JINN AN EVIL SPIRIT

JINN AN EVIL SPIRIT

By Peter Woodgate  

So here I am, hanging onto the railings of the Golden Gate Bridge, looking down at the cold dark waters of San Francisco bay.

    I am somewhat disappointed as I notice that, the advertised addition to this iconic bridge, is now securely in place. A safety net, stretching along the length of both sides and installed to prevent idiots, like me, jumping into oblivion.

Oh well, I’ll just have to figure out another way to end my miserable life. How did I get to this level of desperation? You may ask, well, I don’t anticipate being in this world much longer so I had better get on with the answer.

    It all started about three months ago, it was a day like many others and I was on my way home after a hard day in the city. That sounds exciting but I don’t want you to think I’m a financial wizard, the fact is, I sell vacuum cleaners, or at least I try. I had sold two that day, which was about par for the course, the commission from which would see me scrape through with my minimum target.

My wife would not be happy as these mediocre sales of late would not allow savings for “that special holiday” I had been promising for months. No, I began to feel a bit low as I approached the Robin Williams tunnel; this is the barrier between San Francisco and Marin County and a further thirty miles to my home town of Novato.

    I began thinking about poor Robin, such a great actor and yet he was unable to free himself from tragedy. What causes such depression? I asked myself. I’d pulled myself together as I approached the tunnel exit knowing the sign for Sausalito would soon be in view. I love Sausalito, a quaint little town nestling in the hills in a north-west corner of the bay. The Marina was always packed with beautiful yachts and the little high street yielded plenty of places for refreshments and a few shops.

    It was as I exited the tunnel that I started to feel the car pulling to the right. I was having to hold the wheel really tight to avoid moving into the inside lane and as I reached the exit for Sausalito I decided that there must be a problem with the car and let it take the slip road exiting the highway. Once on the slip road, the car was back to normal steering and as I took a right turn heading into Sausalito I thought how strange, but whilst I’m here, I may as well pop in to see my friend who worked in a bar along the front.

I parked in the town’s little car park and set off down the street towards the bar.

If it wasn’t for the fact that it was getting dark I probably would have missed it but as I passed this previously innocuous shop I was drawn in by the flashing red lights. I looked at the words as they flickered annoyingly, they spelt out “Carol’s Curios I sell everything guaranteed.” I found myself inexplicably pushing open the door and entering. I was met by a musty odour and the sight of hundreds of antique odds and sods.

   “Hello, I’m Carol,” a rather plump lady grinned at me from behind the counter, “everything here 50% off for today” she continued in a somewhat musical tone. I looked at the pile of dusty books on a table in front of me.

    “Go on have a look at them,” Carol gave me a smile as she extended her hand toward the books, “you won’t find these titles anywhere and you get them for 50% off, priceless.”

Feeling rather embarrassed I started to look at the titles, “Body at the foot of the cliff” by Eileen Dover, “The Haunted House by Hugo Furst, How to get rich by Robin Banks and Gone with the Wind by Donald Trump.

    “You have to be joking” I turned round to face Carol with a wry smile on my face, “these are made upright?”

“No, no” she replied, “they are all first editions and you get 50% off today.”

I was about to make a hasty retreat to the door when a bottle on the shelf behind her caught my eye. It was made of dark glass and was sealed by a clip stopper.

It looked quite old and the somewhat faded label had the words JINN A SPIRIT written on it, in bold capitals. “What’s that bottle there?” I pointed to the shelf over her shoulder. Carol was rather hesitant as she replied.

“Oh that,” she acted sheepishly as she took the bottle down and placed it on the counter. “This bottle” she explained, “has been in my family for over 200 years, I’ve been told that once opened it could be detrimental to my health and here it is still intact.”

“But what’s in it?” I asked Carol.

“It’s what the label says, that’s all I can tell you,” she replied.

I immediately thought of that stupid advert “it does exactly what it says on the tin.” I then looked at the words again, JINN, perhaps it used to be spelt like that 200 years ago. I was now completely curious about what this bottle contained.

After all, spirits are supposed to mature with age and this was certainly not young.

“How much do you want for it?” I asked, not wanting to appear too keen.

She hesitated for a moment before answering, “well it is priced at 20 dollars but, don’t forget the 50% off so it’s yours for 10. However, Carol Paused; I must get you to sign this disclaimer in which you agree that you have been warned of the potential dangers of opening this bottle.”

“Of course,” I said, “I don’t think I shall have any problems handling this little beauty, in fact, I will go home right away, can’t wait to sample the contents.”

I thanked Carol and left the shop heading straight back to the car and then home.

It might have been my imagination, but I felt sure the car ran more smoothly than it had for years and in no time at all, I was pushing the key into my front door lock.

    “I’m home,” I shouted out, expecting a curt reply, but nothing. Just silence until Molly, the cat, rushed past me hissing venomously. I walked into the kitchen and placed the bottle on the table, it was then I saw the envelope.

I picked it up and tore it open using my forefinger. I was never very good at opening envelopes and, as well as making a right mess of it managed to cut myself. I unfolded the letter and read the message in disbelief, my cut paled into insignificance as the words I HAVE LEFT YOU pierced my brain.

“The silly cow has gone and left me,” I shouted.  Molly, however just looked at me and hissed like a demented Banji.

    I slumped into a chair, feeling dejected and looked at the bottle on the table.

Time to get plastered, I thought, as I pulled the bottle towards me. As mentioned before it was one of those bottle-tops with spring clips each side and this ensured it remained air-tight. I released both clips eagerly and pulled the stopper out, making a loud pop. what happened next was beyond belief as white mist began streaming from the bottle. I stood there, mouth open, eyes staring, thinking, someone has bottled the famous San Francisco fog. The mist began to twist like a mini-tornado, then Poof, it turned into a little figure. It was about twelve inches in height, floating crossed legged and wearing just pantaloons and a turban.

    I was flabbergasted, but quickly came to my senses, “are you a genie?” I asked, “and do I get three wishes?”

“Don’t be so bloody stupid,” the little man replied, “I am a Jinn from Muslim Demonology, Genii are made up for children’s stories. After all, you wouldn’t have me terrorizing little kids, would you?. “No, you don’t get three wishes, if you did the first would probably be, I wish I hadn’t opened that bottle. You, my friend, will be horrified to know that you must obey my every command, and I, being evil, they will not be very pleasant.”

    So there you are, since that fateful day, I have been forced to carry out every evil deed imaginable, hence I have come to the end of my tether. Now that I find my initial plan has been scuppered I am moving away from the edge of the bridge and I am about to throw myself in front of this huge truck heading my way. I close my eyes and jump.

    What's this?  I am waking up; it has all been a dream. I am slumped over the table my fingers outstretched towards an empty bottle, the label spells out Gin.

I feel like death but am, thankfully, alive and begin to think logically.

It is known as “Mother’s Ruin” and no matter how you spell it, too much can destroy your life. 

   Copyright Peter Woodgate