Only Prompts - 7. The Jar

The Jar

Thomas wandered through the thrift store, not really looking for anything. Outside, a thunderstorm was raging, and waiting for the already-late bus outdoors didn’t appeal. It was clean and tidy, this thrift shop, not like some, so Thomas felt comfortable here. A simple but thorough hand washing afterward, when he’d arrive at work, would suffice, though he knew he’d still launder his clothes when he got home. Thomas had taught himself, with the help of some therapy to manage his mild obsessive-compulsive disorder so he no longer had to carry multiple changes of clothes. He looked at his hands and decided an extra thorough scrubbing of his cuticles would be in order also.

His favorite thing to look at in any second-hand store was the china department. Thomas collected pretty china, like sugar bowls and milk jugs, miniatures and things like that. But today, today he spied a jar on the top shelf; it was gray and gold, and as he moved closer he noticed it wasn’t a jar at all. It looked more like a clay pot with a lid.

Not thinking where the little treasure may have been or what microscopic creatures might inhabit the surface, Thomas reached out and lifted it from the shelf.

‘Oh,’ he thought. He looked it over, turning the container in his hands—it felt perfect, like it belonged there. On its surface were designs inlaid with what Thomas was sure was gold; the designs looked Mayan to his untrained eye. ‘It’s heavy and,’ as he shook the jar gently—something thumped the sides, ‘there’s something in it.’

Remembering the time, but coveting the pot, he walked toward the front cash desk. Thomas turned the vessel over, looking for the price sticker. ‘Not bad, just three dollars.’

Thomas placed his prize onto the counter and smiled at the cashier. “Just this, thank you.”

“Oh, that’s so pretty, sir.” The woman picked it up and hefted the jar in her hand. “It’s light, I thought it would weigh more. Well, it’s three dollars please.”

Then a horrified Thomas looked on as she pulled off the close fitting lid and looked inside. Raising her eyes she smiled and said, “Empty.”

Thomas observed her with some confusion, he’d been sure something had moved when he’d shaken it earlier. He paid and watched her wrap his purchase. Taking it from her, he slid it into his knapsack. “Thank you, miss.”

“You’re welcome, sir. Please come again.”

Thomas left the store and pulled his backpack up higher on this shoulder. He peered up into the sky. The rain, which the Weather Service had said would last all day, had stopped, and the sun seemed to be coming out.

Pulling out his phone, Thomas checked his transit app and it said the next bus wouldn’t be along for fifteen minutes, but when he looked up, there was a 34 bus trundling along towards him.

‘Wow, unusual,’ he thought, as the bus pulled up to the stop.

He mounted the bus stairs, flashed his pass, and dropped into an empty seat. ‘I never get a seat on this bus. Maybe this day won’t be so bad.’ He checked his watch. ‘Except I’m going to be late for work.’

The bus rumbled along the street and he listened for his stop.

“Blackburn Avenue,” the automated announcement said.

Thomas pressed the stop button, stood and moved to the door. As the door opened the driver said, “Have a nice day, sir.”

Blinking in surprise, Thomas peered at the driver. “Oh, thank you. You too.”

So shocked was Thomas at the polite treatment, he stood and watched the bus move away. He wrinkled his nose at the black cloud of exhaust. Remembering work, he turned and walked quickly up the street towards Ally’s Coffee, where he’d worked part-time since his last year in college. Thomas desperately wanted a career in his field of study, one, because he liked it and two, it would shut his father up. But it seemed that jobs in architecture weren’t that easy to find, so he stayed on at Ally’s and lived at home for the time being.

Ally was nice but she didn’t like staff to be late, so Thomas usually avoided her ire by ensuring he was on-time.

Already 3:15 p.m. meant he was fifteen minutes late. He prepared himself to face Ally and apologize. Thomas held the door for an out-coming customer and then went inside. The shop smelled of fresh coffee, chocolate cookies, and hot apple crisp. Thomas’ stomach rumbled. He made his way through the few customers and smiled at Charlie, the server.

“Is Ally in the back, Charlie?” Thomas asked. Charlie nodded and turned his attention back to packaging up blueberry muffins in a pink and silver cake box for a hungry customer. The boxes designed by Ally appealed to Thomas’ sense of form and layout. He liked the pink flower located on the top right corner. The pink rose was watermelon with shades of coral and red, and the petal’s edges were kissed with silver. The bottom stem of the flower started on the lower left of the back of the folding box, and finished on the top right. Thomas found he never tired of looking at them.

Thomas went through to the back, hung up his things, carefully washed his hands and dried them on a paper towel. He put a clean white apron on and tied it at the front, he put on a hair net and a pair of disposable gloves, and after letting out a sigh, he pushed open the door to the kitchen and walked through.

The kitchen air was filled with the aromas of sweet goodness. Thomas watched as Ally pushed her blonde hair back under her hair net, and she retrieved a large bowl from the stand-up mixer. She looked up at him, fixing him to the spot with her green eyes.

“You’re late, Thomas. It’s not like you.” She hefted the bowl onto a low table next to her and then using her glove-encased hand, dropped batter into the muffin tins in front of her. Like a machine, she quickly filled several dozen muffin cups.

“Ally, I’m sorry, the bus was late and I—”

“Oh, Thomas don’t worry, you’re so rarely late.” She smiled and said, “Help me get these into the oven, okay? We’re doing a two-for-one, because there are lots of blueberries getting a bit old in the fridges.”

They put the pans into the large industrial oven.

“Good idea, Ally. The two-for-one should get customers in for sure.”

“Oh, I sure hope so, Tom, I sure hope so.” Ally dusted flour off her apron and arms. “Watch the muffins for me, will you?”

“Sure Ally, no problem.”

While the muffins baked, Thomas kept himself busy cleaning up and washing equipment. Then after 20 minutes he pulled out the small fragrant cakes, and set them to cool.

Thomas spent the rest of his shift, serving out front and was pleased he hadn’t dropped anything or messed up anyone’s change. He bought half-a-dozen muffins to take home to his parents, said goodbye to his coworkers and headed home, looking forward to his mother’s promise of lasagna with a big salad.

After departing the bus, Thomas had a fifteen-minute walk home. He was feeling good and looked forward to seeing his parents and then going to his place to meet some friends online to play some games. Thomas had lived in the granny-flat attached to his parents’ home since his nana had passed away. He liked the privacy and wished he could find a boyfriend so he could take advantage of it.

He walked down the three steps, put his key in the door and let himself in. Thomas hung up his jacket, and then took his backpack and put it, and the box of muffins on his bar counter. Undoing the backpack, Thomas removed his new purchase and placed it on the teak wall unit in the small living room. He stood and admired it.

“What are you?” Thomas asked the jar aloud. He didn’t expect a reply of course and was even happier he didn’t get one. Reaching out he picked up the vessel again and shook it. There … he was sure he felt movement from within. Holding the jar close to his body with his left arm, he pulled the lid off with his right hand. Slowly Thomas peered inside—he could see nothing.

“Huh. How odd. I was sure ….” Thomas didn’t finish his thought because he heard his mother calling him for dinner.

“Coming!” Thomas called.

After carefully replacing the lid, he put the jar back in its new spot, grabbed the box of muffins, and went upstairs.

***

Thomas went into his parents’ bright kitchen and put the bakery box on the counter. “Mom, brought you some blueberry muffins. Do you need help? Anything I can take out to the table?”

Gina Randall smiled at her son. “You can take the salad out and then grab the lasagna from the oven if you don’t mind.”

She opened the box and drank in the smell of fresh baked blueberry goodies. “Oh, Tommy these smell wonderful. We’ll have one later with our tea. Thank you, darling.”

“You’re welcome, Mom.” Thomas put on the rubber gloves his mother had left for him, and took the large bowl of dressed garden salad, and placed it on the dining table. Returning, he then took the piping hot tray of lasagna out as well and put it on the trivet.

“Tommy, can you pour the wine and I’ll go call your father. He’s doing a report or something.”

“Okay, Mom.”

Thomas filled the three wine glasses with the red Burgundy; his own glass was wrapped in plastic wrap to keep it clean—he pulled the plastic from the top so he could pour the wine. Then Thomas returned to the kitchen, he cut up and plated the toasted garlic baguette, and waited for his parents to return.

Gina knocked on the door of the small den and pushed it open. “Terry, dinner is ready.”

Terry Randall looked up from his laptop and smiled at his wife. “Okay, hun. I’m on my way.”

The pair joined Thomas in the cozy dining room. Thomas served the salad and bread while Gina cut slices of lasagna for her men.

Thomas removed the gloves, and then unwrapped the set of cutlery his mother cleaned and wrapped for him each day. If this was done, he could eat without the gloves. He removed the remaining plastic wrap from the glass also.

Once the food was in place before each member of the family, Terry raised his glass and said, “Here’s to success. Let’s hope this proposal is accepted at work. It could mean a nice amount of money for us!”

Gina and Thomas, repeated, “To success.” They sipped their smooth red wine.

When his glass was empty Thomas picked up the wine bottle and poured more for everyone. This act caused a quick, surprised glance to be exchanged by his parents.

Terry said, “Um, Tom, are you all right?”

Still chewing, Thomas looked up and nodded. “Sure Dad, why?”

“Well, son, I mean look what you’re doing.”

Thomas looked confused.

“Tom you picked up the wine bottle—without your gloves.” Terry put down his fork. “Did you wash when you got home?”

Gina’s eyes widened as she looked at her son.

Thomas sat back. “Um no, I didn’t feel like it. I didn’t change clothes either. What is going on?”

“Well I don’t know, Tom, but I wouldn’t fight it,” said his father.

***

After dinner Thomas returned to his little flat to chat online with his friends—well they were online friends, not real-life friends. At 10pm he said his farewells, showered and was ready to turn in for the night.

He crawled into bed, wearing only boxers, pulled the spare pillow close and fell asleep.

Some hours later Thomas became restless and he moaned in his sleep. In his dreams a golden snake slithered over his face and head. It moved south, and as it reached his groin, it stopped, raised itself up, opened its mouth, showing thousands of needle-like teeth, and then it swallowed his now-erect manhood whole. Thomas woke up screaming and covered in sweat, anxiously feeling for his family jewels.

“Oh, thank God!” He said in relief when he found no serpent was attached. Then he swung his legs over the side and sat there, letting the cool air of the room dry him. He was sure he could hear voices.

“I’ll get some water,” he spoke aloud, hoping to drive any evil-spirits away. Grinning to himself he switched on the bedside lamp and walked from his bedroom to the tiny kitchen. “Spirits! No such th ….”

From the kitchen he was certain he heard voices, but when he flicked on the light there was nothing to be seen. He turned suddenly though, when he heard a muffled cry and a thump from his living room. Leaving the light on in the kitchen, he moved slowly into the living area and flicked on the ceiling light using the wall switch.

Everything looked okay, so he took a step into the room.

‘Hmmm. I wonder what that was?’ he thought. Another step, and after a careful reconnoiter, he saw it. On the light gray carpet lay his latest acquisition. Thomas rushed over and knelt down. The lid had rolled an arm’s length away, and he reached for it. Then moving to right of the little jar, Thomas noticed something had spilled from the inside. Peering at it, it looked like liquid, and he gingerly put a fingertip into it—the bluish film clung on. Thomas raised his finger to get a closer look, the blue-coloured stuff felt like it was holding onto his finger. The temptation to taste the fluid was nearly overwhelming, but he fought the urge and sniffed it instead.

A drop or two entered his brain via his nasal cavity.

“Shit!” Thomas pulled away sharply, as the movement of the fluid into his brain caused pain. His finger seemed to have a life of its own and tried to follow the rest of blue liquid into his nose. Dropping the pot, he grabbed his right hand with the left and held it at bay. “What the hell?” He ran to the kitchen and washed his hands, scrubbing at his right-hand index finger with extra soap and vigor.

His head hurt and he thought about calling for help to his folks or an ambulance, but those panicked thoughts left him as easily as they’d come. He heard something. A voice? That same muffled voice he’d heard earlier softly said things were fine, that there was no problem, and he should just return to bed and sleep now.

Nodding, like there was someone else there making these suggestions, Thomas returned to his bedroom, but before he crawled in and pulled up the covers, he pulled off his boxers. In his head he argued that he was never without his boxers, unless he’d planned to watch porn and … but the voice, that soft melodic voice quashed his fears and Thomas lay down as he was told.

He closed his eyes.

He touched his belly.

He knew he was dreaming—he had to be dreaming. The hands on his belly, weren’t his own—yes they are—these abs, they certainly weren’t, Thomas had no abs—they are yours, hard, firm and sexy. The hands moved farther down and he reached for himself, stroked his long hard dick. This wasn’t his, he knew it wasn’t—yes, yes it is. Long, steely and all yours—yes okay, it is mine, it felt good. Thomas remembered his father’s words: Don’t fight it, Tom.

‘Open your eyes, Thomas!’ he yelled at himself. He could see the hard abs, feel his hand on hard throbbing member, stroking—Thomas struggled to open his eyes and once he had, lay there panting, wondering what drug had been in his new little purchase. He was having hallucinations.

“That was way too real.” He ran his hands over his stomach—no sexy abs, just Thomas’ softness. It was a relief.

The bluish, mercurial drops dug deeper into Thomas’s brain and they held on. They sent out roots.

Thomas got up. Washed and shaved, decided against another shower as he’d had one the night before. He dressed, ran upstairs kissed and hugged his mother, yelled goodbye to his father, and left the house for the day.

Terry walked into the kitchen after the door slammed, and found Gina crying at the table.

“Hun? What is it …?”

Gina looked at her husband. “There’s something different about Tom. He hugged me!”

Holding his wife’s hand, Terry dropped in the seat next to hers. Gina continued, “You know he hasn’t for the past ten years. Why now? What’s changed?”

The new one, with the sweet words, Thomas grew to like. He-with-no-name—the second voice—though sometimes he was a little pushy, was like a lover, caring and sweet. They found a boyfriend and Thomas finally lost his virginity. Life was good and Thomas loved the fruits that the second voice—Thomas II—had brought to their conjoined life.

***

Thomas had been with Albertson & Docherty – Architects, for a nearly a year. He’d left Ally’s coffee shop behind and was enjoying his chosen profession. His manager had just been into to tell him he was up for promotion not two minutes before the phone on his desk rang.

“Hello?”

“Yes, I’m he.”

Standing, he replied, “When? Oh, my God! I’ll be right there.”

***

The police had been unable to ascertain who had killed Gina and Terry Randall. One detective felt positive it was Thomas, but hadn’t found any physical evidence. And, try as they might they couldn’t get him to break down and admit it.

As soon as the Randall’s lawyers settled the estate, and four million dollars was now in Thomas’ possession, Thomas II, sent his roots deeper, cornering and crowding out Thomas from his own mind, like a parasitic bird throws out its host’s offspring. Thomas was now surplus to his requirements.

The little jar sat next to Thomas II’s bed. Thomas II sat up and looked at the little bit of bluish liquid on his pillow. Retrieving the little urn, he carefully held it and let the liquid slide in, he replaced the lid and placed the receptacle back on the night table. He patted it fondly. “Thank you and good-bye Thomas.”

In the morning he got up before his cook and butler, sneaked downstairs into the garbage room and put the little jar at the bottom of the recycling box before covering it with cans and bottles. He went back to his room, showered and dressed to go meet his partners at Albertson & Docherty & Randall – Architects.

***

Mary-Jane Redmond had worked in the recycling plant as a sorter for many years. Ever since she took a shine to the English program, The Antiques RoadShow, she watched the incoming china carefully. Over the years Mary-Jane had found a few nice pieces. To make things all right in her heart and head, anything she made from selling the pieces she found was shared with a local charity.

On this day Mary-Jane spotted the little gray pot immediately, and after a quick glance, reached out and pulled it from the line.

She wanted to put it under the counter, but oh, it felt just so perfect in her hands.

*****

The end