My Husband Sent Me A Christmas Gift From Dubai. The Office Janitor Saw The Ribbon And Told Me Not To Open It. She Might Have Just Saved My Life.
The Warning on Christmas Eve
On the eve of a new year, while working late, I received a gift from my husband who had been away for 3 years. The janitor, her face pale, whispered in my ear, “Don’t open it, throw it away, or you’ll lose your life.” Half an hour later, a horrifying event unfolded, and I realized I had just narrowly escaped a great disaster.
It was Christmas Eve, and outside, the entire city of Chicago hummed with festive music and sparkled under a blaze of colorful lights. But the 18th floor of the office tower where I worked was as silent as a forgotten island. The lonely clatter of my keyboard echoed in the quiet, mingling with the soft whistle of the wind through the glass window panes, creating a mournful symphony for those of us selling our labor to capital.
I leaned back in my plush office chair, gently rubbing my aching temples, trying to suppress a sigh as I looked down at the stream of traffic below, a river of red and white lights. It had been 3 years since Caspian left for an engineering contract in Dubai, and I hadn’t had a complete holiday since.
The phone on my desk suddenly buzzed, the screen lighting up with a notification from the family group chat. My mother had sent a picture of a magnificent Christmas Eve dinner, steam rising from a golden brown turkey, accompanied by a short but heartfelt message: “Honey, don’t work too hard. Come home as soon as you’re done, we’ve saved you a plate.”
My nose tingled and tears welled in my eyes, but I quickly looked up at the ceiling to stop them from falling. Just then, a private message popped up. It was from Caspian. He had sent a large Zelle transfer with a very generous number along with a sweet note: “My dearest Sloan, you’ve worked so hard. I’m sorry I couldn’t be home again this year. I had a gift delivered for you. It’s with the concierge in the lobby. Please go down and get it for me.”
My heart skipped a beat. All my fatigue seemed to melt away. Caspian was always like this, thoughtful and romantic despite being thousands of miles away. He never let me feel left out during the holidays.
The Box with the Silver Bow
I quickly shut down my computer, slipped on my wool coat, and hurried towards the elevator, my mind racing with excitement about the surprise gift from my husband. The hallway was deserted, the only sound the sharp dry clicks of my heels on the polished tile floor.
The building’s lobby was empty; the night security guard was probably taking a quick nap or on a call with his family. Sitting squarely on the concierge desk was a large square box, about 2 feet wide, wrapped in luxurious emerald green paper and tied with an elaborate silver bow.
I lifted the box; its considerable weight made me even more curious. I wondered if it contained an expensive cosmetic set or one of those high-tech German kitchen gadgets I had once admired online. Cradling the gift in my arms, I felt a warmth spread through me as if I were being held in Caspian’s strong embrace.
I turned ahead for the revolving doors when a figure suddenly rushed out from the women’s restroom. It was Zola, the thin, weary cleaning lady I often saw when I worked late. But tonight, Zola looked different. Her dark-ringed eyes were wide with panic. She was still clutching a mop, and her faded blue uniform was rumpled and splattered with dirty water.
She ran and stood directly in my path, panting as if she had just escaped some unseen monster. I jumped back, startled, and asked with a frown, “Zola, what’s wrong? Why are you so frightened?”
She didn’t answer right away. Her eyes were fixed on the gift box in my hands, or more accurately, on the intricately tied silver bow. Her face was ashen, drained of all color, and her chapped lips trembled, unable to form words. She dropped the mop with a clatter, and her rough, calloused hands seized my arm, her nails digging painfully into my skin.
She hissed through her teeth, her voice like wind whistling through a rotten doorframe, “Miss Sloan, don’t open it. Whatever you do, do not open that box.”
The Mourner’s Knot
I stared at her, bewildered, thinking she was delirious or that her age was getting to her. I tried to gently pull my arm away. “Please calm down. This is just a gift from my husband in Dubai. What’s the matter?”
But Zola shook her head violently, tears starting to stream down her hollow cheeks. She pointed a trembling finger at the silver bow, her voice shaking with fear. “Look closely at that knot. Do you see how it looks like two figure-eights looped together?”
I glanced down. The bow was indeed tied in a strange way, not a typical butterfly knot, but two symmetrical interlocking circles, an odd and intricate design.
Zola swallowed hard and leaned close to my ear, her cold breath on my neck sending a shiver down my spine. “Back in my grandmother’s village, they call this the mourner’s knot. They only use this knot to tie the feet of the dead for burial or to seal things being sent to the underworld for those who have passed. If a living person opens it, they say it will cost them their life.”
Zola’s words hit me like a bucket of ice water in the dead of winter. My hands began to tremble, and I almost dropped the box. I looked at her, my eyes filled with a mixture of disbelief and fear. The logic of a modern, educated woman told me this was just the superstitious talk of a simple, uneducated woman from a rural background. But looking into her deep-set eyes filled with desperation and sincerity, my intuition told me she was not lying, or at least that she truly believed in the terrible thing she was saying.
I took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. I looked at Zola, keeping my voice as steady as I could. “Zola, are you sure? My husband is an engineer. He works with Westerners. How would he know about these macabre customs?”
Zola didn’t let go of my arm. She squeezed it tighter, her eyes pleading. “Please, Miss, just trust me this once. I’ve seen this knot one other time in my life. And that time… that time someone really did die.”
