Mr. Ginger and the Djinn

The names, characters, places and events in this story are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. All characters are over the age of 18. Any similarities to real persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

Thank for reading and I hope you liked this tale. Please do leave a comment as I read all of them and take them all onboard.

MR. GINGER AND THE DJINN

Miss Paisley stood and stretched her back, wincing at all the aches and pains that had built up over the years. Decades, she reminded herself as her eightieth was in the rear view mirror. She leaned on her spade, looking out over her back yard. She'd planted out a row of carrots and earlier that afternoon had set out some canes for her rapidly growing beans. Now she wanted to dig over a small plot for potatoes. But her back was so stiff and aching. Not so many years ago, even five or six, she would have been finished by now and relaxing with a well earned coffee on one of her bentwood chairs on the porch. But eighty-one was a lot older than even seventy-six. Putting a hand to the small of her back, she grimaced as she flexed her spine, listening to it creak beneath her palm. Maybe she should leave it for tomorrow but she wanted to make the most of this lovely spring day.

She surveyed her lot and a little smile played over her lips. She was only eighty-one and hopefully there were several years left in her yet. But things were taking longer to finish than they used, she could not deny that. Perhaps it was time to start looking for a reliable young man to help with the heavier jobs -- like digging over the ground for potatoes? Old Mrs. Smith next door but one had hired the Myler kid and she told her that he was so reliable. Maybe she should have a word, see if he would help her, too. Yet pride and a refusal to give into her frailties stood in her way.

Picking up her spade, she crossed over to the potato bed and thrust the blade into the earth. Startled, she heard a little chinking sound. With a slight frown, one hand at the small of her back, Miss Paisley slowly crouched down and sifted through the dirt. After a moment, she saw a glint of reflected sunlight. Cautiously, her muscles groaning with exertion, she leaned forward and saw a piece of blue glass. Shifting position, she carefully wiggled the glass until she was able to pull an octagonal blue bottle from out the earth. Her face lit up with surprised delight and momentarily the years fell away and she looked almost like her much younger self again.

Slipping her glasses on, she saw that the bottle was intact and there was even the remains of a cork in the neck. Taking a rag from her pocket, she knocked the worst of the dirt from the bottle. It was a deep cobalt blue with the word 'POISON' embossed vertically down one side.

Miss Paisley's smile widened. "What a find. It's lovely."

She recalled that a drugstore had stood on this site up until the 1950s or early 1960s when old Mr. Ferguson passed away. And he'd been in his late eighties when he'd died. She remembered using the drugstore when she was a girl and young woman and her mother had sworn by Mr. Ferguson and wouldn't go elsewhere for her medicines. This particular bottle looked as if it dated from the 1890s or 1900s, something like that, certainly from before the Great War. And it was miraculously unbroken.

Taking her find, she crossed to her porch, climbed a few steps, and sat down at a small cast iron table with a sigh of relief. Her cat, Mr. Ginger, looked up from his sunny spot over by the steps, arched his back, stood and walked over, rubbing himself against her legs. Miss Paisley leaned over and rubbed behind his ears making Mr. Ginger purr with appreciation. Like herself, Mr. Ginger was getting on in years being eighteen which she knew was the equivalent of almost eighty-eight in human years so; in a way, he was even older than herself. He was still a beautifully marked ginger tabby with white collar and forepaws and Miss Paisley loved him so much.

Yes, loved wasn't too strong a word. She had lived in this town all her life and her mom's house where she had been born was only a couple of streets away. She passed it most weeks on her way to the library. She had bought this house almost fifty years ago when her grandmother died and left her a legacy. And that was that. It was great owning her own home but, in some ways, it had held her back as she had rarely left Ohio and never the continental US. Apart from a brief period in the sixties when she'd worn tie-dye skirts and taken part safely at the back of local Civil Rights or anti Vietnam War protests, she'd never raised a ripple. She'd worn flowers in her hair once but she'd never even considered burning her bra! Only once she had smoked a little pot with a bunch of hippies on their way to San Francisco but nothing stronger as the dope had made her feel nauseous. Now, too late, she wished she'd lived a little more dangerously.

She had worked for years as an accounts clerk for a local firm selling and fixing farm machinery, making out receipts and chasing unpaid invoices. The job was as boring as it sounded but it was a steady income. However, when the firm was bought out by a larger company from Indiana, she had been made redundant as had several others. Fortunately, she had quickly found a part-time position at the library and that gave her enough to live on as she had scrimped and saved and paid off her mortgage early. She had raised money for the volunteer fire department and was a big contributor to the Methodist church's bake sales and helped out sorting donations at the Goodwill. A useful life but not exciting. However, this was small town Ohio so what did she expect?

But that wasn't important. She had never married and was too old-fashioned to just live with a man. Her mom would have been so disappointed in her if she had done that. And her boss, Mr. Oldham, at the farm suppliers was a committed hard shell Baptist so might have made things difficult. So now she was the stereotypical old lady spinster living alone with only her cats for company. Thinking about it, she was content with her lot but she had never known the passion and ecstasy of true love. She sighed. She could have done more; she should have done more. Yet, it was far too late to change and you don't get second chances in this life.

"What have we here?" she said to Mr. Ginger, "Let's find out."

The cat looked up at her silently. She rubbed the bottle with her rag, making it shine in places, then took a corkscrew from the multitool on her tabletop and carefully pulled the cork. She didn't expect to find any liquid as it must have long evaporated but she wanted to wash out the bottle later on. It would look good on her kitchen windowsill where it would catch the morning sunlight.

Miss Paisley almost screamed and dropped the bottle onto the porch's wooden floor. A wisp of cerulean blue vapor issued from the bottle's neck, rapidly thickening and boiling up and up, making a plume up to the porch's ceiling. It was an impossible amount for the small bottle to hold. Yet more and more fumes boiled out, the smoke gradually solidifying. There was a smell of old spices that reminded her of something long forgotten. Finally the blue smoke coalesced into a manlike form. Mr. Ginger arched his back and hissed but held his ground. Gradually, what appeared to be eyeholes and a mouth emerged from the bluish smoky vapors. The fumes yawned widely, blinked a couple of times and two tendrils of smoke stretched out like arms.

"Greetings, human! My name is Zazzomathad. I am a djinn and I have been trapped in that bottle for over a hundred years. I give you many thanks for freeing me," the djinn spoke with a pleasant but slightly foreign accent.

Miss Paisley likewise opened and closed her mouth in astonishment.

"How... how... how did you get trapped in that bottle?" she finally managed to ask.

The smoky vapors looked downcast. "As well as being a druggist, Mr. Ferguson was an occultist of some renown. He even had a partial copy of Ludvig Prinn's forbidden De Vermis Mysteriis and used a chant therein to summon me and ensnare me in that bottle. I was too slow with my warding spell. He wanted to harness my powers for his own ends."

Zazzomathad smiled. "However, you have today freed me from my restraints so I bid you a good day and I will depart for the City of Brass." The djinn turned to leave.

Miss Paisley raised a finger. "Wait! Before you go, don't I get three wishes?"

Zazzomathad sighed. "I had hoped you would just let me depart. Yes, I can grant three wishes but they have to be reasonable. For example, I cannot grant immortality, bring world peace or build a bridge from Boston to Ireland just so you can drive across the Atlantic for a pint of Guinness or whatever."

She thought for a moment. A drop of Guinness did sound good.

"Remember, choose wisely," Zazzomathad reminded her. "And don't bother asking for a djinn and tonic. That got stale centuries ago."

"Could I wish to have my youth and beauty back again? You've no idea how hard it is being old," she said.

The djinn smiled. "You would be surprised. I am over a thousand years old. However, I can grant that wish -- it is a very common request." With that, he made a complex series of gestures.

Miss Paisley cried out with alarm. It felt like every cell in her body was electrolytically morphing into new configurations, twisting, straightening, lengthening, and swirling into new assemblages. Sines, cosines and tangents whirled throughout her being. Her chromosomes and telomeres danced with excitement. It was blissfully painful yet it felt as if the whole cosmos was rushing through her frail body. It lasted for a second; it lasted for a century. She had no way of telling but eventually the indescribable raging sensations subsided and she found herself once again standing on her own porch with both Zazzomathad and Mr. Ginger staring wide-eyed at her. She was breathing heavily as if she had just sprinted a marathon.

"What happened?" she gasped. But as she said that, she became aware that all the aches and niggles of old age had vanished and she was standing straighter and taller than she had done for ever so long. She blinked. Even her eyesight was miraculously improved and things that had been blurred and discolored a few minutes ago now appeared clearer and sharper. Her hearing was more acute and she was almost overwhelmed by birdsong let alone the distant noise of traffic along the roads.

Zazzomathad smiled. "Find a mirror, have a look," he suggested.

Miss Paisley fetched her compact from her purse on the table and flipped it open. She nearly dropped it, shattering it, which surely would have given her seven years of bad luck, but managed to hold on. She was amazed at what she saw in that little mirror. A stunning young woman of about twenty or twenty-one stared back at her, holding her gaze. She had milky white skin while long, wavy strawberry blond hair framed a face dominated by clear blue eyes, an upturned nose with a little spray of freckles, full red lips just made for a man's kiss. She smiled and the beautiful woman smiled back at her.

Yes, her face was delightful but that wasn't all. Although she was still wearing her dowdy, shapeless old-fashioned mauve dress, she was aware that her body had likewise changed. Gone her droopy, flattened old dugs; now her full breasts were straining against the material, her nipples perky demanding to be freed from their constraints even beneath her sturdy underwear, and although she couldn't see through the thick material of her clothes she realized that she had a gorgeous hourglass figure, her waist flaring out to childbearing hips before tapering down to long, shapely legs made for dancing the night away. She frowned slightly, her cute nose wrinkling. She'd never been this drop-dead gorgeous even when she had been a young woman sixty years ago. Now she blushed as she felt herself get just a little moist down there. And that was something that hadn't happened in decades. And the long-running irritation and soreness of that UTI that even drinking pints of cranberry juice and her doctor's antibiotics couldn't completely clear had vanished.

"You should go to Hollywood; they'd snap you up," Zazzomathad said.

"Thank you," Miss Paisley said. And she meant every syllable.

"Your second wish?" the djinn prompted her.

Miss Paisley thought for a moment. "It's not easy getting by on a pension these days. You have to watch every cent. I'm fed up with clipping coupons and looking for bargains. And gas and heating prices have gone crazy. So I'd like to have enough money never to have to go without again."

"Unfortunately, I cannot offer you limitless money; I cannot make you into some kind of oligarch with unlimited wealth and a mega yacht in the Caribbean."

Mrs. Paisley nodded. "I understand. But I don't want that jet-set lifestyle anyway. I just want to be comfortable without having to worry about things all the time."

Zazzomathad nodded in return and made a complex gesture with his hands. "That wish has been granted. Open your purse."

Cautiously, as if she expected a snake or spider to leap out at her, Mrs. Paisley opened her black purse. Lying on top of her tissues, her painkillers, her cough candy, her nail file and all the debris that littered her bag was a stack of crisp new fifty dollar bills neatly banded.

"There's fifteen hundred bucks there," Zazzomathad told her. "The first time you open that purse each day, you'll find another fifteen hundred there. That's over $540,000 a year. Tax free."

"Thank you so much. You've no idea what that means." If Zazzomathad had been solid and not made of smoke, she would have hugged him and kissed him.

"Now, what about your third wish? Choose carefully," the djinn said.

Miss Paisley thought for a moment and pushed her hair back from her forehead. "I've got youth and beauty and wealth. What more do I need?" She paused, embarrassed to admit her needs to this stranger. A rosy blush suffused her cheeks making her appear even more radiant and beautiful. "But I would really like a companion as I've been single all my life."

A thought hit her. Now she had a young body again, were her eggs all productive? Was her womb fertile? She sure hoped so as she had never had children in this life.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Zazzomathad said softly. "But you should try being trapped in a bottle all by yourself for a hundred years or so."

"This may sound odd but the best companion I have ever come across is my favorite cat, Mr. Ginger. He is loyal, faithful, kind and is always there for me. He always knows when I am feeling low and when I'm down he jumps up into my lap to keep me company. He is grateful when I give him fuss and attention and he's easy to please. Give him a warm space and food and he is happy. I'm sure if he was human he'd never let me down."

Mr. Ginger looked up and rubbed himself around Miss Paisley's legs, purring softly.

"Where are you going with this?" Zazzomathad asked, peering down at her.

Miss Paisley drew in a deep breath before plunging on. "I've never met a man half way as good as Mr. Ginger. Could you turn him into a man?" She paused, thinking. Was there anything she'd missed? "A young man, please."

Zazzomathad barked a spray of laughter which he quickly cut off when he saw the expression on her face.

"Sorry, that's a new one on me," he said at last. He looked thoughtful. "I'm going to have to check on that. Can I borrow your phone?"

Miss Paisley reached into her purse and passed over a very old handset. Zazzomathad turned his back and keyed in a long sequence of about forty numbers. To her surprise, the phone rang out and Zazzomathad put it on loudspeaker.

A moment later, they heard a monotone female voice. "Thank you for calling City of Brass customer services. If you are trapped within a lamp or other receptacle, press one. Directions to the nearest astral plane portal, press two. Wish requests, press three. All other queries, press four."

Zazzomathad pressed three.

The voice changed. "We are experiencing a high volume of calls. Your call is important to us; please hold and you will be answered by our next available operator." This was followed by bland but annoying elevator music.

"This never used to happen," Zazzomathad muttered, frowning at the handset.

"Welcome to the modern world," Miss Paisley said with a grimace.

Miss Paisley and Zazzomathad looked at each other for several long minutes as the music jingled through the ether.

"Coffee?" she said. "Can you drink it?"

Zazzomathad nodded. "Thanks, I can absorb a few sips."

She went indoors and made a couple of cups. She put them on a little silver tray with cream and sugar.

"Only instant," she said apologetically as she came back out. "I'll spend some of that money on some decent coffee."

"No problem," Zazzomathad said. He lowered his smoky lips to his cup and sucked up some of the hot coffee. "Ah, that's better."

Immediately as he did so, the voice changed as somebody came on. Zazzomathad coughed and spluttered as coffee went down the wrong way.

"Thanks for your patience. How can I help?" a female voice chirped.

Zazzomathad coughed again and cleared his throat. "Hi, this is Zazzomathad..."

"Your security password?"

Zazzomathad turned away from the phone and muttered something which Miss Paisley couldn't catch.

"Hey, good to hear from you; it's been a while. Wherever have you been?"

"Trapped in a bottle by an amateur occultist. Don't ask," he said.

He then explained the nature of his request. There was a moment of stunned silence on the other end followed by a short laugh.

"A cat into a human? Whatever next? Wow, I don't know. That's a big ask as there's souls involved. Couldn't she just choose being irresistible to men? That's an easy one."

Zazzomathad raised his eyebrows at Miss Paisley in inquiry.

Miss Paisley shook her head.

"Sorry," Zazzomathad advised the operator.

"Okay, but I'm gonna have to get clearance from my supervisor. Please hold..." With that, the irritating hold music came back on.

After some time, the voice came back on the line. "I spoke with my boss and he gave permission. It's a one off after all. Good luck and see you soon when you get back to the City."

Zazzomathad smiled at Miss Paisley. "Your final wish has been granted," he said as he chanted a short catechism and blasted a cataract of blue smoke at Mr. Ginger who gave a loud meow as he vanished beneath the fumes. There was a brief caterwauling before the feline fell silent.

Miss Paisley's hand went to her throat in terror. Was this going to be some cataclysmic catastrophe? Was her pet safe? Yet, on the other hand, her first two wishes had worked out far better than she had expected.

Gradually, the smoke cleared away in the light breeze wafting over the yard until slowly a human form catalyzed from the murk. The man stood there looking cataleptic for a moment while she mentally catalogued all the possible problems that she may have inflicted upon her pet. Shrugging off his catatonia, finally he blinked and stretched and looked around him until his face cleared and he grinned. Miss Paisley smiled back, more than pleased with what she saw. Like Mr. Ginger had been, the man stood completely naked.

He was fully human yet there were also hints of Mr. Ginger in his appearance. He stood over six feet tall with slightly too long red Irish hair which he pushed back from his wide, intelligent forehead. His eyes were a brilliant emerald green and as he smiled, wrinkling his snub nose, he revealed perfectly white teeth. Like hers, his skin was a freckled milky white revealing his Celtic heritage. His torso was well muscled like a laborer's; not the overblown physique of a bodybuilder. Quickly she dropped her gaze to the ground taking in his long, toned legs lightly covered in ginger hairs.