The house was beautiful and invited me in with the woman who owned it. There were chandeliers in every room and flowers that gave the whole place a fresh feeling. Modest golds and gentle silvers greeted me graciously with each turn I took. The ceilings were low enough to give the feeling of home, yet high enough to suggest wealth. I stood in awe of my surroundings as the woman told me what my new job would entail. Her voice sounded aged and silky. She spoke clearly and purposefully over the calming music playing from the next room. She told me about the plants that needed to be watered, the floors that needed to be swept, and the furniture that needed to be dusted, but I was not really listening. I could not focus when everything around me seemed so magical and new.
      When she finished speaking, I thanked her for the opportunity and promised her that I would not let her down. I insured her that I would do my best to lend her a helping hand and get everything she needed done. I really meant it too. There was absolutely no way that I was going to let her have any reason to fire me. As far as I was concerned, this job was a life or death situation. So, I put my amazement aside and picked up the broom that the woman left for me. I quickly and carefully swept the room I was in before deciding that I should scope out the rest of the house. After all, I would be working there for a long time, hopefully, and I would need to get used to the place. I approached the stairs with caution and care and took my first step onto the dust-free, perfect carpet that was protecting the presumably flawless staircase.
      The steps did not let out a single cry as I crept up them. Upon reaching the top of the staircase, I looked around at the rooms that were waiting for me. The rooms were all concealed by beautifully crafted doors with glittering doorknobs and whimsical frames.  All of the doorknobs looked up at me begging me to turn them and reveal the lavish secrets that they were keeping. However, one beggar grabbed more of my attention than the rest. It was a doorknob exactly like the others, except it seemed to be far more polished. The door it belonged to seemed to actually have some flaws around the corners if I inspected it extremely closely and the frame had miniscule bits of paint chipping off. It still looked gorgeous due to the apparent touchups, though. The door looked like it had been used more than the others, which cause an itch to form underneath my skin. Inquisitiveness bubbled up within me and I felt like I needed to know what the woman could possibly have behind the door.
      I slowly walked up to door and looked around. I did not see anyone around, so I decided to try to turn the knob. It turned a quarter of the way before slamming to a halt. I tried two or three more times before giving up. At this point, curiosity was completely taking over me and I felt a desire to know what was behind the door that was stronger than any willpower I had. I quickly took a bobby pin out of my hair and slid it into the keyhole. Little strands of hair tried to block my view, but I eventually got the lock to give itself to me. I turned the doorknob for one last time and it turned all of the way. Suddenly I realized that if I got caught, I would be immediately fired. For some reason this realization did not bother me at all. I had only been there for twenty minutes at most and all of my value for this job was gone. All I wanted was to see what was behind that door.
      I pushed the door open with ease and looked into the room with sudden regret. The darkness and stillness of the room poured fear over me. The room was the cleanest room by far. There were only four grey walls, a black tiled floor, a dimly light chandelier, and one lonely box. The box sat all the way at the end of the room with only bits of light flickering onto it. It was a deep red box that, of course, looked absolutely desirable. So despite the eerie vibe I was getting and the gut feeling that I knew I should have listened to, I walked through the doorway and into the room.
      Empty air enveloped me, while the box looked as if it promised some warmth or comfort. I walked closer and closer to that box, trying to ignore all of the signs telling me to run. I tried to ignore the oddly colored stains on the scrubbed clean floor. I tried to ignore the lack of descent light or windows. I tried to ignore the fact that I was utterly alone in a stranger room in a stranger’s house.
      Gripping my broom with all of my might, I came within inches to the box. As if in a trance, I put my hand forward and touched the lid. It felt cold under my fingertips. My body suddenly took a deep breath without asking my permission and my hand jerked the lid open. Inside of the box I saw my last warning sign. Inside of the box there was one last beautifully dreadful object kept in this magnificent house. Inside of the box was a severed hand.
      The hand was cut with such precision and care that the blood that encircled the end looked like a delicate bracelet. The hand’s nails were painted a pristine white that almost matched the bordering skin. It was so peculiar. I felt like crying, but I could not tell if it from the fear it caused me to have or the beauty of the hand itself. I was stuck standing in awe again. It was a horrific, yet exquisite site that kept my eyes permanently glued on it. In fact, I was so intrigued and absorbed by this hand, that I did not see the woman walking up behind me.