The Bottle Imp of Bright House

by Tom Llewellyn

  “Why don’t you quit and get a better job?” I asked. “Seems like you’re good at fixing everything.”

  “I have no papers,” said Alejandro. “As long as I work for her, I get to stay in America. If I quit, Mrs. Appleyard promises to turn me in to the government. They will send me back to my country or perhaps even put me in jail.”

  “That’s rotten,” I said.

  “Those are my options. Mrs. Appleyard gave them to me.” He slathered more plaster onto his ceiling patch. His cell phone rang. He answered it, listened for a few seconds, then hung up. “It’s Mrs. Appleyard. She says she needs me right away. Says she forgot to tell me something. Something urgent.” He looked at the ceiling. “All fixed. I’ll let that dry for a day or so and then come back and paint it.” He carried his ladder and tools into the hall.

  Dear Reader, it was the last time he would enter our apartment. The patch would never be painted.

  When he left, I stared at his work. For some reason, it made me think of Mrs. Sedley. Maybe because she’d been in need of repair, too. Maybe because she’d had to wait so long. But now she was fixed. Joanna had fixed her. Maybe at the cost of her own soul. Maybe at the cost of someone else’s life.

  And then the reading of Doctor Mandrake zoomed out of some back corner of my head. It finally made sense to me.

  I ran over to Joanna’s apartment and pounded on her door. When she answered, I dragged her into the hallway. The words gushed out of my mouth. “Mandrake. His prophecy or whatever you call it. His thing about you. About you standing over the woman. Don’t you see?”

  “What are you talking about?” said Joanna.

  “It’s—it’s the thing. With Hashimoto. It’s not some stranger.”

  Joanna slugged me in the arm. “Would you just stop blathering like an idiot?”

  “Oh, don’t you get it? What was it that Mandrake said? About you?”

  “You know what he said. About my mom. Broken beyond repair.”

  “Right. And you were what? Standing over her, right? I’m positive that’s what he said.”

  “So?”

  “So you’re the one who’s being an idiot. Don’t you get it? It just happened. In Hashimoto’s studio. But it wasn’t your actual mother. It was a painting of her. And she—I mean the painting—was broken.”

  “Beyond repair,” said Joanna. “Oh my gosh. You’re right, Gabe. So Mandrake was right after all.”

  “Yeah, but who cares about that. That’s not why I’m telling you.”

  “Then what?”

  “Don’t you get it? It’s the price.”

  “The what?”

  “The trade-off. You know. With the bottle. If one person wins, someone else has to lose. Your mom was fixed, right? So another mom had to be broken.”

  “So Hashimoto is the one who paid?” Joanna blinked a few times, then turned her face away from me. “Do you really think that settles it? That—I mean—that no one else will, you know, get hurt?”

  “I’m sure of it.”

  Joanna wiped her eyes with her sleeve, then turned back toward me, smiling. “Then that takes care of that.”

  “Now we just have to figure out how to—”

  “Oh, shut up, Gabe. I know. I have to sell the bottle before I lose my soul. I get it. You don’t have to keep saying it over and over, like you’re worried that I’d forgotten about it. It’s all I think about. I get it. Okay? I get it.” She stomped back into her apartment and slammed the door.

  Joanna could be such a pain. But she was the only one I knew who had gotten the bottle and not wished for something stupid. No boats. No Ferraris. No pizza. No hot tubs. No giant houses. She’d only wished for her mom to get better.

  Everyone else seemed to have escaped, but now Joanna was stuck with the bottle. What if she couldn’t sell it? What if something happened to her? What if she died before this all got figured out?

  As I stood in the hallway, staring at her door, I decided.

  I didn’t decide because I’m a hero or anything. Not because I’m more selfless than other people. I think it was more that I was tired of worrying about Joanna and her soul. Somehow, it would be easier if I were worrying about my own.

  I WALKED UP TO JOANNA’S APARTMENT DOOR AGAIN and had my hand out to knock. I stopped. I knew she’d never sell it to me. Not in a million years. I’d ask. She’d say no. I’d beg. She’d tell me to shut up and go home. Somewhere in there she’d slug me. I rubbed the sore spot on my arm again.

  Another idea struck me. I did the math in my head, let out my breath, and went down to the first floor. I knocked on Alejandro’s door.

  He opened it. His eyes were wide and beads of sweat covered his forehead. I asked if I could come inside. He frowned. He looked around the lobby as if making sure no one was watching, then let me in.

  I knew his apartment would be small, but I didn’t expect it to be so—so beautiful. It was the only word that really fit. The whole place reminded me of the cabin on a yacht, if you made a yacht out of wood scraps.

  The ceiling of the room sloped down in steps, because the room was under the stairs. The walls were paneled in intricate squares of wood, perfectly fitted together and then sanded and oiled so smooth and shiny that I swear I could almost see my reflection. Crowded bookshelves and ornate cabinets made use of every bit of space. The wooden furniture gleamed. A small table, inlaid with designs, was built into one wall. The space where the stair-ceiling went down to the ground was filled by a narrow bed that looked snug but comfortable. The floor was mostly covered in woven carpets that felt cushy under my feet. On the walls, the only interruptions to all that beautiful wood were the smoke detectors. They were in there, too.

  “Wow,” I said.

  “You like it?”

  “It’s very nice.”

  “Thank you. I’ll be sad to see it go.”

  Then I noticed the suitcases on the floor, half-filled with clothes and tools. “You’re leaving?”

  “Right now. You should go and pack, too. The day has finally come.” He turned from me to move some books into one of the suitcases.

  “Alejandro, hold on a sec. I need to talk to you about something.”

  “I can’t stop,” he said. “The schedule.” He looked at his watch.

  “What schedule? This will only take a minute.” Before he could answer, I plowed into my story, telling Alejandro I had an offer for him—one that would help me out, but that could help him out, too. I told him everything, starting all the way back with meeting Mr. Shoreby and ending with Joanna’s predicament—being stuck with the bottle. At first, he kept packing and checking his watch while I talked. A minute in, he stopped packing and drew a cross necklace out from under his shirt and kissed it.

  I pulled five pennies out of my pocket. I handed three of them to Alejandro and said, “So here’s my offer: You buy the bottle from Joanna for three cents, and then I promise to buy it from you for two. When you have it, you can wish for whatever you want. Wish for a million dollars if you like, so you can get away from Mrs. Appleyard. Wish for U.S. citizenship. I guarantee you’ll get whatever you ask for.”

  “And when I get what I want, then someone else will lose?”

  “It seems that way. It seems like—you know—like some kind of scale has to balance out.”

  His nose twitched and his eyes grew wide. “Do you smell smoke?” I shook my head no. Alejandro said, “It is this story, then. I thought the building was on fire, but I realize I’m smelling the smoke of hell on this situation.” He kissed his cross again. “I sell it back to you for two cents, but then what? Then you’ll be stuck with it. If the girl cannot find anyone to buy it for three cents, how will you find anyone to buy it for one?”

  I shrugged.

  Alejandro said, “You are going to be stuck with it, then you’ll die and the Devil will get your soul. Why would you want to do this?”

 
“That’s my business.”

  “Perhaps you have not thought this through. You are just a child.”

  “I’ve thought it through. I know what it means.”

  Alejandro shook his head. “You picked a crazy day to make such an offer. But I have no more time to argue. If I buy this for you and you cheat me—if you do not buy it back from me—I think God will strike you dead.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised,” I said. “I won’t cheat you.”

  He checked his watch one more time. “Wait here.” Alejandro took my three cents and left.

  I waited. I half hoped he’d come back without the bottle in his hand. I sniffed to see if I could smell smoke, too.

  Almost half an hour later, Alejandro pushed through the door in a rush. “I did it! She didn’t believe me at first. And then it took a long time to convince her. Too long. But I did. Finally. When I left, the girl was weeping like a baby. I think she will sleep well tonight.” He held the bottle out to me. “Now you just need to buy it back. And quickly.”

  “Sure. But before you return it to me, you should make some wishes with it. Wish for riches. For a million dollars. For a house. Whatever you’d like.”

  Alejandro smiled, his watery eyes even wetter than usual. “I might have accidentally wished for a truck while I was walking down the stairs just now. I’ve always wanted a nice truck.” He held out the bottle. “But now I only want to be rid of this. For the sake of my soul.”

  I stared at the bottle. I was supposed to take it. I’d promised I would. But what if I didn’t? Right then, at that moment, I was still free.

  “Hurry,” Alejandro said. He tapped his finger on the nearest smoke alarm. “The schedule.”

  I felt the pennies in my pocket.

  He said, “Buy it back from me. You swore you would!”

  “I know. I know, I know. Just give me a minute.”

  “We do not have a minute,” said Alejandro. His shoulders slumped. “You poor child. Perhaps I should just keep it. I’m old and won’t get much more happiness in this life. As for the next—”

  “Oh, give the stupid thing to me!” I said. I pulled out two pennies and threw them on his floor. Then I grabbed the bottle.

  “I sell it to you, then!” shouted Alejandro. “I bless you, boy! I bless you! Now, go to your family and get them out! The schedule!”

  “What schedule?”

  “Mrs. Appleyard’s schedule. It has come due!”

  His shouts were interrupted by a deep boom somewhere in the building. A high-pitched alarm sounded far away. Then another. I smelled smoke—for real this time.

  “Her—Mrs. Appleyard’s schedule? Is she—is she really?”

  “Do you ever listen? She’s burning down the building,” said Alejandro. “Right now!”

  I almost ran into Mrs. Appleyard when I stepped out of Alejandro’s door. She stared at me, her eyes narrow. I heard someone call my name, over and over. It was Joanna. I pushed past Mrs. Appleyard and ran up the stairs.

  I met Joanna on the second-floor landing. Her hands were shaking as she grabbed me. “I sold it,” she said. “It’s gone.”

  More smoke alarms joined in, shrieking at us. “We need to get out of here,” I said. “The building is on fire.”

  Joanna said, “I know, but Alejandro—he practically begged me for it. For the bottle. I tried to talk him out of it, but he said he wanted it—and that it would bring no harm to him. Like he knew some way out. Anyway, it’s gone, Gabe. It’s gone. And we’re—”

  Joanna stopped mid-sentence when she noticed the bottle in my hand. She said, “Why do you have it?” She slumped down on the floor. “You—you bought it?”

  I nodded.

  “Why?”

  “To save you,” I said. “Can we talk about this later? The building is on fire!”

  Joanna’s mom was already hustling down the hallway with an armful of photo albums. I ran into my apartment.

  All the smoke alarms were singing in unison now, like a choir from hell. Dad ran in after me, “Oh, thank God, Gabe. We just got home and couldn’t find you outside. We have to get out of here. The building is on fire!”

  Mom rushed in behind Dad. A few seconds later, she jammed a stack of photo albums into my arms—more than I could carry. “Take these and get outside.”

  “Photo albums? What is it with moms and photo albums?”

  “Because everything else is replaceable. Now go!”

  In the chaos, I set the bottle down on a table so I could hold the albums. We all ran out. Doctor Mandrake was in front of us on the stairs, shuffling his way down one step at a time.

  “Hurry!” I shouted.

  “I am doing my best,” he said. “Oh! Sea Goat! My books! My crystals! My glow-in-the-dark stars! All shall be lost in the flames!”

  We all tumbled out onto the front sidewalk. The building was belching smoke now. Shaky orange light showed through the black smoke. But at least we were all outside, all safe.

  Mom stacked her photo albums on the sidewalk, next to piles of Jimmy Hyde’s paintings wrapped in Hashimoto’s red cloth. Dad was ticking off our names, making sure everyone was accounted for. “Alejandro, Joanna, Mrs. Sedley, Mandrake, Hashimoto, Hyde, all of us Silvers are here, right? One, two, three, four, and me—hey, where’s Mrs. Appleyard?”

  We all looked around. She was nowhere to be seen. Dad said, “Should one of us go back inside? Go look for her? Is she here?” Mom ran across the street to check at Hank’s Bar. Dad stepped toward the building. Alejandro grabbed his arm. “It is not safe,” Alejandro said. “And the firefighters should be here soon. We should wait for them.”

  “Wait? We can’t wait! She could be dead by the time they get here.”

  “We should wait. Trust me.”

  Then I remembered the bottle. It was still inside. I knew it couldn’t break, but what if it could burn? I was the owner now. If the bottle was destroyed, what would happen to my soul? Would I be free? Or damned?

  “The bottle is still in there,” I said to Joanna.

  “What are you thinking?” said Joanna. “Don’t go back inside. You can’t.”

  “I’ve got to. Who knows what will happen if I don’t.” Before she could say another word, I ran—right through the front door, back into the fire. I heard voices shouting after me, begging me to stop.

  I sucked in my breath and held it as I pounded up the stairs. I crashed into our apartment. I had to crouch low, as the smoke was thick near the ceiling. The air was hot. The fire must be nearby. It might burst through a wall or a floor at any second.

  I squinted through the smoke and saw the bottle on the table, right where I left it. I grabbed it and the hot surface nearly burned my hand.

  My lungs were straining for more air. I ran back through the door and made it halfway down the stairs before the air was clear enough for me to take a breath. I sucked in, then saw Mrs. Appleyard.

  She stood on the stairway, blocking my path. Her hands gripped the railings on each side. “I want it, Ten Cents.”

  “Out of my way,” I cried. “I can’t die in here! I can’t.”

  “I ain’t letting you by unless you give it to me. That bottle. Right there.”

  A few feet above me, fire ate through the walls. “We need to get out of here! And I can’t give it to you. I’d have to sell it to you.”

  “Then tell me a price.”

  “No! Let me by!”

  “I seen you with it, Ten Cents, plenty of times. Heard you whispering about it. Seen Doctor Mandrake fussing over it. Took me a while, but I finally figured it. I know that’s how you got all that stuff—that car, that hot tub. I know that’s how the Brackleys got all-of-a-sudden rich again. Maybe that’s how come Mrs. Sedley’s all miracle-cured, too. A few too many miracles around here. So hand it over.”

  Smoke and heat forced me down another step until I was looking right in the face
of Mrs. Appleyard.

  “I told you, I can’t just give it to you. I have to sell it.”

  “Name your price!” she shouted. I could just hear her above the screech of the smoke alarms and the roar of the fire.

  “It’s only a penny.”

  “A penny? Come on, Silver. The real price!”

  “It really is a penny, but there’s a cost to wishing on it! Your gain is someone else’s loss. And your soul—the rules say that the next person who buys it will—well, the Devil will take them!”

  “Ha! I don’t care nothing about that! You’ve seen how I live. You know me. The truth of me. I reckon I’m going to the Devil anyway. And this bottle sounds like it could be the best thing I’ve struck yet.”

  A chunk of burning ceiling fell down between us. Mrs. Appleyard kicked it to the side. The stairway above me collapsed to the floor below. She reached inside her dress pocket and pulled out a penny. “If you’re selling, I’m buying. Hand it over.”

  I coughed in the smoke. “I can’t do that—not even to you.”

  “I’m giving you options, Ten Cents. Sell it to me, or the two of us are gonna die in here. And the Devil will take us both.”

  I gave in. I held out the bottle and took the penny in exchange. “Then I sell it to you, Mrs. Appleyard.”

  She wrapped her hands around the bottle. “It’s mine now. And I’m selfish with my wishes, so you better scat.” She stepped aside. I rushed past her, took the rest of the stairs in two jumps, and ran out the door. I dove across the porch and landed on the sidewalk in a heap.

  Just a few seconds later, the top two floors of the Bright House crashed to the ground. Fire roared out through the front door as if it was chasing me.

  Joanna helped me to my feet. “Mrs. Appleyard—” I whispered.

  We looked back at the building—the inferno. No one could go in there now. And no one was coming out. The smoke alarms had fallen silent, replaced by the roar of the fire and the sounds of fire trucks.

  “Gabe,” said Joanna, “the bottle. Where is it?”

  “It’s gone,” I said. “Sold and gone.”