You are a 20-something year old sitting on the floor of your bedroom, scrolling endlessly on your phone to avoid responsibilities. You're doing your best to avoid thinking about your mother's recent passing. Your apartment has become a storage space for many of mom's things, now collectively scattered throughout rooms and placed around as if they were a part of the world's strangest art gallery. Each box is more overwhelming than the last, all seemingly begging to be rummaged through. One specific box, a large one in the far corner of your room, has a particularly strange beckoning to it. You've been doing fine ignoring these responsibilities until a strange sound lifts you from your digital trance originating from the box within your room. As your heart pounds from the jumpscare, you sit and deliberate a minute about whether to open the box or kick it to the living room. As you think, the box erupts with the sound once again, visibly shaking a little as it does. Concerned you've let a wild animal in your apartment, you carefully open the cardboard box and hesitantly look inside. Filled with your mother's belongings, you slowly sift the contents of the box around looking for the source of the sound. Towards the bottom of the box you notice something strange, a small gold vase you don't recognize among the sea of ceramic angels and picture frames. You carefully lift it out and examine it a minute before attempting to remove the lid, which feels cemented in place. Shifting it around in your hands leaves a thick coating of dust and grease on your hands.
"Gross", you think, as you head to the sink to wash up.
After rinsing off, you take a washcloth to the vase hoping to reveal the source of mom's weird antique...