The Wishing Book

It started when I cleaned out a box of donations to the thrift store. The owner had decided most things in the box were too old or ratty to sell, and I was picking through to see if there was anything worth repurposing. That was when I found the little black book, wrapped up in a pink knit sweater full of holes. It was worn, pages yellowed… probably an old journal of some kind, added by mistake. I flipped it open, curious about the story it had to tell – but the inside was blank. Completely blank, except for three words written in sprawling cursive at the top: The Wishing Book.

I just smiled and shook my head. This must have been some child’s book, meant to stir an imagination that had found some other outlet. The owner had already said she didn’t want what as in the box, but… it was still in good condition. Between the mortgage and the bills and my sister’s growing medical issues, I was beginning to feel the pull of dull, responsible reality, at long last. Why not indulge a in a little childish wish?

I opened the book on my lap, pen poised, and scribbled out the words, “I wish for Emma’s bills to be paid.” I stared at the scrawl with a crooked, wistful smile for a moment, until I heard my name being called upstairs. I stood quickly, shoving the book in my coat pocket and forgetting about it as I finished my shift and headed home.

The next day, Emma called to say she’d won a contest. A raffle she’d forgotten she’d even entered. The prize was $20,000 – exactly enough to pay off her medical bills.

After she hung up I slowly pulled the book out of my pocket again. That… that was some coincidence. Right? Maybe it was a good luck charm. Laughing to myself, trying to hide my sense of unease, I wrote on the next line, “I wish for a million dollars.” It was silly, and I knew it. There was no way…

No way I would get an email saying a great-uncle I’d never known had passed away and left me everything in his will.

I stared at the little black book for hours afterward. It looked so… normal. Just one more nondescript little notebook. Nothing special.

But… a million dollars. That didn’t just happen.

I tested it over and over – little things, at first: I wish my gym would stop using lemon-scented cleaners. I wish my hair would stop going grey. I wish I was a better cook.

They came true. Every one of them.

At first it was frightening – imagine how much bad someone could do with something like this. But, as time went on, as more and more lifelong worries were suddenly just swept away, I grew more excited. Finally, I could get my dream house – just another line in the book, and I had the money and opportunity for it. Then, when property taxes came calling, another line to cover them without a problem. If anyone questioned where the money came from, one more line to make them shake their heads and think how silly they’d been. I even wished away all my sister’s medical problems – things the doctors said she would never recover from. Once, just for fun, I wished for immortality. Of course, that was less easy to test, but the thought was there, in the back of my mind, just wondering if the book could pull it off. Life was perfect.

Until the crash.

She was dead on arrival. Nothing the doctors could do… but I knew better. The minute I got the phone call I had the book out, writing frantically: I wish for my sister to live again. Then I was out the door, driving as fast as I could to the hospital, desperate to see the book work – and there she lay. Pale, broken… still dead. Healed from all her illness… and still dead.

I kept waiting. Listening. Surely there had been a mistake. Or at least that’s what they would say. They’d find a pulse, they’d hear a breath, a gasp, anything…

Nothing. She was gone.

I don’t remember how long I sat in the waiting room, staring numbly at the book that had failed me. I knew there had to be limitations… or, maybe I just hoped there wouldn’t be. Immortality was a myth – being brought back from the dead was impossible. Nothing I had wished for would matter; I’d saved Emma from her pain, but I still lost her. What was the point of…?

A sound broke me from my spiral. A wail that mirrored the one I couldn’t bear to voice. Finally looking up, I saw a young woman bent over herself, frantically twisting a wedding ring as the people around her tried to console her. A doctor stood before her with a clipboard and a somber expression. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Richardson. It doesn’t look good for Matt.”

She wailed again, drawing the eyes of everyone in the room… and something in the sound shook me. Almost without thinking, I pulled out the book. “I wish Mrs. Richardson’s husband would be healed.”

I knew this would work – it had healed Emma’s illness, even if it couldn’t bring her back. Still, I waited, watching as the doctors spoke frantically together, caught between confusion and relief. As the news was delivered to the woman, as she cried again, this time with joy. Some part of me thought I should be angry that she had what I couldn’t anymore… but the rest of me was distracted looking around the waiting room. So many people, all of them waiting for their hearts to be broken…

I could fix that, couldn’t I?

I didn’t have names – all I could do was guess and hope. “I wish the woman with the bright yellow bag would have a reason to stop crying. I wish the older gentleman with the plaid jacket would have all his loved ones safe and healthy. I wish the little girl crying will have her parents back home soon.” It was hit and miss – I couldn’t guess everyone’s needs, and I couldn’t see all the wishes fulfilled.

But that didn’t mean I couldn’t come back more prepared.

A hefty donation and a wish for an easily distracted doctor got me a list of the worst patients, and then it was easy. After the names were copied down, wishes made for their health, I sat in the large house I’d wished for myself and felt shame. For years I’d had the power to help – even if I didn’t use the wishes, I could have used the money I’d stockpiled. So many lives I could have changed for the better, so many people I could have saved…

I didn’t have any more time to waste.

The next few years were a whirlwind. I refined my wishes, learned better what I could and couldn’t do: pencil wishes counted, but erasing them erased their effects, I could add more paper to the book if I learned how to properly bind the new pages, I could only wish for small groups. Not all of it was good – in a moment of arrogance I tried one more time to wish for immortality, this time for an elderly man dying of a rare disease. I wished for his health, of course, but I thought maybe, as long as he wasn’t already dead, I could give him unlimited time, not just a little extra. I should have known better – he was cured, the first person ever to have this particular affliction healed… but he still died of old age just a year later. I learned my lesson: I could wish for people to have more time, but I could not wish them eternity.

Of course, it took a while for me to realize where all their extra time was coming from.

I was just opening the door after another round of hospital wishes when I started to feel dizzy. I stumbled, reached for the door… and my vision went white. The next thing I knew I was waking up on the ground, groggy and disoriented. I didn’t think anything of it, at first… but soon it was happening after every trip, and then after every wish, and eventually I started to realize the more wishes I made, the less life was left in me.

I tried to stop using it – after all, I had enough money to help people now, didn’t I? I could fund research, pay for treatments, save the book for emergencies…

Emergencies.

I was on a flight. I knew there was a donor heart, I needed to make sure it made it safely… then the engines failed. We were going down, people were screaming… and I had the book open in my lap. I knew I could fix it, I could keep them all safe. But, it was a large flight. It would take a large wish.

Logic told me it was fine to keep the book to myself. If I survived I could keep helping other people. This time I could be selfish. But I looked at the frightened faces around me… and I couldn’t condemn them. So while the other passengers screamed, I pulled out my pen, and I wished.

The engines miraculously came back on.

We landed without any more issues, the rest of the flight cheering as we landed… but I couldn’t join them. I felt like everything inside me was on fire. I stood, ready to flee, but my knees buckled beneath me, and the cries of horror as I fell were the last thing I heard.

When I woke again, I was in a hospital bed. The same hospital I’d been visiting all these years. So many times I’d visited, and yet, I’d never been on this side of the story before. I was weak – I could feel my heart struggling for every pulse, and suddenly I realized I’d wished too big. Given too much time.

I was dying.

I didn’t feel anything at first. Just numb. But, slowly, that gave way to anger. I’d done so much, I’d tried so hard… and now it was just ending? Where was the fairness in that? I had so much more to…

The door creaked open, and a man in a white coat came in.

“Good morning. My name is Dr. Matthew Richardson.”

I froze. It couldn’t be… I glanced to his left hand. He wore a wedding band – one that matched perfectly the one Mrs. Richardson had worn, all those years ago.

I couldn’t focus on his voice as he tried to explain things to me. Couldn’t focus on anything, really. I looked over to the wall, dazed… and found a pamphlet advertising the cure the elderly man I’d tried to give immortality had helped find. His face smiled down at me from the picture, serene and sweet … and suddenly I understood. Immortality wasn’t living forever, or even being remembered forever. It was having your actions ripple down through time. That man would always be responsible for finding the cure for his disease. And I…

I thought back to my early wish, when I’d asked for immortality myself. How many people had I helped since then? How many lives had I altered? And… how many of them would go on to alter others?

Somehow, I found myself smiling, even as the doctor left the room. I didn’t have much life left, I knew that… but I was still kicking. I must have had enough for just one more wish. Grunting, I pulled the book from where they’d placed it on my side table, flipped it open, and wrote, “I wish someone to find this book who will use it well.” Then I leaned back against the pillows and closed my eyes.