Don't Open The Box, Child.

''You see him. He's disgusting, he's horrifying, and he's fraudulent.''

''His black topcoat opposes his white undercoat, bloody red flames caressing his back. ''

This creature feels much hatred to the world, to this tiny world hidden behind the safety of your screen.

But is it really that protecting?

You walk around. You're uneasy. You feel watched, your privacy invaded. You don't even know why, he's probably just dressing up to scare you.

But then your mailbox lights up.

You panick, you don't open it. It blinks slowly, at the exact speed of your pounding heart. Your palms sweat. You step away from your computer.

Your mailbox opens itself, and you scream.

''Don't open the box. Don't open the box. Don't open the box. Don't open the box.''

You check the name of the sender, there is none. You suddenly feel cold, you feel insecure.

You sit behind the screen for what feels like hours.

''Don't open the box. Don't open the box. Don't move, don't do anything.''

You don't know what to do. Either way, he knows who you are. Your name, your address, your credit card information, everything.

The gift opens itself. An audio recording plays.

Don't open the box, child.

And your screen goes black.