Don't Open the Red Jar

My folks ran a meat stall in our small town.

There were plenty of other meat stalls around, but ours was the only one that was absolutely slammed every single day. We literally couldn't keep up with the demand.

And the reason for that was our signature product—aromatic pork.

An ounce was 60 dollars. That was right. It was that expensive. And even at that insane price, we still sold out instantly.

Lately, I'd been looking pretty run-down. That was because I had been having the same nightmare for a month straight.

In the dream, a blurry shadow kept getting closer and closer while calling out to me. It was the voice of a woman.

"What are you looking at? Have you heard back about that job yet?"

Mom casually handed me a piece of pork jerky before sitting down beside me with a glass of water.

I'd been sitting out in the backyard by myself for a good while.

"Sis, I really want to play with you…"

It was that voice again! I stared dead ahead unblinkingly.

"Hey, I'm talking to you!"

A smack landed on my head, and the voice vanished.

I snapped out of it and took a bite of the jerky. "They'll probably contact me in the next few days."

"You've been so out of it lately. Tell me if something's bothering you."

Looking at her, I noticed the gray hairs at her temples. I couldn't quite believe she had that many. She was only 43 years old. When did she get that many gray hairs?

I swallowed hard. "I've been having the same dream over and over lately. There's this lady who keeps calling out to me."

I hadn't meant to tell her, but I just couldn't hold it in anymore.

Mom dropped her glass, spilling water everywhere.

"She's come to see you? Did you answer her? Did you agree to her request?"

Suddenly hysterical, she grabbed me by my shoulders hard.

"Mom, you're hurting me!"

As she usually spent all day chopping meat and bones, her grip was incredibly strong. "Answer me now! Have you spoken to her?"

She was honestly kind of scary. I'd never seen her lose control like this. She was usually an easygoing person who smiled a lot.

"No! I haven't! I couldn't even see her face! We've never spoken! She just keeps getting closer to me!"

I struggled hard, but it was futile. She was just too strong, and her grip was like a vise.

Something felt off. Really off.

"Good, as long as you didn't. You said she was getting closer? No… That's not good…"

Letting out a sigh of relief, Mom finally let go. She then muttered to herself as if she'd lost it before running off.

"Mom!" I shouted, but she was already gone.

What the heck was that all about?

"Sis, come here!"

Huh? Why was I hearing that voice again?

I found my eyes drawn to the corner of the left wall in the backyard. There sat a massive jar.

It was a dark, blood-red color, with the bottom half buried in the dirt. That jar had been there for as long as I could remember.

I was currently 24 years old, and I had watched it slowly turn from a pale gray to the dark, ominous crimson it was that day.

"Abigail Perkins, get back here!"

A scream shattered the silence.

As I snapped back to my senses, I realized I was standing right in front of the stone jar.

My hand was inches away from touching it. Apparently, Mom had come back.

Her voice went up an octave as she yelled, "Get over here, now!"

Was that… fear? I dropped my hand before walking over to her obediently.

"Why did you go over there? I've told you a thousand times to stay away from that jar."

Again with that same old line. She had said those same words to me my whole life. "Mom, what's in there anyway? If you're so scared of me going near it, why don't you just get rid of it?"

My curiosity was never satisfied, and I grew tired of her vague warnings to stay away from it.

She seemed rather serious as she said, "You wouldn't understand. Just come drink this."

"What's that?"

I peered into the glass. It was pitch black and smelled like something burnt.

"Just drink it. Stop asking questions."

She shoved the rim against my lips. "You won't have nightmares again if you drink this. Do you think I'd try to harm you?"

She had a point, so I drank it in one go. I was so done with the nightmares bothering me.

"You're going to go stay with your grandmother tomorrow. Don't come back here for a while."

What she said made me snap instantly. "No way! You know she hates me! Why would I go there just to get yelled at?"

Just thinking about Grandma filled me with anger—hate, even. I had a hideous, twisted scar on my left arm that looked like a giant centipede. It was four inches long.

For a woman, a scar like this was simply too ugly. I wore long sleeves all year round, even in summer, just so people wouldn't stare or ask questions.

It happened when I was eight. I was staying at Grandma's and ran into my cousin, Carl Perkins. He had been a fat little brat who wanted to play horsey and make me carry him.

When I refused, he swung a garden hoe at me. It was a literal grub hoe, despite being the small kind. And I had to put my arm up to block it.