There's A Shack Called 'The Devil's Toy Box' In Louisiana And People Who Go In There Supposedly Lose Their Minds

There’s A Shack Called ‘The Devil’s Toy Box’ In Louisiana And People Who Go In There Supposedly Lose Their Minds

I woke up screaming and Erin shot me a panicked look. We were still seated outside of the Toy Box.

“S-sorry…I must’ve nodded off.” I said.

Erin opened her mouth. She hesitated before saying, “I’m worried about your friends.”

I rubbed my eyes. “Why? How long have they been gone?” I asked as I pulled out my phone to check the time.

“A while… Almost thirty minutes.”

“I guess we should go check on them.” I said.

As Erin and I started on the path back towards the entrance to the orchard, I nodded in the direction of the Sawyer house.

“You think he’s gonna show?” I asked.

Erin thought about it for a moment and nodded. “I hope so. If not, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

I glanced at her, worried that Erin was about to start crying, but the look on her face was one of stoic acceptance. Realizing that I was staring at her, Erin looked up at me and we exchanged a moment of awkward eye contact. I smiled to try and play it off as I quickly faced forward.

It was then that I realized we had lost our way in the dark and had somehow ended up in the dense patch of woods that bordered the orchard. “How the hell..?”

I scanned the surrounding wilderness with my flashlight, trying to get my bearings, but I couldn’t locate the orchard or any of its accompanying structures in the darkness. Then, after a bit of what I thought had been backtracking, we ended up at the front steps of the Sawyer house.

It was a rustic white two-story; three if you counted its 6-foot elevated flood-proof foundation similar to a lot of the homes in the area. The space beneath the porch was unlit and pitch-black. Yet staring into it, I could’ve sworn I saw something moving under there.

Erin gestured at the house.

“Guess we might as well say hi,” she said.

Erin started up the steps before I could even begin to mention the many ways in which that might be a bad idea. Without hesitation, she knocked on the front door.

“Shit,” I muttered to myself as I followed her up the stairs. There was a tense beat of silence and then from inside came the sound of footsteps across hardwood floor. The door was suddenly yanked open and a middle-aged woman with gray-streaked hair and the brightest blue eyes I had ever seen was standing there, glaring at us. This must’ve been Darlene.

“You here for the box?” she said, glaring at the both of us.

I experienced a moment of intense déjà vu as Erin replied, “Sort of…”

Darlene leaned outside and glanced around, looking worried. “You better come in then.”

Erin and I exchanged a cautious look as the woman turned and started back inside, leaving the front door open behind her. Erin responded with a shrug that said “fuck it” and then entered the house. As I followed her in and shut the door, I heard something rustling in the bushes outside.


About the author

Joel Farrelly

When Joel isn’t writing creepy-ass short stories, he can be found scripting and acting in subversive comedy sketches on YouTube. You can follow Joel on Twitter or support him on Patreon, if you’re into that.