Imp in a Bottle

      Miriam was the last person anyone would expect to have an imp in a bottle. For one thing, she didn’t like disorder. She was the kind of woman who organized cupboards, straightened picture frames and folded washcloths into neat triangles – even in other people’s houses. She prepared her taxes on New Year’s Day, kept her warranties and instruction manuals alphabetized, and wrote lists of lists she still needed to write.

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     So when Miriam received the bottle with the ugly figurine, she itched to throw it in the trash where it belonged. She couldn’t have said what made her put it on the kitchen windowsill in her small apartment instead. Maybe because the gift giver was Robert – the office heartthrob with an industrial-sized chin and enough swagger to tip a cow. Not that she cared about those kinds of things.

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     As Miriam unwrapped the secret Santa present at the office holiday party, Robert chuckled, giving himself away. “It’s just so you,” he’d drawled.

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     The plain bottle had the lid tightly screwed on. It looked more like a canning jar for peaches than a display piece for a hideous wooden sculpture. The figure’s face was scrunched, forcing the brows over the eyes. A hooked nose protruded over the frowning mouth. The arms were crossed over the chest, resting on the round belly. Spindly legs ended in enormous feet with bulbous toes. Even so, Miriam admired the extraordinary detail and shades of gleaming wood.

​​

     Miriam looked at Robert, who quickly looked away from her serious face. “I’m not sure I understand,” she admitted. “Do I have something in common with this… gift?” While she knew she wasn’t bound for the runway, she didn’t think she was a gruesome caricature. Wisps of her fine blonde hair often escaped from her customary braid. Her blue eyes were clear and bright in her pale, angular face. Her long, slight figure had made her feel underdeveloped in high school, but a boon as she approached middle age.

​​

     “It’s a joke,” he mumbled, looking at their coworkers for support. No one met his appeal. The gift was an oddity for an oddity, or maybe a misnomer – something whimsical for someone stern. But they were a little intimidated by her cool efficiency and disinterested air.

​​

     “Thank you,” Miriam said, unsure. She sometimes had a hard time understanding other people’s jokes. While she suspected they were at her expense, she knew her lack of giggles prevented the Roberts of the world from asking her out. Which didn’t bother her. Not even a little. Really.

​​

     The imp stood lifeless in the bottle on the shelf until nightfall. It looked out of place next to the chrome coffee grinder and stainless-steel faucet. As the sun set behind the mountains and Miriam brewed her evening tea, she heard a creaking from the jar. She looked over and saw the creature’s arms unfolding from its chest and its puckered mouth stretching in a yawn. It reached back to scratch its drooping behind. It moved slowly – stiff and creaky, as wood should be. One eyebrow lifted, allowing an eye to peer at Miriam.

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     At the sight of the human woman, both of the imp’s eyes flew wide open and it placed its long fingers against the glass. “Not again,” it moaned.

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     Miriam froze, teabag dangling from one immobile hand over a cup of steaming water. She stared at the creature with a pinched expression.

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     The imp stared back and frowned, the lines of its face dragging down. “You got a problem, lady? I’d say I’m the one with the problem. You’re not stuck in a goddam jar.” Its voice sounded like scraping rocks.

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     Miriam slowly lowered the bag into her mug. “You must be some sort of animatronic toy,” she said, voice strained. “I assumed you were a strange thrift store find, but perhaps you’re more sophisticated than I had guessed.”

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     “A toy?” The imp’s eyes widened even farther and its hands curled into fists. “A toy? Did I call you a lady? You’re a shit for brains, is what you are.” At Miriam’s shocked face, the imp grinned and pointed one long finger at her before launching into a string of profanities.

​​

     Miriam stared into her tea while the imp suggested her face had similarities to certain animals’ posteriors, made guesses about her lineage (particularly in regards to her mother, assuming much about her assumed profession and personal hobbies) and implied she commit self-harm with an interesting assortment of objects ill-fitted to the job.

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     “Are you done?” Miriam asked when the imp finally took a breath. It glared at her. “Didn’t you ever hear that you can catch more flies with honey?”

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     “Who the hell wants to catch flies?”

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      Miriam’s lips twitched, despite herself. “Indeed,” she acknowledged. The two glared at each other for long moments before Miriam said, “I’m obviously tired. I’m going to bed now and things will be better in the morning. Normal.”

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     The imp turned to look out the kitchen window. “The sun just went down,” it noted. “And you’re going to bed already. Are you always boring? Or is it just today?”

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     Miriam paused. “Boring is subjective,” she said. “There’s nothing wrong with being predictable and reliable.”

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     The imp rolled its eyes, but before it could speak again, Miriam turned and trudged up the stairs to her bedroom.

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#

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     Miriam spent a long night listening to the imp sing bawdy songs, howl at the moon and hold loud arguments with itself. But when she came downstairs the next day, the creature was a wooden figure again – stuck in the same pose as when she’d received it. Miriam picked up the jar and examined the imp within, tilting the bottle in several directions, but it didn’t move.

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     Nodding to herself, Miriam set the container back on the windowsill. “As I thought,” she said. “Better in the morning.”

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     But Miriam couldn’t explain why things were different around her house. She’d swear that even if (and that was a giant, italicized IF) the imp had been alive and escaped its prison, there was no way it could’ve or would’ve done such inexplicable acts.

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     It looked like someone had tried to run the washing machine – while it was full of bananas, newspaper and a small can of paint. The clothes that had been in the dryer looked like they’d been shredded by a pack of wild wolverines.

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     Other, smaller items were out of place – things that only a person can recognize in their own home. Shoes in the wrong corner of the room. Bathroom towels on the floor. Spices rearranged on the rack. Harmless, but grating to someone like Miriam.

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     She continued her slow tour into the living room. Every book was taken from the shelves and stacked in such a way as to spell out SCREW YOU. She was impressed with the skill it must’ve taken to balance the books like that – it seemed a gravitational impossibility. “I am going to work,” she announced aloud, her voice shaking. “I will deal with this tomorrow.” The imp did not reply, much to her relief.

 

#

 

     That night, Miriam stood and watched the figure in the bottle as the sun sank in the sky. She held a cup of calming chamomile in her hands, hoping she was just under too much stress. Maybe she had caused the mess in her house without remembering it. She was already considering the next practical steps to find a reputable doctor when the imp creaked awake again.

 

     With a huge yawn and belly scratch, it peered at her through the glass. “You still?”

 

     “What are you?” Miriam asked, her voice flat.

 

     The imp grinned at her. “I told you what you were last night,” it said. “Maybe you’d like a chance to tell me.”

 

     “You’re chaos,” she accused.

 

     The imp shrugged. “Pretty much, yeah. That the best you got?”

 

     Miriam shook her head. “No, no, no…” she moaned. “I can’t have this sort of disorder in my life.”

 

     The imp looked at her, confused. “Disorder is the worst thing?” It shook its head. “Don’t you know a little chaos can be fun? Healthy even?”

 

     Miriam didn’t reply. She stared through the kitchen doorway, into the living room and at the stacked books. The imp shrugged and splayed its hands. “Then let me go,” it suggested.

 

     Miriam opened her mouth and snapped it shut. “It didn’t even occur to you, did it?” The imp sounded disgusted. “You have a living creature trapped in a storage container and didn’t even consider, ‘Oh hey, maybe it would like to escape prison. Do things. See people.’ And you think I’m the monster.”

 

     “Someone probably put you in there for a reason,” Miriam said. She gestured around her house. “To keep you from doing… whatever this is.”

 

     “Obviously didn’t work, did it? So what’s the point of keeping me in here?”

 

     “How did you do all this?” Miriam asked.

 

     “A magician never tells his secrets,” it said with a smug tone. “Unless they get a lot of money and attention. Then they’ll betray that shit in a second.”

 

     Miriam considered the imp for a moment. “You might be too dangerous to let out,” she decided. “I just don’t know. But you can’t stay in here.” She grabbed the bottle and took it outside to the tiny balcony typical of apartments everywhere. The imp looked at her, amused, and Miriam felt a wave of unease. “Goodnight,” she mumbled and rushed back inside, thudding the glass door closed behind her.

 

#

 

     On the third morning, Miriam’s phone was unlocked and had sent messages to everyone in her address book. Surely, Miriam thought, they would know her phone had been hacked when they saw the online video clip of a dog humping a steering wheel (honking in time with the dog’s excitement). Miriam’s best friend would be one of the most surprised recipients – the two hadn’t spoken in years. Already, a string of notifications and replies had built up on the screen.

 

     She decided to ignore the notifications – she needed coffee, strong coffee, to deal with this. But the combined coffee brewer-espresso machine’s cord ended in frayed wires, no plug. Meanwhile, coffee grounds had been stuffed into the toaster.

 

     Miriam was surprised by a sudden urge to throw the little monster into the oven. Surprised – and a little pleased. It had been a while since she’d felt such a surge of unreasonable feeling. Instead, she retrieved the bottle from the balcony and put it back on the windowsill. Then, moving with a calm she didn’t feel, she showered, dressed and walked to the neighborhood coffee shop.

 

     It was irritating to wait in line at a café when she should’ve been able to make a perfectly good Americano at home. It would also be awkward to talk to an over-perky barista who would undoubtedly mess up both her name and order. At least she would get to pay exorbitant prices for the experience.

 

     As Miriam stood, thinking about the mess waiting for her when she got home, she glanced over at the bulletin board. As with any coffee shop, pinned pages layered and crowded the board’s surface. If Miriam were so inclined, she could visit Costa Rica with a group for an immersive experience to improve her foreign language skills. She could learn to play the drums, piano, ukelele and even the lyre. She could join a book club that only studied James Joyce’s incomprehensible works.

 

     One paper caught her eye. It was a job announcement for a copy editor at a local small press. She needed an English degree, which most people would be surprised to know she had. It would also require someone meticulous and focused who enjoyed contemporary fiction. Check, check and check. The pay was abysmal – nearly half of what she was making now. But she reached out and grabbed one of the little tabs to take home with her.

 

     A pile of what if?s filtered through her head. What if she quit her job at the accounting firm, which she secretly hated? She was always stuck with the work no one else wanted to do, because what others thought was a boring aptitude for numbers was actually just patience and an eye for a detail. It made her especially good at balancing the books. Did the others appreciate her for it? No, they snickered and snubbed her in the halls and at lunch. The funny thing, she thought as she re-read the announcement’s contact info, was that she had always preferred words to numbers. How she had gotten here was as much a mystery to her as anyone else.

 

     What if she got this job? What if she loved it?

     

     By the time Miriam reached the counter, she was smiling as she spelled her name and repeated her order for the barista.

 

#

 

     Miriam sipped her espresso as she considered her apartment. Next steps: Contact a repair shop for the clothes washer. Apologize to her contacts for the horny dog video. Research what in the hell was happening.

 

     After scheduling an available service appointment, Miriam started texting her family and handful of friends and colleagues. She was surprised to see their initial responses to the video:

    

     omg are you drunk? thats hilarious. why didnt you invite me?

     This is the funniest thing you have ever sent. Check out this video of a cat that just can’t stop licking himself.

     girrrrl, where u been

     Is this a hint? I know a guy.

 

     Miriam took a deep breath before opening her best friend’s reply. When she did, she stared at the screen for a long moment.

 

     LOL, thanks for the pick me up. It’s really good to hear from you. You wanna catch up over lunch?

 

     No direct mention of the time that had passed. Or the nasty things they’d said to each other last time they’d spoken. Miriam knew neither of them had forgotten – but had they both forgiven? Was Miriam the only one holding onto a grudge? She paused before replying. Did she want them to reunite? The honest answer was that she wasn’t sure. But it was interesting to know it was an option.

 

     Miriam shot off a few texts to her other contacts, smiling at their myriad responses. It had been a while since she’d talked to any of them, she realized. She’d gotten… busy? No – if she was honest, it was easier and tidier to be alone. But also less fun.

 

     Scrolling through long-gone messages, Miriam was surprised by how much she missed these people and how much time had actually passed. She hadn’t meant to withdraw completely – just rest a little more, take a break, recharge. Apparently, she’d been recharging for years. But they still responded when she (well, the imp) reached out.

 

     Speaking of the imp – time to figure out what to do about this curse. A quick internet search told her how to ward off unwanted mythological creatures. Sprinkling salt or holy water around windows and doorways, putting cold iron over the entrances to her home, laying out a bowl of milk at night. As she read these solutions, she also read several names for what she might have: brownies, gremlins, imps. She wasn’t sure why she grabbed onto the word imp. This was twice in one day she followed a gut feeling about something without questioning why. If this kept up, she’d be consulting crystals and cards instead of logic and research for all her decisions.

    

      Feeling ridiculous, Miriam refined her search: How do I get rid of an imp in my home?

 

     Before Miriam could read whatever crazy answers the internet had to offer, a knock came at the door.

 

     Embarrassed, Miriam turned off her phone and set it facedown on the kitchen counter for good measure. She opened the door to find a nice-looking man in a blue work shirt, holding a toolbox in one hand and a phone in the other.

    

     They stared at each other for a minute before he cleared his throat and glanced back down at his screen. “Uh, Miriam Walker? Got something in your washer?”

 

     Miriam flushed bright red. This guy with the easy smile and kind eyes was going to see her washer full of garbage and paint. Why couldn’t they have sent someone gross and mean? A troll to clean up after her imp.

     The repairman misunderstood her hesitance. “I’m Scott,” he said, showing her his driver’s license. “From WashWorks.” He tapped the logo on his shirt with the card.

 

     “Yeah…” Miriam said reluctantly, opening the door wider. “I’m sorry for what you’re about to deal with, Scott.”

 

     Scott’s cheeks also reddened under his tidy, sandy-colored beard at the sound of his name. “I’m sure I’ve seen worse,” he assured her.

 

     After kneeling down to view the newspaper-banana-paint mush in the washer’s drum, Scott reassessed his opinion. “Okay, it’s pretty bad,” he admitted. He looked up at her with a grin, but Miriam was relieved to see it was nothing like Robert’s. While Robert’s smile held a slick sort of charm, Scott’s held no mockery at all. His eyes sparkled with friendly amusement. “I have to be honest – I can fix this, but I don’t think it’s worth your money.” He pointed at the dented, coated drum. “This’ll probably cost about the same as just getting a new washer. But don’t tell my boss I said that,” he said with a wink.

 

     Miriam sighed and pushed escaped wisps of hair behind her ears. “That bad, huh?”

 

     “I mean…” Scott chuckled a little and stood. “I’m guessing a little kid did this? Son or daughter?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

 

     Miriam noted the quick glance he took at her ring finger. “No,” she said. “No kids. Or husband.” She turned and led him back to the front door, trying to think of what to say next.

 

     “Well, I won’t charge you for the visit,” Scott said, stepping into the apartment building’s hallway. He turned to look at her. “But if you wanted to get some coffee or lunch or something and tell me the story, that’d be more than worth the trip.” His voice sounded confident, but his fingers tapped nervously against his toolbelt.

 

     Miriam found herself smiling back at him. “You won’t believe me,” she said.

 

     Scott shrugged. “That only sounds more interesting.”

 

     “I’m in the middle of something right now,” Miriam said. She could see Scott trying to hide his disappointment. “But how about tomorrow?” She nodded toward his phone where he had read her name. “You have my info.”

 

     “I’ll call you,” Scott nodded. They looked at each other in awkward silence for a moment before Scott grinned, turned and waved over his shoulder. “Yep. Okay. See ya tomorrow.”

 

     Miriam gave a small wave back, even though he couldn’t see her. “Tomorrow,” she whispered in disbelief.

 

#

 

     When the imp came alive at twilight, Miriam was already leaning against the counter. She’d opted for a glass of red wine this evening – something both fortifying and celebratory.

 

     “Good evening,” Miriam said in a pleasant voice.

 

     The imp scratched itself and scowled at her. “Is it?” it asked suspiciously.

 

     “It is,” Miriam agreed. She set down the wineglass and crossed to the windowsill, bending over the sink to look the imp directly in its face on the other side of the glass. “All of your nasty tricks, however you may have accomplished them, actually turned out rather well for me.”

 

     The imp scoffed. “Ridiculous.”

 

     “It’s true,” Miriam said, in the same tone of voice as if she were confirming it might rain tomorrow. “Because I went to the coffee shop, I found and applied for a new job. I have an interview this week.” She ticked up one finger where he could see it. “Because all of my contacts received a message they thought was from me, I am talking to people I haven’t spoken to in years.” Another finger up. “Because my washer was mutilated, I met a nice man who asked me out.” She held three fingers up.

 

     “Unfortunate side effects,” the imp grumbled.

 

     Miriam waggled the three fingers. “The number three is important, yes? At least, that’s what research told me when I tried to learn more about you and discovered all sorts of interesting superstitions.” The imp only glared at her. “It’s also the third night you’ve been with me. I suspect that’s also significant.”

 

     “Good job counting all the way to three.”

 

     Miriam stood and picked up the wineglass again, twirling the stem between her fingers. “Your actions did good things for me and I think it was on purpose.”

 

     “That is a vicious, vile lie,” the imp grumbled without much conviction.

 

     “I also think it really was inhumane of me not to ask why a speaking, thinking creature was imprisoned in a bottle,” she said. She waved her free hand toward the rest of her apartment. “You clearly have some sort of power or reach outside of your cage, but still. Here you are. Stuck on my windowsill like a particularly prickly plant.”

 

     The imp’s eyes opened and looked at her with a touch of hope. Miriam realized the little creature was impressive and interesting – not really hideous at all.

 

     “Yes,” she confirmed its suspicion. “I’m going to set you free. Because I don’t think you’re quite the monster I thought you were. You might actually be good,” she told it in a confidential whisper.

 

     Miriam took the bottle out to her balcony and opened the lid. “I set you free,” Miriam announced in a grand sort of voice.

 

     The imp looked at her in confusion.

 

     “I have no idea what the procedure is here,” Miriam admitted. “Real-life-fairy-tale weirdness is new for me. Is that sufficient to set you free?”

 

     The imp shook its head and rolled its eyes. “Opening the lid was sufficient.” It took a deep breath and climbed out of the bottle into the brisk night air. It looked at the moonlit sky with a look of gratitude Miriam had never seen on another living face.

 

     “Had I been in there one night longer,” the imp admitted, “I would’ve stayed this way forever.” As Miriam watched, the wooden skin and bulbous features melted away. Gossamer wings sprouted on the imp’s back, curly black hair framed a heart-shaped face and star-kissed skin stretched into a miniature woman’s body.

 

     “A faerie,” Miriam breathed. Even she knew what one of those were.

 

     The imp-turned-faerie turned and grinned at Miriam. That smirk made her realize it was a creature of mischief and mayhem, no matter what form it took.

 

      But, as the small being flew away, Miriam thought that it had been right when it had said a little chaos may actually be a good thing.