"Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four."

The blacksmith finished counting the last spoon in the set, then reverently closed the mahogany wood lid on the new silverware service, dusting the top as he did so.

He sighed heavily, saying to himself, " I should have been a carpenter, easier on the body and more rewarding for the soul. Furniture lasts and is treasured for generations while I watch all my craftsmanship end up dented, rusted, abused and thrown out within a decade. Maybe these beauties will fare better. Or not, the spoon will be pitched out the window by a vengeful baby, the fork will be used to open jars, and the steak knife will end up in evidence for a murder."

He laughed mildly at himself, feeling slightly foolish for speculating on the futures of silverware.

Turning around, he started dousing all the lights in the shop, preparing to close up for the night.

A slight rattle, and then, "Well that sounds like quite the adventure."

The blacksmith pivoted back to the front of the store, certain he had heard no on enter the shop.

"Hello, is someone there? Can I help you?", he called to the dark.

All silence except for the rattle of the cow's bell outside.

"Ah, I must be tired, talking to myself and hearing things." He shook his head at himself.

Then suddenly, a gigantic wrenching noise and the blacksmith looked on in horror as the lid of the silverware box flew off, tearing it in two.

"My Box!" He screeched in despair and pulled at his graying hair, "No! I spent two months carving it!"

On the edge of the catastrophe sat the Steak Knife, swinging its handle back and forth.

"Hello there! How'd I do? It's not a jar, but I think I should get extra points for the box, It was made real strong and I bet old fork couldn't do that. Right fork?" They peered back into the velvet abyss from which it came.

The blacksmith lunged across the room towards the Steak Knife, intent on preventing any more damage from the possessed piece.

The Steak Knife nimbly jumped out of his grasp and onto a high shelf with a shill laugh,"Oh no you don't, the fun's just begun. And I still have to jump out a window and stab something." They laughed again like an out-of-tune bell, making the blacksmith ears start ringing.

The blacksmith put his hands on his hips, quickly deciding to treat Steak Knife like a misbehaving child and give them a beneficial piece of his mind.

"Now listen here young knife, that was very wrong of you to do. If you wanted to get out, you could have called and I'd have opened the lid, but now you've ruined it. That box was meant to last forever and be loved and cherished. And I worked very hard on it." The blacksmith felt he should have left the end off as it didn't sound fearsome enough.

The Steak Knife was silent for a minute then said, " I'm sorry ... I was just so thrilled to be alive and you can't blame me entirely, it was your idea. I'm brand new and impressionable. So can I go jump out the window and stab something now?"

The blacksmith put a hand on the table to steady himself, "No, you can't just run around scaring people like that. How are they supposed to know you won't stab them?"

" I can't? " The Steak Knife managed to give the impression of widened, quizzical eyes despite not having any. Then quickly amended at the blacksmith's flabbergasted face, " I mean of course I can't, I mean I would never scare people like that."

The blacksmith took a deep breath for the shouldering of a realized responsibility, "Look, I made you, so I feel I have to teach you how to live in this world. How about I take you on as an apprentice in my new woodworking shop? You're a sharp Knife and I think you would do great carving all kinds of beautiful things for people to enjoy."

The Knife seemed to consider for a moment, turning from the window to the blacksmith, "Ok," They stuck out their blade for a handshake, " It's a deal."

"Dear Satan"

My damn dyslexia will be the death of me. In five minutes.

I've re-read the letter ten times now, praying my eyes are playing trick yet again.

But no, there it says, quite clearly, "My deepest condolences, From Satan".

Maybe I should call in a bomb squad. That would be the responsible thing to do. My mistake shouldn't fall on the heads of those unfortunate to live around me. Or I could somehow launch it into space, or bury it in the deepest depths of the ocean. Send it to my enemy... No, that's too evil.

I'll just shove it under my bed and forget about it. It seems harmless now. I just have to resist opening it ...

No, I'll never sleep right again. I should move, leave it buried in the backyard. I could bury it in the national forest next door. But that's probably illegal.

I hold up the small square carefully. It's 7 by 7 inches, flat, and lightweight. Just a few ounces and wrapped in red shiny paper with a bow sporting devil horns. It appeared out of thin air with a pop at the strike of midnight, December 25, Christmas day. Then just hovered in the air one foot from my face.

I shift the paper back and forth as if I can somehow test it's deadliness this way. Then I dare to shake it. Just the faintest rattle.

Well, screw it, I'm opening it. The devil knows me now personally. Can't get any worse.

Yes, I wrote my name and address on the envelope. I wasn't so fortunate as to screw that up.

I peel the folded corners of the paper open, careful not to tear. Unfold it from the back while holding it away from myself at furthest arm's reach. Any explosions will hopefully go the opposite way.

Out of the packaging drops a simple CD. The one I asked for. And a note.

"Dear Michael", it read. "Find a better taste in music."