A Story Just For You! Steal and DIE!
The Thing In My Refrigerator
I opened my refrigerator one day to find something fuzzy in my pickle jar. It was a special pickle jar; I bought it from a gypsy on the corner of Johnson Street. Why there was a gypsy on the corner of Johnson Street, I’ll probably never know. But the things she was selling were interesting. I couldn’t help but browse. She had empty colorful bottles, rugs, and jewelry. I walked by looking through the things she had out for sale. She watched me and after she saw I wasn’t interested she showed me the pickle jar.
“Beautiful, yes?” she almost stated. And in a way the pickle jar was beautiful, as ridiculous as it sounds. It glowed a misty light green, the jar was ice cold with grooves that went in and out as your fingers ran down along the side, and at the top on the screwed on cover it read Fresh Pickles! Though, it wasn’t a pickle jar at all.
“ The pickle juice will keep anything you put in it alive, anything at all. However, heed my warning. This jar is not a toy, use it wisely.” Her voice had an exotic tone. Her eyes narrowed as I took the jar from her long slender fingers.
“No charge.” She said dryly.
When I was around the corner my curiosity got the better of me and I opened the jar. A big gust of air swept up from the jar that made my eyes water. It was the sour, bitter smell of pickles. It caught me by surprise and I coughed as the feeling of cold air rushed out of me. I brought my head away from the jar trying to get a clean breath of air. The aroma was still powerful when I came back to the jar and the air was still icy coming out. I looked inside and was disappointed to find it looked so ordinary. I screwed the lid back on tight and walked back home with a sullen spirit. I stuck the jar in the fridge when I got home, shut it, and went on with my life.
So now, after a few weeks, I see this fuzz in the forgotten jar. It’s odd how it’s growing in such a way when I never put a living soul in the jar after I’d taken it from the gypsy. No charge she had said, and now I’m reluctantly wondering why.
The fuzz didn’t move, and maybe I was just overreacting. I grabbed the jar and when I touched the jar I took my hands back. It was freezing! I could barely touch it. Like I was trying to hold a block of ice. I put some oven mitts on and took the jar out. Setting it on the kitchen counter, with the mitts still on I unscrewed the jar, my face to the side remembering the rush of ice air knowing this time it would be worse.
The air came out and I saw it this time. Like your breath when you were out in cold weather. The smell was worse as well and the misty green look came with it. I looked inside, the ice air hurting my face and giving me goosebumps, and saw the fuzz. It was as big as a dime and was inanimate. But to my astonishment I heard something.
“ Eeeeeeeeeeee!” the fuzz screeched. It sounded as if it were in pain. My eyes went wide and I backed up against the refrigerator. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end and I knew then what it was like to be scared out of your wits.
“Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!” The fuzzy creature cried again. The sound was painful to listen to. Not like the sound of nails on a chalkboard but the way a puppy whimpers when it’s injured. I felt sorry for the fuzzy creature in my pickle jar for a moment and then remembered what was going on. There was a thing in my refrigerator!
I walked slowly toward the jar and looked inside feeling the ice-cold air again. The fuzz now had a little razor filled mouth. I could see its teeth each one like a small toothpick, but threatening just the same. Suddenly I saw two eyes blink once then twice up at me. At that I grabbed the lid and slammed it on the jar gasping and checking if it had cracked. It hadn’t and as I sighed in relief the fuzz-thing swam at my face and screeched, “EEEEEEEEEEEEE!”
I gasped and almost let go of the lid. I felt my hand jump and put my other hand on top and screwed it shut. The fuzz screamed and hit the bottom of the lid continuously. I lay back on the fridge door and wondered why I had taken this from her. She warned me, but what did I do? I hadn’t put one thing in that jar.
I looked inside the jar from the side and saw the fuzz swimming at my face. I backed off and then came back. He was trying to push the jar off the counter. I pushed the jar back a bit and he pushed it off the counter with one big swimming push. It smashed on the hard tile floor and the ocean of pickle juice went every where. I felt it splash against my legs and on my shoes. I even felt some on my face. I licked my lips impulsively and tasted the bitter, disgusting flavor of mysterious pickle juice.
I froze and looked around. I spun around a few times and looked under the counter. I ran throughout the whole house three times trying to look for it. I ran outside and all around the house and peeked into every crook and cranny I could find. The fuzz-thing was gone.
I opened my refrigerator one day to find something fuzzy in my pickle jar. It was a special pickle jar; I bought it from a gypsy on the corner of Johnson Street. Why there was a gypsy on the corner of Johnson Street, I’ll probably never know. But the things she was selling were interesting. I couldn’t help but browse. She had empty colorful bottles, rugs, and jewelry. I walked by looking through the things she had out for sale. She watched me and after she saw I wasn’t interested she showed me the pickle jar.
“Beautiful, yes?” she almost stated. And in a way the pickle jar was beautiful, as ridiculous as it sounds. It glowed a misty light green, the jar was ice cold with grooves that went in and out as your fingers ran down along the side, and at the top on the screwed on cover it read Fresh Pickles! Though, it wasn’t a pickle jar at all.
“ The pickle juice will keep anything you put in it alive, anything at all. However, heed my warning. This jar is not a toy, use it wisely.” Her voice had an exotic tone. Her eyes narrowed as I took the jar from her long slender fingers.
“No charge.” She said dryly.
When I was around the corner my curiosity got the better of me and I opened the jar. A big gust of air swept up from the jar that made my eyes water. It was the sour, bitter smell of pickles. It caught me by surprise and I coughed as the feeling of cold air rushed out of me. I brought my head away from the jar trying to get a clean breath of air. The aroma was still powerful when I came back to the jar and the air was still icy coming out. I looked inside and was disappointed to find it looked so ordinary. I screwed the lid back on tight and walked back home with a sullen spirit. I stuck the jar in the fridge when I got home, shut it, and went on with my life.
So now, after a few weeks, I see this fuzz in the forgotten jar. It’s odd how it’s growing in such a way when I never put a living soul in the jar after I’d taken it from the gypsy. No charge she had said, and now I’m reluctantly wondering why.
The fuzz didn’t move, and maybe I was just overreacting. I grabbed the jar and when I touched the jar I took my hands back. It was freezing! I could barely touch it. Like I was trying to hold a block of ice. I put some oven mitts on and took the jar out. Setting it on the kitchen counter, with the mitts still on I unscrewed the jar, my face to the side remembering the rush of ice air knowing this time it would be worse.
The air came out and I saw it this time. Like your breath when you were out in cold weather. The smell was worse as well and the misty green look came with it. I looked inside, the ice air hurting my face and giving me goosebumps, and saw the fuzz. It was as big as a dime and was inanimate. But to my astonishment I heard something.
“ Eeeeeeeeeeee!” the fuzz screeched. It sounded as if it were in pain. My eyes went wide and I backed up against the refrigerator. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end and I knew then what it was like to be scared out of your wits.
“Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!” The fuzzy creature cried again. The sound was painful to listen to. Not like the sound of nails on a chalkboard but the way a puppy whimpers when it’s injured. I felt sorry for the fuzzy creature in my pickle jar for a moment and then remembered what was going on. There was a thing in my refrigerator!
I walked slowly toward the jar and looked inside feeling the ice-cold air again. The fuzz now had a little razor filled mouth. I could see its teeth each one like a small toothpick, but threatening just the same. Suddenly I saw two eyes blink once then twice up at me. At that I grabbed the lid and slammed it on the jar gasping and checking if it had cracked. It hadn’t and as I sighed in relief the fuzz-thing swam at my face and screeched, “EEEEEEEEEEEEE!”
I gasped and almost let go of the lid. I felt my hand jump and put my other hand on top and screwed it shut. The fuzz screamed and hit the bottom of the lid continuously. I lay back on the fridge door and wondered why I had taken this from her. She warned me, but what did I do? I hadn’t put one thing in that jar.
I looked inside the jar from the side and saw the fuzz swimming at my face. I backed off and then came back. He was trying to push the jar off the counter. I pushed the jar back a bit and he pushed it off the counter with one big swimming push. It smashed on the hard tile floor and the ocean of pickle juice went every where. I felt it splash against my legs and on my shoes. I even felt some on my face. I licked my lips impulsively and tasted the bitter, disgusting flavor of mysterious pickle juice.
I froze and looked around. I spun around a few times and looked under the counter. I ran throughout the whole house three times trying to look for it. I ran outside and all around the house and peeked into every crook and cranny I could find. The fuzz-thing was gone.