The Genie Jar

It wasn't every day that the good people of Biggle's Bottom got company. It was even rarer that the company sported star-spangled, flowing robes, wild, white hair, mad, glowing eyes, and ... an odd-looking something-or-other that was covered with a cloth. Rarer still that the company should walk directly to the mayor's house. Well, not so much walk as stagger. And collapse on the front steps.

"I must speak to the most responsible person in this town!" gasped the strange company.

The mayor, responding to the ruckus on his front porch, had just stumbled out in his bathrobe. He thought about how the Road Building Fund had come up short because of his need to support his bookie, how the donations for the needy had gone missing because he had needed an addition to his house, and all the other things he had been responsible for.

"That would be me," said the mayor. "I'm responsible for everything."

"Ah, good!" sighed the stranger. "I'm Beebop the Magician, and I have a rather huge favor to ask of you."

"Um, ask away," said the mayor nervously. "I must warn you that I haven't had many dealings with magicians before this. None, to be exact."

"That isn't important," wheezed Beebop. "The favor is very important, but it isn't really very hard to do."

By then, the townspeople were gathering around. Biggle's Bottom wasn't exactly a hot spot for interesting happenings.

"Good, good," continued Beebop. "They should hear, too. Everyone can help. Here's the story: I have spent my life hunting down and bottling up evil genies, demons, hobgoblins, and other unsavory characters. When I catch one, I bottle it, stopper it, and dispose of it in my Genie-matic Evil Entity Annihilator. Ahem. By Ronco. Anyway, I have a really vicious specimen in this jar, right here."

Beebop briefly lifted the cloth that was covering his something-or-other. The something-or-other was, indeed, a jar, and it glowed with an unearthly light. If one looked closely, one just might spot a hideous little face darting about among the beams.

The magician continued. "Unfortunately, it appears that I will not be able to make it home in time to frappe this little beauty. In fact, I expect to expire shortly on your doorstep. I will not need your assistance to dispose of my remains, but I desperately need someone to prevent this genie from getting loose again. Here's what I suggest you do with it: Lock it up in the biggest, thickest, most penetration-resistant safe you can find. Bury the safe in the deepest, most out-of-the-way locale you know. Surround the area with mine fields, barbed wire fences, and any other booby traps you can think of. And, most important of all, never, ever, under any circumstance, should you open it. Is that pretty clear? Any questions?"

"Ah, yes!" piped one townsperson. "What happens if we open it?"

"Good question," rasped the fading magician. "You will all die slow, horrible, tortures-of-hell deaths. Any other questions?"

"Could you be more specific?" asked the townsperson.

"I'd rather not," said Beebop. "I am dying, but it still hasn't been that long since I ate. But I'll tell you this much. I have put some charms on the jar, so it won't be that easy to open. You would have to try really hard. And there are warnings along the way to warn off any fool idiotic enough to tamper with the jar. First of all, you may have noticed that I keep the jar covered. There's a reason for that. Exposure to genie light is unhealthy. If you look at the unshielded jar for too long, all your hair will fall out. And the genie will grow bigger. That's your first warning that something's wrong. If you persist, your skin will break out in great green blotches. At that point, my first Warning Charm kicks in. The green blotches will form into letters, and the letters will form into words. This is what the words will say: 'You have messed with the genie. I'd stop, if I were you.' But if you don't stop, your brains will start to fry. You will gibber incoherently. Then my second Warning Charm will activate. It will run a crawl in front of your eyeballs, saying, 'Stop. Don't. Turn back.'

"But this is all without even breaching the jar. If anyone attempts to break the glass or the seal on the lid, the following message will appear in the sky in letters 100 feet high: 'DON'T FUCK WITH THE GENIE! WHAT? ARE YOU BRAIN-DEAD?' That's my third Warning Charm."

"And what happens after that?" asked the mayor. "What's the next warning?"

"Nothing comes after that," said the magician. "If the jar is breached, it's too late. All that happens after that is the slow, horrible, tortures-of-hell death I mentioned before."

"Doesn't seem quite fair," said the mayor. "There ought to be more warnings."

"Well, let me add one more, then," said the magician. "I don't wish to repeat myself, but DON'T FUCK WITH THE GENIE! WHAT? ARE YOU BRAIN-DEAD? Anyway, all you have to do is dispose of the jar as I asked, and none of this will even be an issue. So, do you promise to do that?"

"I promise," said the mayor.

"We promise," said the people.

And the magician died. Where his body had been, there was only a tiny dust devil, whirring off into the distance.

"Ok," said the mayor. "I'm going to take care of this thing."

But first, he thought, what harm is there in taking a good peek at the jar?

So he did.

Disposing of this thing is an awful lot of trouble and expense, he thought. On the other hand, it could be quite profitable. It's really the most interesting thing to hit this town in ages. You know, ...

And so the display opened at the mayor's house. "See the Genie!" read the sign. "Adults, $5.00; Children under 5, $1.00." And the people came in droves. And the genie in the jar started to grow.

Some of the people got worried. Some even remembered that the magician had told them this would happen if they didn't dispose of the jar. The mayor could see that decisive action was required, and the mayor never shrank from taking decisive action.

"My fellow citizens," speechified the mayor. "Many of you have noticed that the genie in the jar has grown. Some of you have expressed fear that this is a bad thing. I felt just like you, my fellow citizens, so I consulted independent genie experts, and this is what they told me: There's absolutely nothing to worry about! This is just a natural cycle that genies go through. Relax. And come see my show! Today only, I'm offering a 25-cent discount!"

Then everyone's hair fell out.

"What is happening? What shall we do?" pleaded the citizens of Biggle's Bottom

"The magician warned us about this," said those who remembered. "All we have to do is stop messing with the damned jar, and get rid of it, as he asked."

"My fellow citizens," declaimed the mayor. "Everything is fine! I'm concerned about this hair loss thing, too, but there is absolutely no evidence that the genie is at fault. Don't pay any attention to those Gloomy Gusses who claim that it is. They're always on about something. They don't have the credibility my experts do. This problem requires a lot more study, and I have appointed a committee to look into it. In the meantime, guess what? That genie jar is generating enough energy to light our entire town! I am making preparations to pipe cheap genie energy into each and every one of your homes! Isn't that great?"

Then everyone broke out in great, green blotches. By then, hairlessness was considered normal.

"What is this awful disease?" cried the people. "What shall we do? What shall we do?"

"Remember how the magician warned us about this?" said the Gloomy Gusses. "There's really a simple solution, ..."

"Everything is fine!" blared the mayor. "My experts say the blotches are caused by a seasonal increase of allergens in the air. I have assigned a Blue Ribbon committee to study the allergen problem."

"Oh, that's a relief!" said the people. "Anyway, we sure can't live without our genie energy."

That, of course, is when the warnings started appearing all over people's faces, torsos, limbs, and bottoms. It was always the same message: "You have messed with the genie. I'd stop, if I were you."

"Ok," said the Gloomy Gusses, "this really nails it. We can all see the specific words spelled out on our own bodies in the very words the magician foretold. This is his Warning Charm in action!"

"Ahem," said the mayor. "No one really knows what the magician said. I mean, I was there, and I don't remember anything like that. My independent allergy experts say that these patterns are a characteristic symptom of the allergic reaction. They're all the same! If this were a magical charm, wouldn't there be some variation?"

"No," said the Gloomy Gusses.

"Wouldn't there be more to it? Like, tomorrow, wouldn't there be another message?"

"Can't see why," said the Gloomy Gusses. "This is precisely what the magician predicted."

"It's just a funny coincidence that the blotches happen to appear to spell out words. Hilarious, actually," said the mayor. "Ha, ha!"

But some of the people were starting to worry that the Gloomy Gusses might be right.

"Ok," they said. "So, we get rid of the damned genie once and for all, right? Now, what's our Plan B for energy?"

"Plan B?" grinned the mayor.

By the time the Gibbering Disease struck, the green blotches were considered normal. The onset of the Gibbering Disease was followed quickly by the eyeball crawl, which said, of course, "Stop. Don't. Turn back."

"Blibberty blabberty!" gibbered the frightened people.

"Can't blibbit say grrble we haven't been mmmrrr warned," said the Gloomy Gusses, some of whom were less affected because they tried to keep away from the genie jar.

"Gurgle-gurgle," said the mayor soothingly. "Expblibbits sbbbr Asian flibbertu. Eblyping fine blurt!"

"Eyeblrl crawblrt!" cried the people. "Spbl, 'Stpbl. Drant.'"

That was about as well as most of them could do.

"Syblptm of Asiablp flbrt," said the mayor. "Commrblteebl. Studablink."

So, the Gibbering Disease and the eyeball crawl were declared symptoms of Asian flu, and a committee was appointed to study the problem. But by then, a truly worrisome problem had surfaced: the genie energy was proving insufficient to the needs of a growing (heaven knows why) Biggle's Bottom. There was only one solution: the jar had to be opened to release still more genie energy.

As soon as the gibbering mayor and his gibbering minions approached the genie jar with their sledgehammers, the sky filled with the magician's final warning: "DON'T FUCK WITH THE GENIE! WHAT? ARE YOU BRAIN-DEAD?"

But no one, save the Gloomy Gusses, even noticed. The bashing of the jar proceeded apace.

And as the people of Biggle's Bottom writhed in the throes of their well earned slow, horrible, tortures-of-hell death, some of them pondered on how this awful mess had come to pass, and I translate from gibberish ...

"Well, gosh, what a surprise this is! No one could possibly have predicted that this would happen!"

"It's the will of God, it is!"

"We're being punished for not being brutal enough!"

"No! It's for having too much sex!"

"I say, it's the fault of those Gloomy Gusses! They were so negative about everything!"

"I wish someone had warned us ..."