Free Fiction Friday!

The Cookie Jar from Hell (a penny dreadful)

(excerpt)

by Michael Yoder

Copyright 2021 Michael Yoder

Alison lived in a small apartment. It was an old 1950s building. The kitchen was large, but the bedroom was fairly small. While the rent was less expensive than other parts of the city, the walls were paper-thin and she could hear just about everything her neighbors were doing.

Today was no exception.

Her neighbor in 2B liked reggae music. A lot. He played it night and day, and generally loudly.

Sighing, she unlocked her door and went immediately into the kitchen to unwrap her new find. Pulling the cookie jar out of the bag she noticed it was fairly dusty. She removed the tape that held the lid on and wiped down the outside with a damp rag.

"Might as well clean out the insides as well," she thought.

She pulled the lid off and there was a sudden shushing sound as though a draft of cold air blew through the kitchen. A little startled by this she paused for a moment and then went about cleaning the inside of the jar, placing it upside down in the dish rack to dry.

It was still early afternoon and she decided to make her famous double chocolate chip cookies to inaugurate the little chef jar. While they were baking she turned on the TV and watched a little mindless show about a haunted house - one of those ghost chaser shows that just made her laugh.

"That's just so stupid," she said aloud as one cast member was screaming down a hallway running away from some indefinable spirit entity. All the while, her neighbor blared his reggae music. She was used to it, but it still annoyed her.

Then the timer went off on the oven.

She took the cookies out and set them to cool on a rack. Meanwhile, she made sure the cookie jar was completely dry and found a proper place on her countertop, setting it between the coffee maker and her container of kitchen utensils.

Once the cookies were cool enough she put them in the jar and closed the lid and went back into the living room. The music from next door was still blaring.

"That is so annoying!" she said out loud. "Can't he just stop with it?!"

At that very moment, the cookie jar shuddered and shook.

Then there was silence.

Alison sat in the silence for a moment. The TV was still on, but otherwise there was no noise at all.

"Hmm," she muttered to herself. "I guess he went out."

***

The next day, Alison came home from work and was surprised in the hallway that there was no reggae music blaring. At first she thought that perhaps her neighbor was out or away, because the loud music was a daily event.

Just then the building manager came down the hallway. Mrs. Jameson was a stout woman, and wore a kerchief on her head.

"Hello, Alison," she said. "How are you doing today?"

"Just back from work, Mrs. Jameson. Tired, but I'm doing well. It's really quiet since he stopped playing his music yesterday." Alison started probing. She wasn't a gossip, but she did love to hear what was going on in the building.

"Who?" asked Mrs. Jameson.

"The man in 2B," Alison continued. "That noise made me crazy. It was constant, day and night. Did he go away?"

Mrs. Jameson looked puzzled.

"Is something wrong?" asked Alison.

"That apartment's been empty for over two months, dear," replied Mrs. Jameson. "And you know I like a quiet building. I wouldn't put up with loud music. I'm having a helluva time renting it out, too. And such a reasonable rent."

"But - but," Alison stuttered. "Just yesterday I swear there he was playing his loud reggae music."

Sighing, Mrs. Jameson said, "Here then I'll show you."

They walked to 2B and the landlady fumbled with her keys and unlocked the door. They walked inside and Alison felt faint.

The apartment was vacant. Not a piece of furniture, picture on the wall - nothing.