Pandora vs. the Furby

My husband told me to never open the box on top of his dresser, the toaster-sized padlocked one that he claimed he got at a conference two years ago but that I knew he’d really had for much longer, and I knew he’d probably beat me with a hose if I opened it, y’know, like that time I searched through his phone when I thought he was sleeping, but still, I just had to know what was inside that thing and why it kept asking, pleading, in the voice of an automaton’s child, for me to play with it.