Don't Open the Red Jar

Sure enough, Grandma's attention was immediately drawn to the bag. I got curious about what was inside too, but she just grabbed it and went straight into the house.

I was just about to leave when she suddenly came after me and shoved 1,000 dollars into my hand. "Here, take this 1,000 dollars. The time has come."

Huh? Had hell frozen over? And why did Grandma look so revitalized all of a sudden? It was like she'd shed years off her age in a second.

I was confused. "Time? What time?"

"Just take it and don't ask questions!" she barked, then went back through the gate. This time, she didn't come back out.

I muttered to myself, "How weird…"

Well, free money was free money. Getting a penny out of that stingy woman was usually impossible.

Seeing how she had shut her doors tight, I guessed there was no way I was staying there anymore. So, I hopped on my bike and headed back home.

Just as I was trying to sneak into my room, I heard Dad's voice. "You sent her to my mother's?"

Mom sighed. "She had to go. It's starting to come for her."

"Already? I thought we had at least 30 years? Abby's just 24!"

Dad sounded shaken.

"I heard Abby say she keeps dreaming about a lady calling her 'Sis' and getting closer to her with my own two ears. It's definitely that," Mom said, her voice frantic.

Lowering his voice, Dad asked, "You got my mother to watch over her? Would she even agree to that?"

I held my breath instinctively and moved even more quietly. I had a feeling something huge was about to blow wide open.

"I had Abby bring a bit of it over to Claudia. She'll definitely agree when she sees it."

What? What did I bring? I didn't check what was inside that bag at all. I was so stressed about talking to Grandma that it never even crossed my mind to peek inside.

Dad's voice shot up an octave."Are you crazy? That stuff isn't ready yet!"

"Hasn't the jar already turned red? Besides, nobody's had any problems these past few years. Haven't we made a killing?"

What? I was getting more and more confused. Were they talking about the jar in the backyard?

So whatever was in that jar was worth a fortune? And it needed time to become ready? What in the world needed that long to become ready?

I was already 24 years old. Did it really need to take 30 years, like what Dad said?

Dad asked impatiently, "We'll check again tonight. Are the clothes ready?"

"What are you worried about? The clothes have been in your wooden trunk this whole time. Go get them out yourself."

Then, I heard the sound of rustling. Dad must be looking for something.

As their door wasn't shut all the way, I could hear everything clearly. I slipped back into my room, determined to sneak a peek at whatever they were planning tonight.

It was early autumn. For some reason, the night felt unusually cold. Even though my room was pitch black, at least the moon outside was bright. I left the window cracked open just enough to see the spot where the jar sat.

Maybe it was a trick of the light, but the shadow cast by the jar seemed darker than usual tonight. It was almost as if the darkness had taken on a physical form.

When I heard strange thuds outside, I lay flat by the window, barely daring to breathe.

A figure dressed in bulky white clothes that made their shape look weird and distorted was moving slowly. If I hadn't caught a glimpse of that familiar face when they turned, I would've screamed. It was Dad.

He liked to keep his head shaved, and with his rather tanned skin and muscular build, he looked intimidating.

But everyone knew he was whipped by Mom and was a total softie when it came to me.

In his hand was an extra-long iron hook, the kind they would use to hang slabs of meat.

My mom was right beside him, looking just as cautious, holding a metal bowl with a lid on it. She was dressed in the same weird, bulky outfit.

It took Dad a while to shuffle over to the jar. Two heavy stone slabs sat on top of it. The opening was secured with several loops of thick yellow hemp rope, and there was an old bronze bell attached to the top.

"Be careful. Make sure that bell doesn't ring," Mom whispered.

In the dead of night, I heard her as clear as day.

Dad snapped irritably, "Quit talking. I know what I'm doing."

Then, quickly and smoothly, he lifted the slabs and untied the rope. Incredibly, the bell didn't make a sound.

I focused intently on what they were doing.

A familiar, sweet, metallic scent drifted through the air right then. "It smells good. And the smell is getting stronger."

Wasn't this the scent of the meat we sell? But this smell was much richer.

So that was what was in the jar. It was our best-selling product.

I watched Dad fan the air toward himself with a blissful expression on his face.

Mom, on the other hand, was much more tense. "Stop wasting time. Take some and seal it back up. We've been opening it up too often lately."

"Yeah, I know. Just bring me the bowl."

Dad jammed the hook into the jar and stirred it around. Soon, he seemed to have hooked something heavy, judging by the strain on his arm. I stared wide-eyed as a pale object slowly emerged.

What was that?

Suddenly, Dad cursed in frustration, "Damn my luck! Why did it have to be the head?"

He then shoved the hook back into the jar.

All of that happened in a matter of seconds. I clamped my hands over my mouth, my eyes widening uncontrollably.