It was one of those boxes. The kind imported from some country and sold at a mall by a lady in a two wolves t-shirt with frazzled hair that wreaked of incense and oil. In fact, there were twelve others on the table just like it. But this was the one. The one containing the soul of the pie god. If the box were opened, pie would rain down upon the earth for a thousand years. Which didn’t sound like a bad thing; everyone liked pie. Until one was drown and burned alive in tons of molten filling, of course.