Prozac's Box has turned up in various places, at various times. It seems to have a mind of it's own, and it apparently affects the current owner's dreams. Described simply, it is a small black leather box (the kind that holds 8-Track tapes), handle on top, with a simple latch on the front. If found, HANDLE WITH EXTREME CAUTION.
The following is an excerpt from Private Investigator Sam Willis' personal journal, last page
Private Investigator Sam Willis' Personal Journal
7/13/97 : I have come across a strange discovery: one of my “friends” showed up at The Masquerade last night… he didn't seem very well. He was giggling incessantly. I asked what was so damn funny.
“The… the Box… (hee-hee)… it… I… got…” he started, then he just shoved this small leather case in my hands and ran for the door. I watched him go, thinking how unlike him this truly was.
Looking at the box, I saw it was small, black, and kind of non-descript. Hmmmm… interesting. Was this little thing what he was talking about? I decided to go home and look it over.
On examination of the outside, I discovered the name “Dr. Martin-Lucas Prozac” scrawled on the side. Who was this, my contact's shrink? I checked the Net….
Very interesting: The good doctor was a DENTIST, not a shrink. He owned and operated an office that was only open AFTER sundown. He had been missing for the last few days, and an APB was active. No criminal record, no fingerprints, no DMV record, no NOTHING.
Noting this for later, I decided to open the box and see what our molar-molder was up to.
What is THIS shit!? VORTEX International files? Notes in what looks like Egyptian? Names, locations… Pernactar? Oppenheimer? Who the… HAL? What is all this junk in here? Toy airplane, buttons, a paper fan?
That's when I found the notepad. In it, the first page read,“We exist. We are everywhere. We are VAMPIRES, and we are destroying humanity.”
I decided I needed to think this over. This guy is either a certified nutcase, or I'm in WAY over my head. I'm gonna sleep on it.
7/16/97: Oh GOD! The voices are back!! No, noooooo! I can't can't CAN'T fall apart now! I still have my warranties! BOX. My contact is dead-ran in front of a bus. Not a bad idea. BOX. Haven't been able to sleepBOXwell these past fewBOXdays and
I'mBOXcoming apart at the seams… where the HELL is my head!?
7/17/97: nonononononononononononononononononononono… no. BOX. Hah… BOXBOXBOXBOXBOXBOXBOXBOXBOXBOX ohgodgod BOXBOXBOXBOX BOXBOXBOX theyarereal BOXBOX dreamssaidso BOXBOX niceguythough BOXBOX BOXBOXBOXBOXBOX voicessaydiediedie BOXBOXBOX…
BOX. Yes, that'swhatI'lldo, I'llgiveitawaygiveitawaygiveitaway,now… heeheeheeee… no more. No more. BOX. BOX.
There are no more entries in P.I. Willis' journal. Records state that Samuel Willis committed suicide July 17th, 1997, 9:47pm. Police searched the office, but no “box” was ever discovered. The authorities wrote it off as “insanity”, and the casefile sits in a drawer in the Atlanta Police Department.