The Whispering Paper Box

The kitchen hallway smelled of roasted oats and cardboard... tempting, utterly mysterious. I crept past the refrigerator's low hum and wriggled through the cracked cabinet door beneath the counter. Darkness, fragrant and vast. High above my head rested a tall cardboard cereal box with a half-open top flap. I paused, tilting my head, listening to the muffled rattle of dried flakes shifting inside. I froze for five heavy beats. Then—*heave!* I threw my plush shoulders against the side of the box, tipping it just enough for a solitary golden flake to flutter down like a crisp autumn leaf. It landed softly on my hooded brow. The harvest is claimed.