独家优惠奖金 100% 高达 1 BTC + 180 免费旋转

The Tiny Little Man

“You’re a what?” Buck Harris asked.

“An homunculus,” replied the tiny little man. His voice was barely audible not only because he was only about three inches tall, but also because he was trapped under an upside down pickle jar.

“A homoncu-lunk?”

“An homunculus,” he repeated, shouting as loudly as he could. “If you let me out you can hear me better!” he suggested.

“No way, I’m going to be rich when people get a load’a you,” Buck said excitedly.

“Possibly,” the homunculus conceded. “But if you keep me under this jar, I’m going to suffocate shortly and that will severely cut into your potential earnings.”

Buck considered the miniature man’s point. He looked around to see if he could spot the lid from the jar, but it was nowhere to be found. So, instead he grabbed the menu for the local Chinese restaurant from the fridge where it was held in place by a magnet shaped like a piece of bacon. The paper was fairly stiff, so he was able to slide it between the overturned jar and the counter. The homunculus had to dance around while he did so. Once it was in place, Buck righted the jar, spilling the small man onto his butt as his glass prison flipped from top to bottom.

“You could have given me a little warning there,” the homunculus said. “I’m not some cockroach or mouse.”

Actually, that was exactly what Buck had originally thought he was. He had discovered that some of the food packages in the cupboards had holes in them — particularly the cookies. He had set out a bunch of mousetraps, but none of them had been tripped, and the roach motels remained vacant.

So, Buck had made a plan to stay up and see if he could catch the critter in the act. He had borrowed a pair of night-vision goggles from his neighbor, Randy, and set a package of Almond Windmill Cookies on the counter (they seemed to be the food thief’s favorite) then sat himself on a chair in the middle of the kitchen with a couple cans of Red Bull handy in case he got tired.

It was shortly after midnight when Buck heard a rustling noise coming from somewhere under the sink. The cabinet doors opened slightly, and then something slipped out. It was tiny. He couldn’t make out exactly what it was through the distortion of the night-vision goggles. At first he thought it was a big bug. It leaped up onto the framing part of the cabinet door, then reached for the dish towel that was hanging off of the handle, climbing along the terry cloth until it could grab a hold of the edge of the counter top and climb up.

It started moving toward the toaster, which was underneath one of the upper cabinets, but then caught sight of the cookies. It changed direction and approached the bag and used some kind of a tool to cut a hole in it.

Buck thought that was odd, even for a big bug.

He got up slowly and silently and stepped toward the counter. As quickly and smoothly as he could, he grabbed the empty pickle jar, slid the Almond Windmill cookies package away and placed the jar over the critter.

“Gotcha!” he shouted.

“Let me go!” it shouted back!

Buck nearly jumped out of his skin.

He backed away toward the kitchen door and reached for the light switch.

Big mistake turning on the lights while you’re wearing night-vision goggles.

Buck was instantly blinded. He ripped the goggles off, then blinked until his eyes readjusted and the big blue spots he was seeing faded away.

Underneath the jar on the counter was what looked like a tiny little man. He was naked except for a tiny loin cloth fashioned from a scrap of fabric and some string. Tucked into the string was a tiny red plastic sword — a novelty toothpick Buck collected from a local bar. The creatures eyes were big, and were either completely black, or just had large pupils. He had pale white skin and long, dark hair pulled back into a pony tail. His ears were somewhat pointed, like the elves in The Lord of the Rings.

He was pushing on the side of the jar, moving it, inch by inch, toward the edge of the counter.

Buck rushed forward and grabbed it, moving the jar back to the middle of the counter, knocking the small man off his feet.

The creature within looked up at Buck, disappointed. He sat down and crossed his arms.

“What are you?” Buck had asked.

Which catches us up to now.

The tiny little man paced anxiously around the inside of the now right-side up jar.

“So,” he said, the jar serving to amplify this voice a bit. “Here we are. You caught me. Now what?”

“I don’t know,” Buck admitted. “Not much I can do in the middle of the night. I guess I’ll wait till morning and call my Uncle Pete. He used to work for the local TV station. He might know someone who can help me figger out what to do with ya.”

The homunculus looked at Buck skeptically. “That’s your big idea?”

“Jeez, cut me a break, I didn’t think I was going to catch a homuncul-acallit.”

“Homunculus,” he corrected.

“Whatever. I thought you were a big bug.”

“Do I look like a big bug?”

“No, of course not, not with the lights on. What are you doing in my house?” Buck asked, trying to regain control of the conversation.

“Did you think this was just an empty lot when you dug that giant hole and built this monstrosity here? This was my land, and my family’s home for centuries before you showed up. Technically you’re in my house!”

“How was I s’posed to know that?” Buck asked.

“That’s the trouble with you humans, you just blunder in wherever you want, with no regard for the natural order and think you own the place just because you’re the biggest and loudest thing around. You know, there was a beautiful, natural world here before you came along. My family planted the apple trees you dug up to pour your foundation.”

“That’s not my fault,” Buck said. “You should have said something.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault?” he replied. “And what would have happened if, when you brought in your big digging machines and concrete and lumber, I’d come out and said, ‘Excuse me, this is my home, go find your own space’?”

Buck shrugged. “I dunno.”

“I’ll tell you what you would have done. You would have slapped a jar on top of me and sold me to the highest bidder.”

“You don’t know that,” Buck said defensively.

He folded his arms and looked up at Buck from his glass prison.

“Okay, maybe,” Buck confessed. “But it’s not like I wouldn’t cut you in on the deal.”

“Oh, really? Now you want to be partners?” he asked.

“I’m thinking about it. You’re right. If you were here first, you got rights.”

The homunculus seemed shocked. “Well, thank you for recognizing that,” he said. He looked up expectantly. “So, aren’t you going to let me go?”

“No, of course not. I said I’d cut you in. If I let you go, then there won’t be nothin’ to cut you in on.”

“You’re smarter than you look,” he said. “But then again you’d have to be.”

Buck could sense he had just been insulted, but couldn’t figure how. “People will pay just as much to see a dead hobuncle as they would a live one,” he warned.

A smile appeared on the homunculus’s tiny face. “You really have no idea what you’re in for, do you?”

“What d’ya mean?”

“Well, first off I’m a sentient being — that means I can think and communicate,” the homunculus said.

“I know what sentiment means,” Buck told him.

“Yes, of course you do. You’ve heard of animal rights activists, haven’t you?”

“Yeah, sure, they’re those nuts who feel sorry for chickens and cows getting eaten.”

“Yes, in a manner of speaking. So imagine how they’ll feel about you keeping a thinking, feeling being captive in a jar.”

“I don’t have to keep you in a jar,” Buck said. “I can get you like a doll house you can live in. And some real clothes.”

“Oh, so a nice prison.”

“Yeah.”

“Here’s the thing, no matter how nice you make it, someone’s going to think you’re mistreating me, and they’ll file a lawsuit. Do you know a good lawyer?”

“No,” Buck replied. “But my cousin, Paul, fights his own traffic tickets.”

“Paul, sadly, will not be good enough. You’ll have to hire an attorney who will charge a minimum of five hundred dollars. An hour.”

“No way,” Buck said, surprised at the amount.

“And that doesn’t include the retainer. Do you have that kind of money, Buck?” he asked.

“Hey, how do you know my name?”

“I’ve been living in your house ever since you built it. I know all about you.”

“What’s your name?” Buck asked.

The homunculus let out a noise that sounded like something Buster — Buck’s dog — would yelp if someone stepped on his tail.

“What kind of name is that?”

“Do you think we homunculi have been speaking English for millennia?”

Buck became curious. “Why do you speak English at all, and how come you talk so funny.”

“I learned your language by watching PBS. You tend to fall asleep with the television on, and it’s no challenge to operate the remote control to change channels to something more edifying than the fishing channel, even at my size.”

“So that’s why Sesame Street is on when I wake up in the mornin’,” Buck said. “Well, I can’t pronounce whatever it was you said, so I’ll call you Homer.”

“Clever. Homer the homunculus. Regardless what you choose to call me, my point remains. You’re not thinking this through, my friend.”

“Well, the way I see it, it don’t matter how much some fancy lawyer costs, ’cause I’m gonna make millions offa ya.”

“Perhaps. But you won’t see that money. There will be injunctions filed, your accounts will be frozen, you’ll go broke before you ever put your hands on a penny of it.”

Buck looked at him. Most of what the tiny little man said didn’t make much sense to the backhoe operator. “You’re trying to trick me,” He said, grabbing a cookie from the package on the counter.

Homer shrugged. “Look, I know you don’t trust me, and you probably think I’d say anything to get you to let me go.”

“That’s right.”

“But, on the other hand, you’ve got me. If you were to screw a lid on this jar, there would be nothing I could do about it. I would suffocate and die. I am completely at your mercy. So, it is in my own best interest to make sure you do this right for the sake of my own survival.”

“So what’s all that fancy talk mean?”

“It means if you intend to exploit me, I might as well ensure that you do it in a manner that accrues the most benefits to myself.”

Buck opened a Red Bull and took a sip, then grabbed another cookie, trying to take in everything the tiny little man was telling me. It sort of made sense, but at the same time he had that nagging feeling that Homer was trying to pull one over on him.

“So whatcha thinkin’?” Buck asked.

“A formal arrangement. A contract. An agreement that will forestall any do-gooders from trying to interfere. I will grant you the rights as my representative to promote and publicize my existence, arrange for revenue generating events and appearances and to license my likeness for merchandise and promotional purposes.”

“Huh?”

“You’ll be my agent,” Homer said.

“And we’ll split everything fifty-fifty?” Buck asked.

“Well, a typical agent-client relationship is ten percent to the agent — ”

“Only ten percent?”

“But in our case, we can adopt a less traditional split. That is, of course, if you want to forgo the wishes.” Homer replied.

“Wishes?” Buck asked.

“I’m a mythical, magical creature. Of course there are wishes involved.”

“If you’re so magical, how come you were so easy to catch?”

“Obviously I can’t use the wishes myself. That’s not how magic works. Otherwise I wouldn’t be three inches tall and sitting at the bottom of a jar.”

“How many wishes do I get?”

“Just the three. Don’t get greedy, Buck.”

Buck grabbed another cookie and bit off the top of the windmill. He’d always wondered why these cookies were in the shape of a windmill. But he had an idea they wouldn’t taste the same if they weren’t.

“Why didn’t you mention these wishes in the first place?”

“You were so caught up in the making money thing. I didn’t want to discourage you.”

“Yeah, but I can wish for money, right?”

“You can.”

“What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” Homer assured him.

“If I wish for a million dollars, it’s not gonna be ’cause I got my legs chopped off by a helicopter.”

“Well, I’m not quite sure how that would happen, or why you would get a million dollars from it, but I assure you, there is no catch. Are you sure you only want a million dollars?”

Buck reconsidered. He nervously tossed another cookie into his mouth. “What’s the limit?”

“No limits,” Homer said. “It’s a wish. You can have literally anything you want.”

“So, a billion dollars is okay.”

“You have to say, ‘I wish I had’ for it to work.”

“Oh, right,” Buck said. He closed his eyes and crossed his fingers. “I wish I had a billion dollars.” He cautiously opened his eyes and looked around.

Homer laughed. “Did you think there would be a pile of money on your kitchen table?” He paused to catch his breath, then laughed some more, literally rolling on the bottom of the jar. “You should have seen the look on your face! Priceless! Three wishes, I can’t believe you fell for that.”

Buck was not amused. He grabbed another cookie and viciously bit into it, staring down the title little man until he stopped laughing.

The homunculus looked up at Buck. “My apologies. It’s a flaw. I couldn’t resist.”

“I’m startin’ to think none of that stuff you told me about being your agent and all was for real,” Buck said. He felt a pang in his stomach, and reached for the Red Bull to wash down the latest cookie he had consumed. “I’m starting to think I should take my chances to see how much I can make off a dead hornbuckle.”

“Oh, come on, Buck,” Homer replied. “I’m sorry, truly I am. Let’s start over.”

Buck got up from his chair and started looking through the trash for the lid for the pickle jar.

“Don’t do what I think you’re doing, Buck. You’ll regret it.”

“You’re gonna regret ever trying to steal my cookies,” Buck said.

Homer laughed again. “Is that you what you thought I was doing?”

Buck stopped picking through the trash. A spasm hit his gut causing him to double over.

“What’s the matter, Buck? Tummy ache? Feeling a little light-headed, perhaps a little weak?” Homer asked.

The pain in his gut was increasing. He’d never mixed Windmill Almond cookies with Red Bull before, he usually enjoyed them with a cold glass of milk. But this was worse than indigestion. His head started to ache and he became dizzy, suddenly it felt like his knees were going to give way. He reached for his chair and sat down before he collapsed.

“What’s happening to me?” he asked, almost panting.

“Nausea, headache, confusion, weakness, difficulty breathing… sounds like acute cyanide poisoning to me.”

“Cyanide?” Buck asked, his breath becoming labored.

“Yes, like the type I’ve been extracting from apple seeds I procured from the few trees you kindly left behind when you razed my orchard. I’ve been collecting it for several months. I wanted to make sure I had enough to give you a lethal dose.”

“Why would you want to kill me?”

“I did explain the whole you built your house on my land thing, didn’t I? I hope you’re not that out of it yet. I was hoping you wouldn’t die without realizing why.”

Buck looked at the half eaten package of cookies.

“Yes, that’s right. I wasn’t stealing your cookies, I was poisoning them. Nice of you to have a fondness for almond cookies. I was afraid you might smell the cyanide, but obviously you didn’t notice.”

Then, the burly man dying on his kitchen chair smiled.

Homer saw the grin, and his own amused expression changed.

Buck laughed. “Guess the joke’s on you,” he said to Homer. “You’re going to rot away in that jar.” He took a few last gasping breaths. His eyes rolled back in his head and he slid off the chair into a heap on the kitchen floor.

The homunculus tried to peer over the edge of the counter, but the angle was such that he could only see the top of Buck’s head. He took a step back, then ran the short distance from one side to the jar to the other. His momentum caused the jar to tip a bit. He repeated the maneuver several times until the jar fell over onto its side with a clink.

He stepped out of the glass container and walked over to the counter’s edge, peering down at the dead man lying on the floor. To his sensitive nose, the body was already beginning to reek, the stench mixing with the scent of bitter almonds from the cyanide.

He lowered himself to the cabinet handle that the dish towel was attached to and shimmied down its length to the floor. He cast one last look back at his deceased nemesis. “Maybe you should have wished for a long life,” he said.

Homer the homunculus knew that Buck had a dog, but the creature was always asleep during his nocturnal missions in the house. He was always cautious to avoid the old hound even though it spent most of its day and all of its nights asleep in the raggedy dog bed in one corner of the kitchen, or sunning itself on the front porch.

But all the commotion from Buck falling to the floor and the jar tipping over had awoken Buster from his slumber. The sight of the creature moving along the counter, then down the towel reminded the old dog that he was perpetually hungry. He slowly and silently got up and padded toward the sink.

When the homunculus paused to look back at Buck, the dog snatched him into his jaws and crushed him between his yellow teeth. After a few crunches, Buster swallowed the creature, returned to his bed and fell back asleep.

Add a comment

What is your view?

Send

Related posts:

Why Is Bar Bathroom Lighting So Bad?

Darkness and drinking go hand-in-hand. The last thing I want to know when I’m drinking at a bar is what anyone in that place really looks like. Yet it also holds true that the only thing I want to…

Introduction To Unbounce

Unbounce is the top choice for businesses looking to create high quality landing pages. When it comes to converting traffic, nothing beats a good marketing campaign. Using Unbounce Google Analytics…

Table Views and Collection Views in iOS Development with Swift

Table views and collection views are two of the most common components in iOS development. They are used to display and organize information in an intuitive manner. Table views are used to display…