a jester’s hat complete with bells. Two little creamy white hooves rested on the lip of the box and she kept her face partially obscured as she stared at you with big fearful eyes.

You kept your arms on your lap and leaned forward a bit. “Hello.”

“Hi.”

“You don’t have to stay in the box,” you said, “You can come out. I know I look scary but you can trust me, okay?”

“Can’t. Can’t come out much farther,” she said, her voice soft and meek and still cautious, “And you don’t look so scary anymore.”

She actually was a Jack in the box. You shook off the mild frustration that came every time this world did something like this that made no sense and just went with it. “Where’d you come from?”

“Master made me,” she said softly, looking around the room as she said it, “This is Master’s house. Where is she? Is she okay?”

You felt like someone had stabbed you in the gut and didn’t want to say it, but the longer she stared at you as you said nothing the more she came to realize the truth anyways. “She…” you began, “I mean, I live here now. The house has been abandoned for a very long time.”

She said nothing. She looked away and sank back into her box, not quite far enough for the lid to close. You stood up and approached and she made no attempt to hide or flee; she didn’t even care she was scared anymore. You opened the lid and reach in, gently stroking her head hoping you could offer some level of comfort. She looked up at you, not quite crying but with misty bleary eyes, and she sprang outward with enough force to hurl her entire box at you. She landed in your lap and buried her face in your shirt. You said nothing; you didn’t need to. You just laid your hand across her back and rubbed with your thumb as she let it all out and wept into your chest.