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
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 Sausalito Marina
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 Sausalito
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
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
