The Bottle Imp of Bright House

by Tom Llewellyn

  I nodded. “But Dad is selling it. It’ll probably be gone in a day or so.”

  “Are you kidding? Parents are crazy. What else did you wish for?”

  “My dad to get his job back. He got a call the same day.”

  “No more Hasty’s Pizza? Dang. What else?”

  I thought about my wish for a new friend, but couldn’t bring myself to tell Henry. “Fifty thousand dollars. Someone to fix the hole in our living room ceiling. Oh—and one other thing.”

  “What?”

  “It’s kind of stupid.”

  “Tell me.”

  “A hot tub.”

  “A hot tub? A hot tub is not stupid. A hot tub is awesome. Did you get it? Where is it?”

  “Nothing yet.”

  “Huh. But when you wished for a job, your dad got one. You wished for a Ferrari and you got one. You wished for a dollar and you got one. It seems like it really works. Where’s the bottle now? You said you got rid of it.”

  “I loaned it to a guy upstairs.”

  “You what? You shouldn’t let that thing out of your sight.”

  I slugged Henry in the arm. “Are you kidding me? You’re the one who threw it off the bridge.”

  “I know! Because it’s so creepy. But look—” Henry stared out the window at the covered car. “You got a Ferrari. I wouldn’t mind a Ferrari. Or a Lamborghini. Or—or even a bag of candy or something.”

  I was about to slug Henry again when someone knocked on our front door. I opened it.

  “Take it!” said Doctor Mandrake. He thrust the little bottle toward me. “Take it back. Just having it in my rooms—I feel—Oh! I feel like I have aged a millennium.” He dropped his voice and leaned toward me. His breath smelled like pipe tobacco and peppermint. He placed the bottle in my hand and closed my fingers around it. “I am conflicted, young Sea Goat. I feel the need to return it to you, but I fear that I am bestowing a curse on you at the same time. It is evil. Look here.”

  Mandrake pulled a sheet of paper from inside his robe. He unfolded it. It was covered in Egyptian hieroglyphics. Mandrake ran a finger down a row until he came to an image of a bird, but with the head of a man. “See this? This is the first symbol on the bottom of the bottle. This one is easy. It means soul.”

  Mandrake ran his finger down to the bottom of the page. “Now look here. See all these little images of men? This one with the hands up means to ask. This one with the hands hanging down means tired. But this one—where the man’s hands are bound behind his back—this one matches the second mark on the bottle.”

  I shivered. “What’s that one mean?”

  “It means enemy. Put the two marks together, young Sea Goat.”

  “Soul enemy,” whispered Henry. “That doesn’t sound good.”

  Mandrake nodded his head. “Be done with it. Today, if possible.”

  “GEEZ,” said Henry, his eyes wide. “Maybe you should get rid of that thing.” He reached out as if to touch it, then pulled his hand back. “But before you do, let’s get some lunch.”

  “Lunch?”

  “Yeah, man. Wish for an awesome lunch. Like a ten-foot sub sandwich or a triple-pepperoni pizza.”

  “Did you hear a single word that Mandrake just said?”

  “Oh, come on. You just told me you wished for a hot tub.”

  “That was before I went to the funeral. And before—all of that.”

  “Okay. Sure. So don’t wish for such big stuff. If we—I mean you—if you just do little wishes, how can it hurt anyone? I mean, say you wish for a pizza and someone somewhere loses a pizza because of it. It’s not that big of a deal to lose a pizza. You just pay ten bucks and get another one.”

  I nodded. “Okay, okay. I think this is a really bad idea, but what do you want?”

  “Pizza.”

  I said, “I kind of want the giant sub sandwich. Like a Mike’s Deluxe. With ham and salami and roast beef and turkey.”

  “Wish for some root beer, too.” Henry grinned.

  I held the bottle in front of me. “I wish for a giant submarine sandwich with ham and salami and roast beef. Oh, and turkey. I wish for a double-pepperoni pizza—”

  “Triple!” said Henry.

  “Scratch that. Triple-pepperoni pizza. And I wish for some root beer, too.”

  “How long does it take?” said Henry.

  I held out the bottle again and added, “And I wish for it to be here in time for lun—”

  A crash outside interrupted us. We ran to the living room window and looked down. A blue car had smashed into a white van, right in front of the Bright House. Henry and I sprinted down the stairs.

  The car and van had hit each other head on. Steam was pouring out of the van. The front corner of the blue car was crushed in.

  “You were over in my lane!” yelled the driver of the van.

  “You were speeding,” said the car driver. “You must have been going at least forty.”

  “Now what am I gonna do?” said the driver of the van. “I’m never going to make my delivery.”

  Henry nudged me. The sign on the side of the white van said MSM DELI. Everyone in Tacoma knew MSM. They made the best submarine sandwiches on the planet. The driver of the van said, “I got a giant Mike’s Deluxe in the back. I got to get it out of there before the mayo goes bad.”

  Henry nudged me again and nodded toward the car. On the roof was a lit sign for Hasty’s Pizza. I turned to the driver of the van and said, “We’ll take your sandwich—I mean, if that would help.”

  “Take my pizza, too,” said the car driver. “The smell of all that pepperoni is giving me a splitting headache. Oh, and you might as well take the root beer.”

  A shudder went through me as we carried all the food back inside. The sandwich was so big it barely fit on our table. The pizza was so loaded with pepperoni that you couldn’t even see the cheese beneath it. We ate. It was delicious.

  Henry and I crawled into my room and sprawled on my mattress. Henry burped.

  “Your burp smells like pepperoni,” I said.

  “Tastes even better than it smells,” said Henry.

  I said, “But you saw what happened, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah…” Henry’s voice trailed off. “But that pizza was awesome.”

  “I can’t believe you,” I said. “You were all, ‘That thing is evil,’ and ‘You shouldn’t mess with it,’ and ‘I’m gonna throw it off this bridge to protect you,’ and now you’re just, ‘That pizza was awesome.’ ”

  “It was awesome.”

  “Yeah, and two guys almost got killed.”

  “They didn’t almost get killed. They just smashed their cars. And they probably both have insurance. No one died.”

  “Don’t you feel even a little guilty?”

  “Yeah, I do. I feel guilty. But mostly, I feel full. I wish I could take a nap.”

  “Stop with the wishing,” I said.

  “Sure. We should probably stop.”

  “Good. Then we agree.”

  “Right.” Henry rubbed his swollen belly. “But the possibilities! Think of what we could ask for.”

  “I do. I have been thinking about it. But now, every time I think about it, I also think about poor Mr. Shoreby.”

  “Who the heck is Mr. Shoreby?”

  “He’s the guy. From the cheese store.”

  “That guy? You call that guy poor? He drove a Ferrari, for goodness’ sake.”

  “Duh. That’s his Ferrari on the street, under the car cover. And Shoreby is dead.”

  Henry turned pale. “Dead? Like died dead?”

  “Like I wished for a Ferrari, then Shoreby died and left Dad his car in his will. I told you I went to his funeral today.”

  “You killed him.”

  “Don’t say that. Please don’t say that.”

  “You made a wish. And now he’s dead. You pretty
much killed him.”

  “Well, you pretty much made those poor guys crash their cars.”

  “Me?” said Henry. “You’re the one who wished.”

  “Yeah, because you begged me to.”

  Henry rubbed his stomach again. “You should get rid of that bottle. But we should have wished for some dessert, too.”

  Mom knocked on the door of my room. She had a football-shaped package of the leftover pizza and submarine sandwich, wrapped in aluminum foil. She told me to take it to Mrs. Sedley and Joanna.

  Henry begged to come along. “If she decides to punch you in the face, I want to be there to see it.”

  “I’m gonna wish for your lips to be sewn together,” I said.

  I knocked on Joanna’s door. She opened it and stared at us, then glanced down at the package in my hand.

  “What’s that?”

  “Food. My mom asked me to bring it up.”

  “We don’t need your leftovers. What’d you do, poison it?”

  “Who’s there?” said a voice from inside the apartment. “Is that the boy from downstairs? Invite him in, JoJo.”

  “Yeah,” I said, “Invite us in, JoJo.”

  Joanna clenched her teeth as we stepped inside her apartment.

  “Whoa,” said Henry. “It’s really—scarfy in here.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” said Joanna.

  “You know—there are lots of scarves everywhere.” Scarves were draped over the backs of chairs. Scarves covered the lamp shades. Big silk scarves the color of jewels hung around the windows like curtains. Scarves even hung from the smoke detectors on the walls. It gave the room a messy, cozy feel. “I like it,” said Henry, “but you gotta admit. It is super scarfy.”

  Mrs. Sedley’s voice called from a back room. Joanna growled as she led us through a bedroom door. Mrs. Sedley lay on a bed. Her head was wrapped in another of the scarves. She looked like a tired lady pirate. I guessed she must have been bald underneath, from her sickness. She smiled. “Thanks so much for bringing lunch. I don’t have much of an appetite these days, but I’m sure Joanna would love some. Wouldn’t you, JoJo?”

  Joanna growled again.

  “Honey, introduce me to your friends. Let’s see. It’s Gabe, right?”

  I nodded. “And this is Henry.”

  “It’s so nice to see some kids JoJo’s age in our apartment. You guys want to stay and watch a movie or something? We also have a whole closet of board games that hardly ever get touched.”

  “I like games,” said Henry. I tried to step on his foot, but he slipped it out of the way. “You got Monopoly?”

  “We sure do,” said Mrs. Sedley. “Honey, go get Monopoly and bring it into the living room. I think there’s some cookies on top of the fridge.”

  “Mom—”

  “Don’t argue. You need to socialize with actual humans once every few months. Just do it.”

  I glared at Henry on our way out. He grinned back at me.

  Joanna yanked a game out of the living room closet. “I’m gonna kill both of you. First I’m gonna kill you in Monopoly. Then I’m gonna kill you in real life.”

  “You really need to relax,” said Henry. “You could probably be nice if you just chilled out a little. Besides, Gabe is totally gonna win the game. Aren’t you, Gabe?”

  “What?” I said. “What are you talking about?”

  “Yeah, what are you talking about?” said Joanna. “I always win. I’m ruthless.”

  “I bet you are, but you’re not gonna win today. Gabe can win whenever he, ummm, wishes. Can’t you, Gabe?”

  “Not a chance,” said Joanna as she opened the board and began passing out money.

  “How about we make a bet?” said Henry.

  “Henry, would you just shut your mouth?” I said. “I’m not gonna do it.”

  “Do what?” asked Joanna.

  “Nothing. Doesn’t matter. Because I’m not gonna do it.”

  Joanna said, “Fine. Then shut up about it and give me the race car.”

  “No, no, no,” I said. “I’m always the race car.”

  “Not today,” said Joanna. “You can be the top hat.”

  “No. You don’t understand. I love cars. I am the race car. I can even tell you what kind of car it is.”

  “Wait. What? Are you kidding me?”

  “Nineteen-forties Kurtis Kraft midget racer.”

  “Okay, so you’re a car nerd. Who cares? I’m still the car.” She grabbed the car from Henry’s hand and tossed the top hat to me.

  I’d never played Monopoly without being the car. Joanna probably couldn’t tell a Ferrari 430 from a Ford Model T. I turned to Henry. He was staring at me, nodding. I nodded back.

  “Okay,” I said. “You be the car if you want to, but you’re gonna lose.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “So how about that bet?” said Henry. “If Gabe wins, then you have to stop bullying him at school.”

  “Bullying him? You think I’m bullying him?”

  “Yes I do. And if he wins, you have to stop. And you have to be nice to him. Really nice. Like every time you see him, you have to ask him how his day is going.”

  “Good lord. And what happens when I win? Do I get to kill him? Because I will win.”

  “Okay, Joanna, if you win, then, ummm, then Gabe—”

  “Then Gabe and you have to be my personal butlers for a month. And you have to wear top hats—like that one.”

  “Done!” said Henry.

  “You should have just let me be the car,” I said.

  “Too late,” said Joanna. She rolled the dice. “Eleven. I go first. Unless one of you gets double sixes.”

  Gabe stared at me, then nodded toward my pocket. I reached a hand in and touched the little bottle in there. I muttered quietly under my breath. “I wish that I would win this Monopoly game I’m playing right now,” I said.

  “You what?” said Joanna. “You wish? You can wish all you want. I’m still gonna kick your butt.”

  “It’s Gabe’s turn to roll.”

  I rolled. The dice landed with two sixes facing up. Joanna frowned, but said nothing. Henry rolled a four, so I went first.

  With my first turn, I began the fastest, most brutal game of Monopoly that has ever been played in the history of the world. Each time I rolled the dice, I got doubles exactly twice—enough to get extra turns, but never enough to go to jail. Each time I passed Free Parking, I landed on it and collected the money in the middle of the board. Each time Joanna rolled, she landed on one of my properties. Every minute, I grew richer and Joanna grew poorer. Soon, nearly every space on the board was covered in my houses and hotels. In less than half an hour, Joanna was broke and I won.

  Joanna glared at me. “How did you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “How did you win like that?”

  “I don’t know. I just won.”

  “He’s lucky, I tell ya!” said Henry. “Hey, JoJo, you want to practice your part of the deal right now?”

  Joanna glared at Henry. She balled up her fists. “I have to be nice to him. But I didn’t agree to anything about you.”

  WE SAT DOWN FOR DINNER that night without Dad. Mom said he was meeting with a former coworker. I shrugged and shoveled a mouthful of potatoes into my face.

  Dad came home a few minutes before my bedtime, looking tired. I sat on the couch watching TV while he and Mom sat at the kitchen table, but since our apartment was so small, I could hear almost every word of their conversation. They talked about some woman named Professor Everton, whom Dad must have met with that evening. This Everton person was apparently really upset about something. Dad talked about how smart she was and how she was a world-famous sociologist. I was almost asleep when I heard him say, “It’s weird to be the guy who got her job.”

  That line grabbed me. I moved to the end of
the couch and leaned in Dad’s direction so I could listen.

  Mom said, “It’s not your fault. And you need that job.”

  “I do. Sure. But she needs it, too. She’s got two kids and all the bills that come with them.”

  “Then she must have done something.”

  Dad said. “Maybe so, but she says she didn’t. She says she’s never had a complaint more serious than a kid whining about grades. And then one day she walks into work and is just flat-out fired.”

  I didn’t want to hear any more. I didn’t need to. I knew why Everton had lost her job. I had wished to the imp for a job for Dad. And the imp had delivered. He’d taken the job away from Everton and given it to Dad. Because of me.

  I started forming a speech—a confession. I practiced the words in my mind.

  Mom, Dad. I’m the one who got Everton fired.

  Oh, really? How’d you do that, Gabe?

  I wished it.

  Oh, honey, that doesn’t make it your fault.

  Yes, it does. I have this bottle. I got it from an old man at the cheese store. I wished for Dad to have a job and he got one. I wished for a Ferrari and we got one. I wished for a pepperoni pizza and I got one.

  That’s nice, dear. Now you just sit down on the couch and get it together, because what you’re saying is completely bonkers.

  I did feel a little unhinged. Such things don’t happen in the real world. But there were Mom and Dad, still talking about how miserable Everton was—how broken she seemed. So instead of confessing, I wished. I reached into my pocket, touched the bottle, and said, “I wish for Professor Everton to get a new job.”

  There. Fixed. At least I hoped it was fixed. I decided to go for a walk to clear my muddled head.

  “Where are you going?” said Dad.

  “For a walk.”

  “But it’s time for bed,” said Mom.

  “Just for a minute. I won’t go far.”

  “Don’t. Your father and I are going to sleep, so be sure to lock the door and turn off the lights when you come back in.”

  I nodded, then walked down the stairs toward the lobby, my head still spinning. Jimmy Hyde’s music was playing from behind his door. I could hear Mrs. Hashimoto talking to someone—maybe herself—while she worked in her studio. “Yes! That’s it. Beautiful as always.”