Jar Of Dirt Novels & Stories

Harold Girard turned to the window which was right behind him and held the tightened jar to the bright, orange sunlight that flooded into the room, not minding the gore which was now turning slimy as it slithered down his face and soused the shirt he had on. The longer he inspected the jar's content, the more difference he noticed between it and a normal ink for scribbling. What he had in his hand was thicker; a little more lucid than ketchup. It was also darker; like soot that had accumulated for nothing less than a century from a decrepit coal train. "Harold, are you there?" Wilkes asked from inside the wall still holding on to Trisha, worried that something bad had happened to his friend

After a moment I saw the corners of his mouth turn up and then he leaned down to hug her. Netta rubbed her sore shoulder and then jumped onto the counter. “Alright enough of all this sap and snuggles, whats for dinner?” I laughed and reached down to retrieve the now dirty ladle from the ground. I put it in the sink and reached into my large, handmade jar that was made by Vynetta years ago. It featured little ghosts made out of clay, chasing each other in and throughout a maze of clay tubes. It held all my utensils and I smiled, as I always did, as I pulled another ladle out from it.

she explains to me. I nod. That makes sense. “Can I touch the dirt?” It's going to get under my nails, but I can't leave here without trying once. Mary considers it, then shrugs. “I suppose.” Stooping down, I grab some in my hand, letting it sift through my fingers. There is nothing to indicate a body is buried below. “Nothing," I sigh. Hazel laughs a little. “You expected you’re his mate?” I give a half shrug. “No. Should I lie on it though?”

Marie nods towards the closed jars clasped within our palms. I unlatch the metal clasps with a shaky hand and allow the glass lid to rattle at the side. An overpowering stench of decay fills the air around me, escaping from the confines of the jar as the sickly mixture sits heavily at the bottom. My stomach turns as Ash groans in complaint alongside me, his skin paling as he heaves loudly, equally as repulsed by the grotesque mixture. “Yikes,” Lillie complains as her nose wrinkles at the putrid stench, “-that smells bloody awful.”

Dim lights spotlighted glass cases full of artifacts—ancient pottery with intricate patterns, rusty swords from some long-forgotten war, stone tablets covered in symbols no one could fully read. One exhibit had these massive dinosaur bones reconstructed in the center of a hall. I wandered through with the guys, half-listening to their jokes about how bored they were, but my eyes kept scanning the crowds. Maya was nowhere. I broke away from the group, weaving through families and tour guides. My stomach twisted tighter with every empty room. Where the hell was she? After everything this morning—her kissing Jordan like a challenge—I needed to see her. Just once. I spotted Jordan near a display

I kept digging my nails in Jasper’s arms, trying to go near my mate who was slowly crawling out of the mud. The rest of his body slowly came out too as the ground rippled like a wave of the sea. A large mound of dirt pushed itself upward like an anthill was built up in milliseconds before the mud was thrown all over. We all got sprayed with mud that went into my eyes. I rubbed my eyes, trying to get a good look at the hunched figure who was bent low. His clothes were black but now they were indistinguishable from the mud and dirt below. His upper body was outside but his lower body was still in the mud. He was clawing at the dirt like a maniac, sinking his mouth and hands in it to dig deeper

“And the body?” “He took a landmine to the face. I don’t know, Aleksei. Figure it out. Have Jerry do it. The kid loves making up stories.” Chuckling, he took out a cigarette and lit one for himself. “It really does stink out here.” “It’s amazing what you find in people’s garbage. Dirty secrets that they would throw in the trash thinking that it’s safe.” I stomped out my lite. “Finish that and let’s go. I need a new shirt before I pick up Rosaria.”

They stepped inside, holding up their torchlights, only to be met with a room filled with garbage. The stench was unbearable, thick and suffocating. Amidst the filth lay a worn-out, grimy mat—it had been my bed. The only possession I had was a tattered doll I'd brought from home. The doll stood out in the squalor. Its age was apparent; the fabric was faded and patched in several places. Yet, it was clear the doll had once been cherished, lovingly repaired by its owner.

"Why what?" "Why are you doing this to me?" he answered in a trembling voice. "I know you're angry, Cece, but—" "But what?" I cut him off. "You brought a pregnant woman home and then knelt before my father, begging to marry her. Am I supposed to congratulate you both ecstatically?" Jim paled. "It's not like that. Please, let me explain—" He pulled something out of his jacket. It was a pendant made from a bullet casing. Its surface had been polished smooth. It was clearly something he kept close and handled frequently.

"I've heard of yellow soil, black soil, even green soil, white soil. What is this stinky soil?" The old man smiled gently and said, "The so-called stinky soil is nothing more than dirt. I wrapped the filthy thing in mud, and it will be stuffy for three days and three nights. When it completely rots, it will be mixed together and stir up again, and can be made with some special secret methods." "It's hard. Not only can it attract the blood worm's attention, but also I'll put it in the vent to block the cold." "Wow!" The pangolin spat out, and his face was full of questions. "Did I run into a pile of shit?"