Jinxed

“Just say it,” you silently reminded yourself. You knew you’d regret it if you didn’t.   At least that is what you told yourself when you bought the dang thing. Now you regret even going into that cursed shop.

“I’ll take it.” You handed the salesperson the money and grabbed up your new treasure holding it tightly to your chest, as if to protect it from all harm. When you get to the car, you carefully place it on the floor behind the passenger seat, tucking a towel that had been lying on the seat around your precious object.  

As you drive you start talking to it, as if it were a real and not just a terra cotta figurine. He seems so lifelike and it almost seems rude to ignore him. So, you chatter on about your day, how lucky you were to find him and of course, how he is way too beautiful to sit in a garden. When you arrive home you carefully unwrap him from the towel and take him to the laundry room sink for a bath. You carefully sponge him off and towel him dry before carrying him to his new spot in the living room on the fireplace mantel. Yes, garden gnomes are usually placed in the garden. But this one is way too dear to leave out in the elements.  

You were not one hundred percent sure, but this small figurine appeared to be an original Phillip Griebel. The Griebel who made the famous “Lampy” garden gnome and many other in the 1840s and 1850s. This one was a bit weathered with the terra cotta showing through the paint is a few small places. And yet, its details were so rich and lifelike. Its eyes were still so blue.  You would bet it was authentic, possibly crafted by the man himself.  You knew you had to have it as soon as you saw it.  

The shop owner had said that he found it at an estate sale, sitting in a corner with a note saying its name is Jinxie. The owner had not said, of course, how much he had paid for it, but he obviously did not know what he had, because you purchased Jinxie for a mere ten dollars. 

As you place your newest treasure on the mantel, your phone rings. It’s your supervisor at work asking you to come in this afternoon to cover for a co-worker who went home sick. You tell him you’ll be there in an hour and turn to take another look.  

“Jinxie, Jinxie, Jinxie,” you say to the small figurine, “I’m sorry, but I have to go to work, so behave yourself!” As you rush out of the room, you seem to hear a response.

“Okay, darlin’, I’ll do just that.” Followed by a chuckle.

You shake you head and tell yourself that you really need to get out and socialize more.

It had been a long shift and you are tired when you get home. You drop your bag and keys on the table by the door. Turn off the lights and trudge upstairs to bed. 

You awaken in the morning to the smell of burning bread. Puzzled, you wonder if you are coming down with something, or if this is a weird residual from a dream you don’t remember. No one is home this weekend. The kids are at their dad’s house and he never brings them back early. Besides which, they are both competent enough to make toast without burning it.  

Yawning and thrusting your feet into some sandals that serve as slippers you slog toward the stairs nearly tripping over a backpack.  You pick it up and notice the complete mess that litters the upstairs hallway. Clothes, shoes, toothbrushes, soap. It looks as if a tornado had gone through the house.

Had someone broken in the house while you were sleeping? You go down the stairs as quickly as you are able, dodging various and sundry items strewn on the steps.  You need to notify the police. Your cell phone is the only phone you have, and it is in your purse, on the table by the front door.  Unless the thieves took it.

You don’t have time to process what to do because the smoke alarm in the kitchen starts blaring and you hear a high pitched, off key voice singing David Bowie’s Laughing Gnome song.  It seems to be coming from the kitchen.

You know that you should exit the house and go to the neighbors, make a call and wait for the police. Margo should be up by now; her boys attend an early ju jitsu class on Saturday mornings. But curiosity gets the better of you and you head for the kitchen. You realize you should have a weapon. Looking at the debris around you on the floor you see a tennis racket. It will have to do.

You slowly walk to the doorway and peak in.  Your jaw drops open and you drop the tennis racket in surprise.

“Good morning Karen!”  He says brightly, in heavily accented English.  “I was just making myself some breakfast. Do you want some?” 

“Na, no.” You stutter, taking in the sight. You are thinking “this cannot be real. I must still be dreaming.”  They say you should pinch yourself, to see if it is real. You give yourself a rather hard pinch on the arm. It hurts. That accomplished nothing.

Meanwhile, the gnome is dancing around on your kitchen counter. He is standing by a cup full of coffee and every fourth or fifth step stops to put his face to it and take a drink. His beard is a brown dripping mess. He seems to have been able to make coffee, but not toast.    A charred mess is sitting in the toaster. The wall behind it is black with smoke residue. You stalk over to the counter, unplug the toaster and throw the whole mess out the back door. You will deal with that later.

Anger starts to build in your gut. The whole kitchen is trashed. Eggs and orange juice make a bright river on the floor.  There is a soggy island in the middle of this stream that consists of soggy cat food and cheese.

Rage overrides all other emotions. You look at him and shout “What do you think you are doing?”

He pulls his head out of the coffee cup and says, “Why Karen, I am behaving, just like you said to do ya?”

You feel the blood start to rise from your neck up to your ears and past your eyes. You grab him and hold his squirming form tightly in front of you.

“What do you mean, like I said to do? I did not tell you to wreck my house.” You say tightly.

He replies sheepishly, “You said to behave, you did not say how to behave, Good or bad. Ya.”

Your grip on him tightens and he starts to look a little red himself.

“Karen, you are hurting me.”

“Good” you reply, giving him a little shake for good measure. “Now what do you suppose we do about this mess?”

“Clean it up?” He chokes out.

“Right. And who is going to do the cleaning up?”

“Me.” He stutters.

“Right.” You say releasing your hold on him slightly.

“And after that you will tell me how you came alive and how I get you back the other way. Or else I will be forced to give you to Margo’s pit bull as a play toy.”

The gnome looked horrified. “you would kill me?”

“No. “You reply “I would give you to a dog to play with. If you die from it, well….”

“No Karen. I will clean it up ya.”

You find an old cloth belt from a robe thrown over a kitchen chair. You pick it up and tie it tightly around his waist before you set him down on the counter. 

“Okay. Get started.” 

He looks up at you oddly, waves his arms and mutters a few words. Within minutes the kitchen is spotless. You walk with him through the house, putting it all to rights. When he is finished you return to the kitchen and set him down on the table.

“Okay, now for the last part.”

He looks at you, “You would really give me to the big dog?”

“In a heartbeat,” you reply.

“He bows his head and mutters “three times.”

“Three times what?”

“Say my name Three times.”

“How do I know that Jinxie is your real name?”

“it is etched on the bottom of my foot next to my maker’s name.”

You abruptly flip him over. He gives a startled yell. You see faintly etched on his right foot “Jinxie. PG 1852”

You let go of him. He starts to run across the table as you say “Jinxie,Jinxie,Jinxie.”

He solidifies quickly back into a terra cotta statue.

You take him to Goodwill later that afternoon. 

The woman smiles at you as you present her with the small statue. 

“Oh, how cute! It looks like an antique. Are you sure you want to give him away?”

“I’m sure.” You reply. “He’s in pretty good shape except for the slight damage to bottom of his right foot.”

The lady turns him over and peers at the scratched place on his foot.  You can barely make out the J and I that had been engraved there.

“I think his name is Jim.” You say as you turn and walk away.