POTTED DJINN

 

The table was a makeshift thing; a large, empty plant urn with a round pane of glass super glued over the top. It was a chubby, crazy object to look at, which was exactly what had drawn Keith’s gaze to it in the first place. Keith was an odd man who liked to surround himself with odd things.

 

That was the way the table was sold to him, with a pane of clear glass as a top.

 

Two days ago, an old woman in a ratty bathrobe winded her way over to Keith across a wilted lawn, grinning at him as she approached. She'd seen his eyes flow across the collection of junk that she’d set out in the hope of selling. She'd spied his interest. A turn of the table here, a palm across the top there. After five minutes of sales spiel, the woman told Keith that she’d sell it to him only under the condition that he never remove the top of the urn-table.

 

A man called across the lawn. The old woman turned, snapped “Very well, very well, sold for two dollars!” and then turned back to Keith.

 

“You see, sonny, there’s a demon in this homemade table who promised to ruin the world once he manages to escape,” she said. With that, the old woman was silent. Her eyes, on the other hand, were questioning Keith's next words like invisible trip-lines.

 

Keith stared at the old woman as if she was mad. Obviously, she had always been mad, right from the drop from the womb.

 

“What?” was the only response that Keith could manage.

 

“I’ve had him trapped for fifty years so far," the old woman said, "but I’m tired of looking after him, guarding the world, just like my father before me eventually tired, as his mother and grandmother and great-grandmother grew tired of doing it before him. I’ve decided to sell the whole thing, wishes, bullshit and all, to the first responsible person I meet.”

 

Keith stared at the old woman, dumbstruck.

 

“It’s not all watch this and watch that, though,” said the old woman. Now she was smiling rather cheerily, as if she knew that this sale was in the bag. “If you charm him just the right way, the little b*****d will grant you wishes.”

 

“How do you know I'm responsible?” Keith said. He didn't know if the old woman could see the smile he was trying very hard to fight back, but he sincerely hoped not. This was just too good a laugh to f**k up before the joke was done being told. At this point in the joke, for that was surely what it was, his laugh was still in its ignorant infancy, and would be foolish to waste. Good laughs came to him not often enough these days.

 

The old woman gazed at Keith. She ran a dry tongue over even more barren lips. She squinted, almost hiding bright hazel eyes completely in the doing of it.

 

“Five dollars for the table,” she said. A wrinkled hand twisted through spring air. The next second, the old woman was hobbling her way over to a pretty young lady with a toddler on her hip.

 

Keith’s wallet lay open like a hungry mouth on the surface of the table. The smelly old goat had pick pocketed him. She had robbed him at the speed of light.

 

It crossed Keith’s mind to pull out his cell phone and call the cops, but if the lady wanted to rid herself of the odd table that badly, well, where was the harm? A five dollar bill wasn’t going to make or break him, and after all, he’d been intending to buy table since the moment he'd first seen it anyway.

 

No harm done.

 

Though Keith had to say; the batty as s**t story about a wish granting demon was one hell of a sales pitch.

 

That was his first mistake.

 

Not believing her

Reviews

[Inda Lauryn]

Dude, you have to write the third installment of this story because I just know Keith's is going to make a wish. (I read the other story before this one.) I'm anxious to know if it turns out like The Monkey's Paw. Knowing what comes after this, especially at work, I can only imagine how this could completely blow up in his face.