The Jar

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. In the window stood an old man, hunched over and confused, wondering where he was and where his wife had gone.

The candle flickered heavily every time the old man had a thought as if to warn him of remembering.

“That’s right, that’s right,” he mumbled to himself, scratching at his white beard. “A sandwich.”

The stale, hot air grew thicker inside the cabin, and the splintered wooden boards croaked under the weight of his feet. The old man turned from the window and shuffled toward a tattered green lounge chair in the corner. The cobwebs in his path shifted out of the way, and finally he plopped down with a grunt.

“Where’s that damn woman,” his thin lips curved down in displeasure. He laid his hand over his bulging belly, which gave a ferocious rumble. “I want my sandwich!”

A howling gust of wind pushed violently against the cabin. The front door blew open, slamming against the wall.

The old man looked on expectantly, but all he could see was an endless maze of trees, bending under the wind and swaying in the darkness.

“Here you go, dear.”

The whisper from the sweet voice startled him, but he focused on the delicate hand holding a sandwich in front of his face. He snatched it without hesitation.

“About damn time,” he took a bite, chewed once, then spit it out. His face scrunched up in disgust. “Are you trying to kill me?”

His wife looked down at him with worried green eyes. “What’s the matter, dear? I made your favorite!”

“There’s no mayonnaise! I can’t eat a sandwich without mayonnaise!”

“We’re out of mayonnaise,” she said helplessly. “I haven’t been to the market, but I’ll go first thing tomorrow.”

In rage, he stood up and chucked the sandwich across the room. The snapping of a neck could be heard like thunder in the sky, echoing deep into the woods.

“See what you’ve done?” he grouched.

The night sky flashed white outside, replaying the form of a woman falling to the floor. Gray storm clouds followed closely behind the old man, who struggled to drag his wife’s body across the ground.

“Can’t do anything right,” he said as he finished burying her. “Should’ve done this ages ago.”

The old man slept peacefully in his chair through the night. His obnoxious snores and rumbling stomach were much louder than the thunder and rain. All the while, the candle flickered in the window and waited.

In the morning, the old man stretched out his overworked back and journeyed to the kitchen. His stomach cramped with hunger as he opened the refrigerator. It was devoid of food except a loaf of bread, lunch meat, and cheese. He had plenty of bread, lunch meat, and cheese stored away in an ice box somewhere. Enough to last a year.

He shook his head in annoyance and muttered, “Useless without mayonnaise.”

He closed the refrigerator door and halted: On the counter was a brand new jar of mayonnaise.

He shook his head again and said, “Damn woman didn’t realize there’s still a jar left.”

The old man ate a sandwich three times a day for a week. He could never fully satiate his hunger, so he increased the amount of sandwiches he ate per day until, one day, he ran out of mayonnaise. On that night, he went to bed miserable and hungrier than he had ever been.

The old man was heavy and sluggish when he opened his drooping eyelids the next day. He even took longer to reach the kitchen. He was exhausted and desperate to relieve the constant aching and emptiness in his gut. When he looked over at the counter, his heaviness fell away like a woman’s love for a man. There was a jar of mayonnaise.

Without questioning where the jar came from, the old man worked quickly to make a tower of sandwiches. He greedily scarfed them down without gulping for air.

It was a year-long recurring mystery. The old man grew hungrier and sicker, but he continued to ravish sandwiches and empty jars of mayonnaise down to the last scrape, only to find a new jar upon waking.

Then, something happened that never happened.

One stormy night, he was awakened from his deep slumber by a very loud bang.

“Who’s there?” he yelled at the room and rubbed his bruised eyes.

The wind outside answered back with a clear whistle. The front door swung back and forth on rusty hinges.

The old man got up from his chair with a grunt and sealed the door shut with his shovel, and before he could question how his shovel got inside the cabin, another very loud bang sounded from the kitchen.

Going to investigate the noise, complaining about rats and raccoons from the woods, he entered the kitchen and cried out, clutching at his tightening chest.

A smiling woman with rotting flesh and glowing green eyes blinked at him sideways. Thick yellow pus poured out of her snapped neck into a jar.

“I thought you could use some more mayonnaise, dear.”