The Bottle Imp of Bright House

by Tom Llewellyn

  “You never know until you try.”

  So we tried. Dear Reader, it didn’t take much work to find Lancaster. A simple Google search revealed four newspaper stories about the Brackleys. One was about their winning lottery ticket. Another was an investigation into their second winning ticket. The third was about Lancaster. The headline read LOCAL BOY WINS STATE TENNIS CHAMPIONSHIP.

  The article told how Lancaster, an eighth grader who somehow made the high school team near the end of the season, had won every single game on his way to the state finals. His opponents had suffered broken ankles, groin pulls, dislocated shoulders, and even a couple of car wrecks. A photo showed Lancaster holding a huge silver cup over his head.

  “Jeez Louise,” said Henry. “Lancaster didn’t waste much time putting the old imp to work, did he?”

  The fourth article was the one that really caught my eye. The headline read BRACKLEY FAMILY CONVERTS MUSEUM INTO PRIVATE RESIDENCE. The article told how Danny and Goody Brackley, who had a son, Lancaster, had purchased a historic mansion that housed the Sullivan History Museum. They had fired the staff, cleared out the exhibits, and moved into the building. The article quoted one of the neighbors, who referred to the Brackleys as “the most hated family in Tacoma.”

  I found the address for the mansion. It was three-thirty when we climbed onto the number fourteen bus and headed west. The bus dropped us off about a mile from Lancaster’s address. We walked. A quarter mile before we came to the house, we could already see it.

  It was huge, standing up on a hill overlooking the Puget Sound, surrounded by a black wrought-iron fence. At the main gate we were greeted by a voice coming out of a speaker. We gave our names, and a minute later the gate swung open and the voice told us to walk up to the main house.

  A man in a suit answered the door. He introduced himself as Gherkin and said he would get Lancaster for us.

  A minute later, the door opened and Lancaster smiled at me. “Man, Silver, it sure is good to see a familiar face.” I introduced him to Henry and reminded him of Joanna’s name.

  Lancaster wore a brand-new Adidas tracksuit, with a couple of pounds of gold chains hanging around his neck. He was thin. His hair was shaggy and his skin was pale. He led us inside the mansion. It was huge. Just the entryway was as big as my family’s entire apartment. Beyond that, I saw a living room—if that’s what you call it in a mansion—that must have been a hundred feet in each direction.

  It was hard to notice much else about the mansion, because the place was jammed with so much stuff. Leather couches, chairs, tables, TVs, lamps, and every other type of furniture you could imagine filled every inch of the place, just as it had filled their little apartment at the Bright House.

  Lancaster didn’t seem to notice. He led us over and around the furniture, climbing across a sofa and table without comment. We followed after until we came to a couple of couches facing each other. We sat down, with our feet on the couches, as there was no visible floor to put them on. “So what’s up with you guys? How’s life back at the old dump?” I noticed his hands shook while he spoke.

  “About the same.” I said. “How’s life here?”

  “What do you think?” said Lancaster. “I mean, does it get any better than this? I’m probably the richest kid in America. Or one of them.”

  “How’s your mom and dad?”

  “Goody left. I gave her a couple of million and told her to take a hike. I’m not sure where Dad is these days. New York, last I heard. So I have this whole awesome place to myself. Hey, you guys want to play some video games? You should see how big my TV is.”

  I cleared my throat. “Actually, Lancaster, I came to talk to you about the bottle.”

  “I don’t want it.”

  “Wow. Really? That’s perfect, because—”

  “Do we have to talk about it? Wouldn’t you rather see my stereo collection? I’ve got a whole room full of nothing but stereos.”

  “I wanna see them,” said Henry. “That sounds amazing.”

  “I have one set of speakers so loud that I can actually blow the glass out of the windows. Come to think of it, we probably can’t go in that room right now.”

  “Lancaster, we really need to talk about—”

  “Hey, did I tell you about my zoo? I have a lion.”

  Joanna said, “You have a lion? In a cage?”

  “In a cage? That’s a good idea. And I have two zebras—or maybe only one now. And a boa constrictor and twelve monkeys.”

  “I love monkeys,” said Henry.

  “I have an octopus, too. I keep it in the pool.”

  “You have a pool?”

  “ ’Course I have a pool. That reminds me, Silver. Did you ever get my going-away present? The hot tub?”

  “That was you?”

  “Sure was. Bought it for you with my lottery winnings. Knew you’d love it. You’re welcome.”

  “Yeah. Thanks. But can we stay focused on the bottle? That’s why we’re here.”

  Lancaster frowned. “I said already that I don’t want it.”

  “That’s perfect.”

  “Don’t get me wrong. My life is awesome. Awesome house. All this awesome stuff. Awesome octopus. But it weighs on you—the bottle. You know what I mean?”

  “I sure do,” I said.

  “And it’s too much for—well, for me. For someone like me. Cause I—I can’t resist it.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have it,” I said.

  “I know. I shouldn’t. I can’t. Because you were right, Silver. That thing is bad news. Do you know what it made me do? Do you know how many people I’ve hurt?” He paused as a stream of monkey chittering echoed through the house. “The truth is I’m all alone in this place. My stepmom left. She left. I didn’t kick her out. My dad is afraid to come home. I hired servants, but they kept getting hurt whenever I’d wish for something. The only person who’s willing to stick around is Gherkin. You know why? I pay him a hundred thousand dollars each month, just so he doesn’t leave.”

  Henry gulped. “A hundred thousand? For a month? Hey, maybe I could stick around for a few weeks.” Joanna elbowed him in the side. “Ouch,” said Henry. “I was only kidding. But how much would you pay for a sleepover?”

  I said, “Lancaster, if you don’t want the bottle, then sell it back to me.”

  “What? I thought you had it and were trying to sell it to me again.”

  “You mean you don’t have it?”

  “No way. Haven’t you been listening? It was hurting people. So I sold it. And good riddance. I still have all this stuff. And tons of money. And I still get to keep—you know, my soul.”

  Joanna leaned forward. “Who’d you sell it to?”

  “Some guy named—oh, what was his name. Cavendish, I think. The guy who used to clean the pool.”

  Joanna said, “Do you know where we can find him?”

  “I think Gherkin knows him. I’ll have him drive you.”

  I thanked Lancaster. I looked at his pale skin and shaky hands. “You wanna come along?” I said.

  “Me? No. I don’t leave the house. Too dangerous out there. Someone like Cavendish might make a wish for one of my cars. That could kill me. I’m staying here.”

  “What if they wish for your whole house?” said Henry.

  “Shut up! Shut up! Just wait outside, would you? Gherkin will meet you out there.”

  GHERKIN DROVE US IN A LONG WHITE LIMOUSINE and dropped us off about seven miles away, at a huge house in Lakewood, right on the shore of American Lake. The house had one of those sweeping driveways. It was loaded with fancy cars.

  I knocked on the door, but a maid told us that Mr. Cavendish was out of town. She said he’d be back the next day. I left her my name and phone number on a piece of paper and said, “Be sure to tell him it’s about the bottle.”

  We began walking home. The Cavendish house was half a mile fr
om the nearest bus stop, and then we had to take three buses before we were within walking distance of the Bright House. The trip took more than two hours.

  We were rounding the corner on our block when my cell phone rang. I answered and put it on speakerphone. It was Cavendish. His voice was rough. There was a lot of noise in the background. “I’m calling from Chicago. At the airport. You left a message about a bottle?”

  “I’m a former owner,” I said.

  “So am I,” said Cavendish.

  “You mean you don’t have it?”

  “I only kept it for a weekend. Cleared a few million bucks. Got a bunch of cars and a couple of houses. Got a business—a chain of drugstores. Then I sold it—the bottle, I mean. Gave me the heebie-jeebies. Kept thinking I was going to get hit by a bus and be damned to hell forever.”

  “Who’d you sell it to?” I said.

  “It was a lot harder than I thought. Took me ten tries to find someone who would take it. Finally sold it to one of my former schoolteachers.” Cavendish gave me a name I recognized: Miss Kratz. Our language arts teacher.

  “So that’s how she got so rich,” I said. A question entered my mind. I asked it. “How much did you buy it for?”

  “Six cents,” said Cavendish.

  “Six?” my heart sank. “I sold it to Lancaster for ninety-nine cents. Why did he sell it to you for six?”

  “It was all I had on me.”

  I hung up.

  Dear Reader, believe me when I say I felt sick to my stomach. The bottle imp was only four sales away from the final owner—the owner whose soul would be claimed by the Devil. No wonder it was so hard for Cavendish to sell.

  I called the school. They wouldn’t give me Miss Kratz’s information, so I fired up Mom’s laptop and Googled Miss Kratz’s address. It took me awhile, because I don’t think most teachers like their contact info in the hands of their students, but I eventually found two addresses. One was a house a few miles away. The other address was listed as Slip F-18, Tyee Marina.

  “She lives at a marina?” said Henry.

  “Of course she does,” said Joanna, “if she wished for a boat. It’s probably a big one. Let’s try there first.”

  Forty-five minutes later, we leaned our bikes against the gate of Tyee Marina. The gate was locked, but we eventually managed to sneak in behind another visitor.

  We made our way to Slip F-18 and found Miss Kratz lying in a deck chair on the back of a huge white yacht. It was early June in Tacoma, but she was wearing a bikini.

  “That is a sight I had no desire to see,” whispered Henry.

  I knocked on the railing and said hello. Miss Kratz yawned. A lazy hand lifted her sunglasses. Her head jerked back when she recognized the three of us. “What are you kids doing here?” Her other hand groped about for her beach towel. She covered herself and sat up.

  “We came to talk about the bottle.”

  “The—the what? The bottle? What bottle?”

  “The one you wished on. The one that got you all of this.”

  Miss Kratz’s tan seemed to fade. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “I used to own it. I sold it to a kid named Lancaster Brackley. He sold it to a guy named Cavendish. Cavendish told us he sold it to you.”

  Miss Kratz stared at me. “And where did you get it?”

  “From an old man named Shoreby. You may have heard of him. He used to be the richest man in Tacoma.”

  “Used to be?”

  “Now he’s dead.”

  “What do you mean by dead?”

  Joanna stepped forward. “He means dead. Like in a coffin six feet underground. Shoreby sold the bottle just in time to keep his immortal soul from going to the Devil—”

  “Don’t say that!” Miss Kratz tightened the towel around herself. “There’s no need to bring all that up.”

  “But you know the rules, right?”

  “I know them! I know them. Look, don’t you kids have somewhere else you need to be? I’m not your teacher anymore. No one’s paying me to be nice to you.”

  “But we’re here to help,” said Joanna. “We’re here to keep the Devil from getting your soul.”

  Miss Kratz lifted her sunglasses again. “Yeah? And just how would you do that? Do you know what my plan was for this bottle? I told myself I’d only own it for a couple of days. Wish myself a few million dollars. Quit my job. Buy a boat. And then dump it before anything—you know—bad happens to me. Well I’ve tried to sell the thing a dozen times. You’d think it would be easy. I mean, look at my life. Look at what I own.”

  “Then what’s the trouble? Why isn’t anyone buying?”

  “Turns out people care more about their souls than you’d think. And there are only a few sales left in it. I bought it from Cavendish for five cents. And I can’t find anyone who’ll buy it for four. It’s too close to—to the you-know-what.”

  “The Devil,” said Joanna.

  “Stop—saying—that,” said Miss Kratz. “You are a rude girl, Joanna. I never liked you.”

  “I never liked you, either,” said Joanna, “but I’ll buy the bottle right now.”

  “Wait a sec!” said Henry. “Joanna, didn’t you hear what she just said? She can’t find anyone to buy it for four cents. When you sell it, you’ll have to find someone who will buy it for three. What if you get stuck with it?”

  “Don’t listen to him.” Miss Kratz reached into a bag right beside her deck chair. “I’ll sell it. I have it right here.”

  “I want it,” said Joanna.

  “No!” said Henry. “You can’t do it!”

  Joanna pushed Henry away from her. She dug into her pocket and pulled out a handful of coins. She held out four pennies to Miss Kratz. “I even have exact change.”

  Miss Kratz looked at her. “You’re so young.”

  “I’m old enough to know what I’m doing.”

  “Then get a boat,” said Miss Kratz. “The boat is real nice. I like the boat. You already know the rules?”

  Joanna nodded. Miss Kratz said the words that made the bottle Joanna’s. Joanna handed over the four pennies. As soon as she held the bottle in her hands, she said, “I wish that my mom would be cured of her cancer. Right now.”

  Miss Kratz grabbed Joanna by her arm. “That’s what you wanted? To help your mom? You could have just asked me to wish for you.”

  “Asked you? To help me? You’re serious?”

  “ ’Course I’m serious. I’m not that bad. Am I?”

  “You’re not exactly Mother Teresa. But I couldn’t ask. Not even you,” said Joanna. She met my eyes before continuing. “I know how this thing works. I know that someone else might get hurt. That’s bad enough. I couldn’t add to that by making you hurt someone for me. I can barely stand to do it myself. At least this way I’ve also freed you.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Miss Kratz. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” Then she giggled. “But I am free from it, aren’t I? I’m free from the bottle, and I get to keep my soul. And my boat.” She giggled some more. It was creepy. There was nothing funny, but she just kept giggling away. She was still giggling when we left.

  Joanna tucked the bottle into the pocket of her jeans. We climbed onto our bikes and rode back to the Bright House. My hands were shaking so much it was hard to ride I think we were all desperate to see if Joanna’s mom was feeling better. But I was nervous about Joanna being stuck with that bottle.

  When we reached the building, we piled our bikes onto the sidewalk without locking them and pounded up the stairs. Joanna opened the door and we pushed into her apartment.

  Mrs. Sedley’s body lay sprawled out on the living room floor.

  JOANNA FELL TO THE GROUND by her mother’s body. “Mom!” She grabbed Mrs. Sedley’s shoulders and began shaking her.

  Mrs. Sedley’s eyes opened wide. “Joanna? What’s wrong?” she
said. She looked around the apartment from her position on the floor of the living room. “Oh, I see. You thought—oh, honey, I’m so sorry.”

  “Why are you down here?”

  “I don’t know.” She squinted at her watch. “About half an hour ago I was doing a little cleaning, and then I grew suddenly tired. And the floor just looked so comfortable. I just wanted to lie down. I must have fallen asleep.” She yawned. “It was a delicious nap until you started shaking me.”

  “Half an hour ago,” said Joanna. “That’s about right. But how do you feel now?”

  “Me? Fine.”

  “No, seriously. How do you really feel?”

  “I feel fine, honey. Now quit cross-examining me. You’d think I was the child and you were the mom. But I’m the mom. And this mom is…well, this mom is going to cook something. What sounds good?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How about pancakes? You boys want some pancakes?”

  “Heck yes,” said Henry.

  “Pancakes it is.” Mrs. Sedley stood up. She stretched, then noticed we were all staring at her.

  “What are you looking at? I’m fine.” She walked into the kitchen.

  I whispered, “How do we know if she’s really better?”

  Joanna shrugged. “Probably need doctors and stuff to know for sure. But she seems a little better, doesn’t she?”

  I could hear Mrs. Sedley singing in the kitchen. Yes. She seemed better.

  Later that night, I texted with Joanna.

  Well?

  I think she’s better. It’s hard to tell. She just ordered a bunch of Chinese food for dinner.

  After all those pancakes?

  She said she was still hungry.

  Is that good?

  I think so.

  When are you going to sell the bottle?

  Not until I make sure that she’s really better.

  Over the next few days, Joanna continued to update me on her mom’s progress. She told me Mrs. Sedley was sleeping better, eating more, and starting to take walks around the neighborhood.