Jar of Horror - short story
--a journey of battling one’s internal conflict
Image source: Jennett, et al. “Glass Penny Candy Jar with Chrome Lid.” WebstaurantStore, 2 Nov. 2017, www.webstaurantstore.com/anchor-hocking-69590ahg17-1-gallon-glass-penny-candy-jar-with-chrome-lid/55069590.html.
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*This piece was originally written for the New Shoots Creative Writing program.
Written by Wen Ding Ding dong. With a mouth full of pancakes from my unfinished meal, I rushed to the door. I opened the door but found no one there. Just as I was about to close the door, I noticed a jar at my feet. I quickly swallowed my pancakes and crouched down to inspect it. I held the glass container up at an eye level. The jar’s diagonal engraved lines glistened under the sunlight. It was filled with small rolled slips of paper, sealed by a silver lid with a skull decor. Perplexed by its existence at my door, I took the jar inside for closer examination. I untwisted the lid to study the pieces of paper but found nothing too queer. As I was setting the lid down to open one of the slips, I noticed a mirror beneath the lid that reflected a distorted image of my face. Before I was able to set it down on the table, my arm moved back up to return the mirror to my eye level as if controlled by a remote. Suddenly, the mirror glowed. My eyes widened with the illumination and pieces of my body seemed to be torn away. My entire body became rigid and developed a spirit of its own. I sensed a faint voice: |
Jenny. You may have forgotten your past, but the past hasn’t forgotten you.
A shiver ran down my back. My hands trembled vigorously at the voice that appeared to originate within the Mirror. My mind was absent.
Remember.
The faintest memories pushed through the back of my head at Its command.
Remember.
More connections came together, as if collecting discarded puzzle pieces.
I said remember!
My eyes suddenly widened. My iris darkened to a pitch-black tone and began to spread to the corners of my eye, leaving no more white sections. I shrieked at my horrid image. I could no longer feel controlled in any part of my body. My head ached harder and harder, forcing a grimace across my face, until all of a sudden, I recalled every detail.
It traced back to my childhood. Whenever I was afraid of something, I would always complain and cry in my mother’s lap. Once, she gave me this jar. She told me to write whatever I was afraid of down on slips of paper and lock them all up in this jar so they couldn’t hurt me. So I did. I stopped going to my mother. I wrote down all my fears, including those I felt uncomfortable sharing aloud, and kept it in this jar. On the day of graduation, I burned it. I felt stronger as I watched each one of my fears disappear with the smoke. I grinned, reminiscing upon the naivety of my childhood.
What a childish behaviour, surrounding me with flames. It doesn’t truly free you from your fears. Let’s play a game: each day you must draw one phobia from the jar. You either overcome your fear or suffer the consequences of it. Better be prepared to consume or to be consumed.
I was afraid yet I couldn’t feel it. My body did not carry my soul. I tried with all my might to force my arm to close the lid, but an irresistible force countered my efforts. Instead, It moved my hand towards the jar and picked up a roll of paper. My other hand joined in and unfurled the slip.
Arachnophobia — fear of spiders.
Suddenly, I regained control over my body. Still flabbergasted at the entire situation, I held my paper and stared blankly into my hash browns remaining on plate. From the corner of my eyes, I noticed spiders creeping out of the seams between the planks of floor. I rubbed my eyes and stared harder at the spiders to confirm this wasn’t a hallucination. Affirmative of their existence, I dropped the paper and began to slowly back away from the source towards the door. I quickened my pace as more and more spiders emerged. Splat. I felt my heels squishing something. My head jolted back only to find a flattened spider at my feet and an army of spiders appearing from the other direction. I turned in a circle to observe all around me. I was encompassed by incoming spiders from all sides. All attempts to escape were futile now. I screamed and tucked myself into a ball with my hands covering my ears and my eyes shut. Fear was controlling my entire body. Just then, I recall the voice of the Mirror, consume or be consumed. Perhaps if I can over come this fear somehow, this would all end. I mustered all my courage and unfolded my body. I laid down flat on the floor, allowing spiders to crawl over me. I felt tingles of their scurrying legs up my legs and arms. Despite my screaming consciousness to protect myself, I resisted my urge to get up and run away. I shut my eyes tight and clenched my teeth. Being ready to die, I finally relaxed my tense posture and surrendered my body to the spiders.
A few moments later, the formication stopped at once. I opened my eyes to find myself back on my bed, breathing heavily. With my sweat-covered face, I wondered if it was all a nightmare and solely my imagination. I looked into my mirror and spotted my normal eyes. Whatever the circumstance, my entire body ached and felt powerless. I laid back down and closed my eyes, reflecting what had happened. A talking mirror possessed my body and attracted a sea of spiders to me? However, I was able to eventually overcome my fear of spiders by believing in the worst scenario. My running thoughts eventually gave way to my overwhelming fatigue. I fell into a deep, long sleep.
The next morning I woke up to the vivid replay of the sea of spiders. Drenched in cold sweat, I pulled myself out of bed to take a shower. Upon reaching my bathroom door, I saw the jar in the middle of the door frame. I ceased all movements and glared at the jar. It emitted an luring aura, compelling me to walk towards It. I tried to resist the force but my legs marched on. My iris expanded. I felt my body leaving me again, feeling the same helplessness from yesterday. I tensed my arms in attempt to keep my hands away from opening the jar, but It kept on moving with a spirit of its own. It reached within and snatched a slip. Tears slid down my cheeks and the fallen beads stained my light blue shirt. It slowly pulled the paper out and unrolled it.
Acrophobia — fear of heights.
As I regained senses in parts my body, I saw the paintings on my bedroom wall swirl. Within a blink of a eye, I was at the peak of Dubai — the peak of the world. I slowly pushed my head forward and glanced down from the roof of Burj Khalifa, more than 800 metres above ground. Seeing the abysmal height, I immediately recoiled. My legs became too feeble to withstand my weight, causing me to fall back on the roof tiles. Sweat formed on my nose and my palm. I wanted to burst into tears but I had no tears left to cry. I knew I had to jump off to serve as a sufficient ending. However, I couldn't bring myself to do it. Why am I even listening to a stupid jar? These are only my imaginations. Magic doesn’t exist. Stop doing as It wishes.
Stop.
This last thought lingered in my mind. I refused to jump. I clung on to two tiles with both of my hands.
“What can you do to me if I just sit there, uncooperative with your mind game?” as I shouted at the top of my lungs towards the city. Or maybe It could. I regretted my words as soon as I finished. Before I even had the chance to take another breath, a force pushed me off of the tower. Right. Consume or be consumed.
I let out a desperate scream as I was free-falling from a height of 800 metres faced down. I shut my eyes tight and waited for the moment of contact — the moment of my death. A spell forced open my eyes. I could no longer hide. Watching the city unravel its beauty before me, I began my countdown to death.
Ten. It begins.
Nine. What fear can do.
Eight. I tried.
Seven. Not hard enough.
Six. But.
Five. The city grew closer.
Four. My incomplete dreams.
Three. Mom. Dad.
Two. Forgive my cowardliness.
One. Goodbye world.
Before the imminent contact with the ground, I was teleported back to my room. I dropped from the ceiling with equal force, slamming my rib cages hard against the frames. A splatter of blood from my mouth stained my pure white sheets. I laid beside the blood, hearing weak breaths.
As I was about to lose consciousness, only one desire lingered in my mind: just let me die, please.
Of course, my wish was not granted. I regained consciousness the next morning. I was still able to taste blood in my mouth. I grunted in anguish as I attempted to get myself up. I caught a glimpse of my own reflection in my window pane. My pale and lifeless face was accompanied by my dry, chapped lips. The stream of dried blood on my chin reminded me of the jar. It’s a new day.
I found the jar right on my nightstand. How convenient. For the first time, I voluntarily opened the jar and chose a paper slip. I opened it with my remaining strength.
Thanatophobia — fear of death.
I chuckled at the slip and waited for the teleportation. As expected, I was brought to another location. This time, there was nothing too exciting, just a simple room with black painted walls. I was seated in front of a table with three objects: a knife, a matches, and a gun.
I picked up the knife and held it up to my throat. I rested the point on the surface of my skin. Clenching my teeth, I sliced through the skin, revealing streams of blood. I couldn’t breathe. With my last bit of strength, I picked up a match, striking it along the flint. I threw it to the opposite side of the room. Seeing the flames grow, I collapsed on the table, resting on my arm. I felt the warmth of the fire encompassing me and released one last smile.
I was no longer afraid. Not of anything. Not of anyone.
It all ends where It began.
A shiver ran down my back. My hands trembled vigorously at the voice that appeared to originate within the Mirror. My mind was absent.
Remember.
The faintest memories pushed through the back of my head at Its command.
Remember.
More connections came together, as if collecting discarded puzzle pieces.
I said remember!
My eyes suddenly widened. My iris darkened to a pitch-black tone and began to spread to the corners of my eye, leaving no more white sections. I shrieked at my horrid image. I could no longer feel controlled in any part of my body. My head ached harder and harder, forcing a grimace across my face, until all of a sudden, I recalled every detail.
It traced back to my childhood. Whenever I was afraid of something, I would always complain and cry in my mother’s lap. Once, she gave me this jar. She told me to write whatever I was afraid of down on slips of paper and lock them all up in this jar so they couldn’t hurt me. So I did. I stopped going to my mother. I wrote down all my fears, including those I felt uncomfortable sharing aloud, and kept it in this jar. On the day of graduation, I burned it. I felt stronger as I watched each one of my fears disappear with the smoke. I grinned, reminiscing upon the naivety of my childhood.
What a childish behaviour, surrounding me with flames. It doesn’t truly free you from your fears. Let’s play a game: each day you must draw one phobia from the jar. You either overcome your fear or suffer the consequences of it. Better be prepared to consume or to be consumed.
I was afraid yet I couldn’t feel it. My body did not carry my soul. I tried with all my might to force my arm to close the lid, but an irresistible force countered my efforts. Instead, It moved my hand towards the jar and picked up a roll of paper. My other hand joined in and unfurled the slip.
Arachnophobia — fear of spiders.
Suddenly, I regained control over my body. Still flabbergasted at the entire situation, I held my paper and stared blankly into my hash browns remaining on plate. From the corner of my eyes, I noticed spiders creeping out of the seams between the planks of floor. I rubbed my eyes and stared harder at the spiders to confirm this wasn’t a hallucination. Affirmative of their existence, I dropped the paper and began to slowly back away from the source towards the door. I quickened my pace as more and more spiders emerged. Splat. I felt my heels squishing something. My head jolted back only to find a flattened spider at my feet and an army of spiders appearing from the other direction. I turned in a circle to observe all around me. I was encompassed by incoming spiders from all sides. All attempts to escape were futile now. I screamed and tucked myself into a ball with my hands covering my ears and my eyes shut. Fear was controlling my entire body. Just then, I recall the voice of the Mirror, consume or be consumed. Perhaps if I can over come this fear somehow, this would all end. I mustered all my courage and unfolded my body. I laid down flat on the floor, allowing spiders to crawl over me. I felt tingles of their scurrying legs up my legs and arms. Despite my screaming consciousness to protect myself, I resisted my urge to get up and run away. I shut my eyes tight and clenched my teeth. Being ready to die, I finally relaxed my tense posture and surrendered my body to the spiders.
A few moments later, the formication stopped at once. I opened my eyes to find myself back on my bed, breathing heavily. With my sweat-covered face, I wondered if it was all a nightmare and solely my imagination. I looked into my mirror and spotted my normal eyes. Whatever the circumstance, my entire body ached and felt powerless. I laid back down and closed my eyes, reflecting what had happened. A talking mirror possessed my body and attracted a sea of spiders to me? However, I was able to eventually overcome my fear of spiders by believing in the worst scenario. My running thoughts eventually gave way to my overwhelming fatigue. I fell into a deep, long sleep.
The next morning I woke up to the vivid replay of the sea of spiders. Drenched in cold sweat, I pulled myself out of bed to take a shower. Upon reaching my bathroom door, I saw the jar in the middle of the door frame. I ceased all movements and glared at the jar. It emitted an luring aura, compelling me to walk towards It. I tried to resist the force but my legs marched on. My iris expanded. I felt my body leaving me again, feeling the same helplessness from yesterday. I tensed my arms in attempt to keep my hands away from opening the jar, but It kept on moving with a spirit of its own. It reached within and snatched a slip. Tears slid down my cheeks and the fallen beads stained my light blue shirt. It slowly pulled the paper out and unrolled it.
Acrophobia — fear of heights.
As I regained senses in parts my body, I saw the paintings on my bedroom wall swirl. Within a blink of a eye, I was at the peak of Dubai — the peak of the world. I slowly pushed my head forward and glanced down from the roof of Burj Khalifa, more than 800 metres above ground. Seeing the abysmal height, I immediately recoiled. My legs became too feeble to withstand my weight, causing me to fall back on the roof tiles. Sweat formed on my nose and my palm. I wanted to burst into tears but I had no tears left to cry. I knew I had to jump off to serve as a sufficient ending. However, I couldn't bring myself to do it. Why am I even listening to a stupid jar? These are only my imaginations. Magic doesn’t exist. Stop doing as It wishes.
Stop.
This last thought lingered in my mind. I refused to jump. I clung on to two tiles with both of my hands.
“What can you do to me if I just sit there, uncooperative with your mind game?” as I shouted at the top of my lungs towards the city. Or maybe It could. I regretted my words as soon as I finished. Before I even had the chance to take another breath, a force pushed me off of the tower. Right. Consume or be consumed.
I let out a desperate scream as I was free-falling from a height of 800 metres faced down. I shut my eyes tight and waited for the moment of contact — the moment of my death. A spell forced open my eyes. I could no longer hide. Watching the city unravel its beauty before me, I began my countdown to death.
Ten. It begins.
Nine. What fear can do.
Eight. I tried.
Seven. Not hard enough.
Six. But.
Five. The city grew closer.
Four. My incomplete dreams.
Three. Mom. Dad.
Two. Forgive my cowardliness.
One. Goodbye world.
Before the imminent contact with the ground, I was teleported back to my room. I dropped from the ceiling with equal force, slamming my rib cages hard against the frames. A splatter of blood from my mouth stained my pure white sheets. I laid beside the blood, hearing weak breaths.
As I was about to lose consciousness, only one desire lingered in my mind: just let me die, please.
Of course, my wish was not granted. I regained consciousness the next morning. I was still able to taste blood in my mouth. I grunted in anguish as I attempted to get myself up. I caught a glimpse of my own reflection in my window pane. My pale and lifeless face was accompanied by my dry, chapped lips. The stream of dried blood on my chin reminded me of the jar. It’s a new day.
I found the jar right on my nightstand. How convenient. For the first time, I voluntarily opened the jar and chose a paper slip. I opened it with my remaining strength.
Thanatophobia — fear of death.
I chuckled at the slip and waited for the teleportation. As expected, I was brought to another location. This time, there was nothing too exciting, just a simple room with black painted walls. I was seated in front of a table with three objects: a knife, a matches, and a gun.
I picked up the knife and held it up to my throat. I rested the point on the surface of my skin. Clenching my teeth, I sliced through the skin, revealing streams of blood. I couldn’t breathe. With my last bit of strength, I picked up a match, striking it along the flint. I threw it to the opposite side of the room. Seeing the flames grow, I collapsed on the table, resting on my arm. I felt the warmth of the fire encompassing me and released one last smile.
I was no longer afraid. Not of anything. Not of anyone.
It all ends where It began.