The Wishing Stone

The Wishing Stone

And All Her Heart’s Desires

By Danielle Lenaghan Sheets

Ellen loved working at the law firm, with one big exception, her boss. Pam was the office manager, a real hard ass, and a miserable person all around. Ellen had survived two years of Pam’s verbal abuse and juvenile mind games. She needed three more years to pad her resume and gain some decent references with the attorneys, then she could move on to another firm and be rid of Pam for good. She also tolerated Pam because she needed the income. She received a meager inheritance from her father and put a down payment on a fixer-upper. Since the day she moved in it seemed to be nothing more than a money pit. When her boyfriend, Mark, left her to go gigging in Florida, she dated an electrician for a while, followed by a plumber, then a drywall guy, but the relationships always seemed to end before the work could be completed. The roof and windows leaked with every downpour and the air conditioner was way too old and too small to bring any relief in the sweltering summer months. The aged washing machine trickled water, and the basement flooded with every downpour producing the stench of swamp which drifted up the wooden stairs. She talked to a realtor about selling, “It’s not a great selling feature to have a tarp on the roof.”

When Ellen arrived to work on Monday morning, she noticed that Jill wasn’t at her desk. Pam came running when she heard the door chime. “Oh, it’s just you,” said Pam, “you’ll be sitting at the reception desk until Jill decides to get her ass back to work.” “Is she okay?” inquired Ellen. “Some crap about kidney stones, that girl calls in sick way too much,” snorted Pam. “But I have an appellate brief to work on,” pled Ellen. “Then you will do it from the front desk, won’t you!” announced Pam. A frazzled Ellen tried her best to work on the brief, but the 10-line phone had been ringing off the hook since 8 a.m. She attempted to slip away to her desk and work on it during lunch, but Pam quickly corralled her back to the reception desk. “How long have you worked here Ellen?” asked Pam. “Two years,” Ellen carefully replied. “Then you know damn well we don’t close for lunch. If one of the partners walks in and no-one is at the front desk, today will be your last day,” barked Pam. At 12:30 p.m. Pam’s only friend, Rob, sauntered into the office. Pam grabbed her purse and announced she was going to lunch at the new seafood restaurant downtown. Ellen nibbled on a granola bar between incoming calls and tried her best to work on the brief. When 5 p.m. rolled around, Ellen was nowhere near finished. She was honest, “I still have hours of work to do on this Pam, the phones have been going crazy all day.” “I don’t need your lame excuses Ellen. Andy needs to file that brief tomorrow or we’re dead in the water. You need to stay until it’s done,” Pam instructed. “That’s okay Pam, I can really use the overtime,” sighed Ellen. “Don’t be stupid, you are a salaried employee Ellen, you don’t get overtime,” hissed Pam as she walked out the front door and locked up.

Ellen completed the brief at 8:30 p.m. and left it on Andy’s desk for his review in the morning. She was so wound up by the time she got home she couldn’t get settled. Unable to fall asleep at her regular 11 p.m., she was flipping channels and tossing and turning until 3 a.m. and was in a foul mood when she woke up Tuesday morning at seven. She was still picking the crust out of the corners of her eyes when she bolted out the front door and kicked a small package, wrapped in brown paper, sitting on her deteriorating concrete stoop. “What the hell,” she said grabbing the little box and stuffing it into her purse. “Please God, don’t let there be a traffic jam,” she begged as she raced out of the driveway. She sped down the highway and secretly hoped every accident she saw on her 25-minute commute involved Pam. “I am not that kind of person,” she said to herself, every day as she repeated the morning ritual. The worse the accident the more hopeful she was that Pam was the one being raced away in the ambulance.

When Ellen arrived home Tuesday night, she dumped out her purse looking for her phone charger. The brown paper package toppled out onto the table and bounced to the floor. Somehow it wedged itself under the radiator. She grabbed a screwdriver to pry it out. She set the small box on the table and inspected it carefully. It wasn’t addressed, nor did it contain postage or a bar code of any kind. There were no markings at all, with the exception of a few blemishes from the radiator debacle. “Could this be from Mark?” she hoped out loud. Ellen peeled off the brown paper revealing a little white box with the word “open” on the lid. Her curiosity peaked and she obliged. The box revealed a delicate piece of ivory paper. She carefully unfolded the note. It read “This box contains a wishing stone. Be mindful of your wishes and read all instructions carefully.” Ellen tossed the note and reached into the box. She pulled out a small black stone, the size of her thumbnail. She held it in her hand and closed her eyes. “I wish my handsome, guitar playing, handyman, Mark, was back…wishing stone my ass. At least it’s pretty.” Ellen slipped the stone into the pocket of her black trousers. Before she fell asleep that night Ellen followed her nightly ritual, she had a good cry. She sopped up her tears and quietly uttered, “I wish this shithole house was fixed.” On Wednesday morning she woke up to pounding rain. She ran to the kitchen to grab buckets for the leaking bay window. To her surprise there were no puddles on the heart pine floor. She put on her glasses and could not believe her eyes. A new window had been installed overnight. She ran outside in her baby dolls in the pouring rain and to her astonishment, every window had been replaced along with the siding, the soffit and the roof. “I must still be asleep,” she said to herself. The dilapidated front stoop had been replaced by a beautiful wooden deck, complete with a decorative wrought iron railing and a hanging porch swing. She ran to the unfinished bathroom to find the tilework completed and the clawfoot tub in place. She looked out the kitchen window and set her eyes on a pristine air conditioner about four times the size of the struggling unit she had just yesterday. She turned to the thermostat and found that her 1970’s dial version had been replaced with a screen display model. She lowered the temperature to 72 degrees and immediately felt the cool air blasting out of the vents. Ellen checked every room. All plaster work had been completed and new trim and fresh paint adorned the walls, sills and doorways. “There is no flipping way,” she said as she descended the basement stairs. She ran to the ancient fuse box and found a modern circuit breaker. New appliances were installed, and the decades-old water stains were erased by fresh white paint. A sump pump was humming in the corner, sopping up the pouring rain and whisking it away from the foundation.

Ellen was convinced that she must be dreaming but readied herself for work. She put on the same black trousers she wore almost every day and picked out a delicate beige blouse with lace arms and wrists. “I guess I’m going to be a few minutes late,” she said as she pulled out of the driveway. She practiced her morning ritual, looking for accidents involving Pam. “That looks like a nasty one,” she said passing a six-car pileup. When Ellen arrived to work she was confronted by her seething boss. “You are fifteen minutes late Ellen. We do not tolerate tardiness in this office. The next time I will dock your pay. By the way, Jill called out again, so get on those phones. Oh, and don’t wear that blouse again. The dress code clearly states nothing see-through, even if it is just your arms. That’s the second time I’ve had to remind you of our dress code, and reviews are coming up. Don’t be stupid Ellen.” Pam unwrapped her bagel and took a huge bite as she stormed off. “I wish you would choke on it,” Ellen whispered to herself. Seconds later she heard gasping. She peeked around the corner and saw Pam gagging and retching. Her face had lost all color and she was stumbling around the file cabinets. “If one of the partners walks in and no-one is at the front desk, today will be your last day,” Ellen reminded herself as she sat back down and began transcribing dictation. She turned the file up to full volume to drown out the sputters and thrashing coming from behind the thin wall. By the time Andy came into the office, he found Pam blue and convulsing on the file room floor. He ran to Ellen, ripped her headphones off and yelled, “call an ambulance!” The paramedics were still trying to resuscitate Pam as they wheeled her out on a stretcher, to no avail. The official cause of death was asphyxiation. Ellen was promoted to interim office manager, and her first order of business was to call in a temp to work the reception desk. “None of this can be real,” she said under her breath.

When Ellen returned home Wednesday evening, she carefully inspected the upgrades to her humble home. Her eyes welled with tears of joy and she reached into her pocket to grab a tissue. She felt something smooth and hard, and remembered she tucked the wishing stone in her pocket the night before. “There is absolutely no way this worked, but how else can I explain this house, and Pam choking to death,” she said out loud. A text message chimed on Ellen’s phone, “Hey baby, it’s Mark, I’m back in town and I want you!” Suddenly, she was struck with fear. “Be mindful of your wishes and read all instructions carefully,” Ellen recalled as she scrambled to find the note. Crawling on her hands and knees, she spied the little ivory paper under the refrigerator. “Instructions, instructions,” she said as she unfolded the paper and sat down at the kitchen table. In small bold print she found three instructions:

#1 Do for others

#2 Do not make selfish choices

#3 Each selfish choice will cost you 30 years

“What the hell,” said Ellen dropping the note to the floor. She looked at her reflection in the kitchen window. To her horror she was staring into the face of an aging woman. She ran to her bedroom and screamed when she saw the image in the mirror. Her shoulders hunched, her hair turned silver, and her face sagged and wrinkled. Her skin became riddled with age spots and her bony hands ached from arthritis pain. She ran back to the kitchen to grab her phone, she dialed Mark who answered on the first ring, “Hey baby, I’m on my way!” It felt like a vice was gripping her chest. Her heart pounded as though she had run for miles. Her stomach ached and her left arm went numb. As her heart gave out, Ellen hit the floor with a thud. Her last vision was the little ivory note laying beside her on the floor, “Be mindful of your wishes and read all instructions carefully,” and then it was dark.