Storymania - Pandora's Bottle by Judith Goff

Pandora's Bottle
Judith Goff

Pandora's Bottle


The phone jangled loudly jerking Chris rudely from his dark, sweaty dreams of sexual conquest. "Hello?" he mumbled into the receiver. The sound of his mother's voice answered back, grating like fingernails on a blackboard in his sleep numbed ear. What could she want? Why had he answered instead of letting his friggin' machine pick up?

"Chris? Is that you? Did I wake you, Honey-Bunny?" Honey-Bunny for chrissake, he was thirty﷓seven years old. When would she see he wasn't her `Honey-Bunny' anymore? As far as he was concerned he never had been.

"No Ma, you didn't wake me." Of course not, he was always up at five thirty in the friggin' morning. Shit, wasn't everyone? "What do you need?"

"Well Chris, you don't have to sound so happy to hear from me. I only brought you into this world. Nothing special, just risked my life to have you. Nearly died with you coming out backward and all . . . " Her voice trailed off in a 'poor me' whine. Chris cringed. He could always count on Ma to remind him of those facts if by chance he had managed to forget.

"Come on Ma, I have things to do. What do you need." Yeah, right, Einstein, you have things to do at five thirty in the morning. That was a brilliant statement.

"Well, you know how much I hate to bother you but I was afraid you would forget your sister's birthday. It's Sunday, you know. This Sunday and I wouldn't want you to forget. That's why I called . . . just to remind you so you wouldn't forget. I'm sorry I bothered you but I didn't want you to forget is all." She let out a long suffering sigh.

"Jeez Ma, how could I forget Lucy's birthday?" Of course, he had forgotten. But he also knew that good ol' Ma wouldn't let that happen so he didn't really have to make an effort, now did he? He liked it when he didn't have to make an effort. In fact, that was precisely why after fifteen years he was still at the same low paying, lackluster, go nowhere job. No effort required, no problem!

He worked security at Merman Senior Center and the most effort that took was showing up for his shift. Sometimes with Chris, even that was a stretch.

"Well, I just wanted to remind you, that's all. If you mail her gift today it will be there before Sunday. I know you have to work and I know you won't be there so just be sure to mail it today. Okay, Honey-Bunny?"

He hadn't bought her friggin' gift yet so that about took care of his only day off, didn't it? Shit, but life was a pain in the ass, wasn't it? "Yeah Ma, I'll mail it today, don't sweat it." He sat up on the side of the bed, scratching his crotch and his ample belly.

"I hope you remembered to get that perfume bottle. You know with my arthritis I can't get around like you can but she sure will be happy to get that from you. I sent her some money like always, a body can always use money especially since she still hasn't found a husband to take care of her, bless her little heart."

Here we go again, he thought. Poor little two hundred pound Lucy hadn't trapped a man, boo, hoo, hoo. Okay Ma, anything you say Ma, just let me off the friggin phone! "Yeah Ma, I got the bottle just like you told me and I'll mail it today for sure." For chrissake give me a break.

"Well okay, Chris. I'm real proud of you. Just don't forget to mail it today so she'll have it time." Chris let out a juicy belch which quickly ended the conversation. Why hadn't he thought of that sooner?

He sat for a few more minutes on the side of the bed until his bladder sang him a song of urgency and he padded off to the bathroom. He contemplated his options as he shot a yellow stream into the toilet. He could go back to bed for a few more zzzs or he could shower, shave, dress and be at the antiques shop when it opened at nine.

As he thought it over, he gave his winky a shake sending droplets of urine over the toilet seat. The seat was down, as always, he never lifted it, why bother? There were no females in his place to complain that was for sure. No persnickety woman to tell him what to do, no-siree-bob, not Chris Shenky, not good ol' Chrissy. He got enough of that stuff from dear old Ma.

He padded back to the bedroom and glanced at the luminous dial on the clock radio on his night table. It was only six fifteen, he could sleep a little longer, no harm done. His decision made he plopped back down on the sagging mattress and pulled the dingy blanket up under his chin. In less than thirty seconds his snores resounded around the room. Chris Shenky never had a problem with sleep, now getting up was another matter, yes indeedy it was.

When he woke, the sun was streaming through the dirt-streaked window, turning his bed into a steam bath. Sweat coated his body, making him feel all itchy and prickly. Shower time. But when his eye caught the numbers on the clock, he quickly changed his mind. Three o'clock! He had slept through the whole friggin' day!

If he skipped the shower and hurried, he might make it to the antiques shop and the post office in time. Oh Jeez, his life was just one long joy ride. Why did he have to send that cow a gift anyway? It wasn't like they were close or anything. Hell, if it wasn't for Christmas and Thanksgiving he would never see her and that would be just dandy for him. No problem!

He rushed into the bathroom and spritzed deodorant on his unwashed armpits, swigged some mouthwash, peed again and schlepped into his clothes, the same clothes he had worn on his last day off but who was to notice? He ran a nearly toothless comb through his thinning hair and he was ready.

Picking up his keys, he left the apartment and hurried down the stairs to the parking lot. He climbed into his battered tan Mazda and left the lot, grinding through all four gears. He was no antiques aficionado, but he had been in a creepy place over on Columbus Drive a time or two scoping out old Playboys. He never bought but he liked to look.

The air was typically soggy and before he was halfway down the street his hands were slippery sweat soaked and the dried sweat rings under his arms were shining with fresh moisture. He swore under his breath. No more Freon refills for anybody, anymore, no way Jehosefat. It was the law. So on his meager wages no repair, no air, no cool. Ain't life grand?

Chris turned east on Columbus headed for Antiquities. He pulled into the dirt lot next to the shop and left the car, muttering to himself. He glanced at his watch. It was already ten after four; got to get moving, Chris! No time to spare, no siree!

From the outside, the shop appeared to be a weathered and worn Victorian house. What might have been aqua paint in the past was now a faded, streaky blue-gray. But the outside did not prepare one for the inside, no-siree-bob. Nope, when you stepped inside that shop, it was like stepping into some sicko's twisted nightmare.

On entering, your first impression was of neglect and abandon, surely no one had been there in a very long time. The marble floor was littered with debris and rat droppings and just as you decided you were in the wrong place, a woman tall and thin and incalculably old stepped forward to greet you.

Her face was long and narrow and covered in heavy makeup, a generous dusting of powder collected in all of the creases lending a definite cadaverous look. But set close together, pushed into her face like raisins in cookie dough, two glitteringly alive blue-black eyes peered out. Her lusterless white hair stood out from her skull in lacquered French curls, decades out of style. When she smiled, large, yellow, tombstone teeth completed the skeletal image. The old bat was scary! But Chris had seen worse, sometimes in his own bed.

As scary as the old crone was, her two companions were worse. As you entered the shop, to the right rose a winding staircase, blocked by a jumbled pile of furniture and junk.

There was a good reason for the blockade. As soon as the first footfall echoed up the stairs, two massive hounds came barreling down, snapping and snarling for fresh blood.

Chris had been there before and he wasn't bothered by the weirdness. People had a right to live their way, right? Anyhow, her prices were dandy and the shop was close to home. What could possibly be better? Chris entered the shop, "Hi ya, Mrs. L., how ya doin'?"

Mrs. L. smiled at Chris. "Well, well, Christopher what brings you here today?"


She always called him Christopher. "I need an old perfume bottle Mrs. L., my sister's birthday is Sunday and I got to get something quick. Ma will skin me if isn't in the mail today!"


"Well, Christopher, we can't have that now can we?" The look in her eyes said otherwise. "I have just the thing, dear." She moved further into the shop, Chris following far to the left, away from the `hell-hounds' slobbering and snapping at him from the stairs.

From a crowded shelf, thick with dust and debris, she plucked a small, bluish bottle, shaped like a teardrop. As she handed it to Chris, he saw something swirling in the center of the bottle, something like mist or smoke. As he brought it to eye level, the swirling stopped and he wondered if it had been there at all or if it was some trick of light.

She led Chris to the front of the shop, took the bottle and wrapped it in tissue paper then put it in a small bag.


"How much do I owe ya, Mrs. L.?" He took out his tattered Lord and Buxton and waited.

"That will be five thirty nine, Christopher." Her beady eyes took on an added luster as he handed her the money. "Your first purchase, young man."

"Yeah, Mrs. L., maybe next time I can buy something for me!" Like some of them Playboys, Chrissy-Boy?

"Yes young man, for yourself or perhaps for some lucky young woman?" Mrs. L. said this in a way that made Chris' skin crawl. She sure was a creepy old hag!

Chris grabbed his bag and turned to leave. The old woman called after him, "Now don't be such a stranger, Christopher." Her dry chuckle followed him from the store.

Chris shook off the feeling of dread as he climbed back into his car and headed to Hillsborough Avenue but when he reached the post office his heart sank. They were closed. How could they be friggin' closed? How much better was his luck gonna get today, for chrissake!

Slamming his hand on the steering wheel, he grimaced in pain; now go ahead, Einstein, break your friggin' hand! He started his car and shoved it into gear. Now old Lucy would never get the friggin' bottle in time. Then an idea struck. Was it Chris' fault if the gift was late? After all, the mail was never reliable was it? Good thinkin' Chrissy-wissy! He would just mail the thing tomorrow and if it was late, who cared? Not Chris, that's for sure! No problem!

He swung through the Taco Bell on the way home, then armed with a sackful of artery putty, went up to his apartment and plopped down in front of the tube. The usual tabloid crap was on and Chris was in his element. Forgot the beer, can't forget the beer Chris. Beer in hand, he settled back down to watch all of the latest bullshit.

After he polished off the last taco, he noticed the bag on the kitchen table. He retrieved it and sat back down and opened it. He held the tissue wrapped bottle in his palm, the thing seemed to glow blue right through the paper. He unwrapped it and held it up to the light. Blue mist swirled within. What the fuck? He held it to his nose but no scent escaped the glass stopper.

What was that misty stuff? He held the bottle close to the light bulb on the table lamp. It was opaque but something blue was definitely movin' around in there. Only one way to find out. He held the bottle at arm's length, could be somethin' poisonous after all, and he worked the glass stopper out of the top of the bottle.

A wisp of blue smoke escaped. Startled, Chris dropped the empty bottle to the floor. The bottle bounced harmlessly and came to rest by Chris' foot. He jumped back and eyed the bottle warily. It was empty, that was for sure, and now it was plain old clear glass bottle, not nearly as special as before.

Chris picked the bottle up and sniffed the opening; very funky. He recapped it and held it up to the light. Yep, empty, no more blue smoke. Oh well, it was just fine like it was for old Lucy-Goosey. Jeez, she was lucky she was gettin' anything from her baby brother! he placed the bottle back into the tissue then returned the bag to the table.

He did not notice the thin blue smoke drifting on the air. He did not see it drift into his bedroom and settle up close to the ceiling. No, old Chrissy-Boy didn't notice at all.

Chris yawned and stretched and looked at the clock. He was tired. He considered a shower and thought better of it. It wasn't like he was sleepin' with a broad or something. Who cared if he smelled like a stockyard at high noon? He was just too tired to care so he shucked off his pants and shirt, dropped heavily onto the bed, yawning as he lay back on the musty pillows. The blue smoke shifted slightly. He didn't notice, he didn't care.

As Chris slept, he dreamed his usual impossible dreams of naked nymphets clambering for his sexual favors. But this time it was different. This time something else shared his fantasies. Something hungry for life . . . hungry for him.

The blue smoke drew nearer Chris' sleeping bulk, hanging scant inches from his face as he drifted in blissful oblivion, invading his dreams, drawing the details of his desires into its self, using those details to take form and substance. First, eyes appeared in the swirling mist, large almond shaped green eyes, fringed with thick sable lashes.

The mist receded to hover by the side of Chris' bed and a face began to take shape, breathtaking in its beauty, skin creamy and flawless, the very stuff of nocturnal desire. Rich auburn hair appeared to frame the perfect face. The upper body came next, white curved shoulders appearing magically, then melding into perfect, high-set breasts, nipples palest pink pouts at each tip.

The waist curved gently in then flared out to form the swell of womanly hips and the slightly rounded mound of stomach. The plump thighs met in the middle where the cleft of female sexuality protruded slightly, auburn down hiding it from view as the silky thighs narrowed to tapered calves, slim ankles and dainty feet. There she stood, by Chris Shenky's bed, the epitome of female perfection, breathing air for the first time in a millennium.

The newborn caught sight of herself in the mirror above Chris' battered dresser and realized her nudity. She looked quickly around for something to cover herself with. On the chest was draped a fringed shawl, souvenir of Chris' big vacation trip to Atlantic City in 1989.

She moved to the chest and carefully removed the shawl from under the jumble of Chris' life, then wrapped it around her body. In the mirror her image wavered, becoming misty and indistinct around the edges. She had forgotten how quickly a human visage could fade, it had been a long time, a very long time indeed. This time it would be different.

The entity was neither male nor female, infinitely adaptable to either sex or to no gender at all. Chameleon-like it adapted to its environment as the situation dictated. It was a creature of opportunity in the truest sense.

The newborn allowed herself to fade even more and oozed her insubstantial body through the crack under the door. She was alone in the hall. To remain in the corporeal world, she must have sustenance. She moved from the building into the night city. A plaintive meow announced prey. She moved expectantly in the direction of the sound.

. . .


Chris Shenky awoke to the unpleasant heat of midday. The heat intensified the sour odor of his body and he decided shower time was way overdue. He had plenty of time to shower, mail Lucy-Cow's gift and get to work on time. It was only two fifteen and his shift didn't start until six. He tossed his grungy underwear into the growing pile in the corner and padded naked to the bathroom.

He relieved his straining bladder and turned on the water. He lathered his body with Dial and washed his hair with the same bar. Who needed fancy-schmancy shampoo with his little wisps?

He stepped from the shower and grabbed the closest towel. Smelled clean enough so he dried and went to the closet to get his uniform. He thumbed through the row of identical blue shirts and chose the one with the fewest stains and a pair of black slacks. Black was good. He could wear a pair of black pants until the smell was overpowering and he was forced to take them to Ma to launder.

Dressed and ready to go, he went to the chest to get his wallet and stopped short. Where was his souvenir shawl? It was gone . . . some-no-good-body had stolen his friggin' souvenir shawl, for chrissake! Nothing was sacred in this cockamamie world!

Well, he would talk to the management about this, yes-siree-bob, you could count on that fact! Had to be that weird-o-rama bug man. He had seen the guy lusting after his shawl. Yep, had to be that creepo.

At two thirty in the morning, Chris pulled into his allotted parking space in front of his building and wearily hauled his weight from the car. The night had not gone well. He actually had to work. Several of the old farts had decided it was time to make a break for it and he had had to round them up and shove them back into their rooms a couple times. Not Chris' idea of a good evening.

Chris' idea of a good night was bullshitting the nurses and guzzling a couple gallons of coffee between naps in his vinyl chair by the front door. Oh well he had managed to survive the night and his bed was calling his name.

When he came to his door, he stopped dead in his tracks. He rubbed his eyes and looked again. Yep, she was still there, standing at the end of the hall lookin' right directly at old Chrissy-Boy. He stood with his mouth open taking in the sight of her. Red hair wild around her white shoulders, big green eyes wide and staring and a bod that wouldn't wait! Jeez, was she for real?

She started down the hall toward him, hips swaying seductively, the fringe on her dress shimmering in the garish hall lights. When she reached Chris she smiled, revealing perfect pearly whites gleaming against the scarlet of her lips, lips made for kisses and more. His groin tightened as he gazed at her and thoughts of what he wanted to do to her invaded his mind.

"Hello I'm your new neighbor," she offered a slender hand. Oh, sweet Jesus . . . was this a dream?

"Uh, hello," he stammered, his suddenly dry tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth.

She squeezed his hand and he nearly peed his pants. Where had this broad come from? She was beautiful and she was talking to him. What was wrong with this picture?

Maybe she liked uniforms or something, it didn't matter, he was talking to a goddess and he wasn't gonna question it, no-siree-bob, not Chris Shenky!

"I'm Chris, Chris Shenky. I live right here . . . " he still gripped her hand in his.

"I know, I've seen you before, Chris. My name is Pandora." Pandora, for chrissake! Did real girls have names like Pandora? She pried her hand from his and turned to leave. "I'll see you soon, Chris." She walked down the hall to the stairs as Chris stared dumbfounded after her.

"Yeah sure, see ya soon." He continued to stare as she disappeared up the stairway. Nothing had ever happened to him like that before. Ever. Maybe life was about to become a whole lot more interesting.

His dreams that night were crammed full of long red hair and scarlet lips that moved over his body, sucking and biting all of the right places. He came twice in his sleep.

For the next few days he watched for Pandora. He stuck his head out of the door trying to glimpse her in the hall . . . he began to think he had dreamed her up.

Then, as he arrived home from work one morning, there she was, just as he had dreamed her. She came to him and grasped his hand, "Hi, Chris. I've been thinking about you." Her red lips parted in a smile that made his heart leap.

"Thinkin' about me?"

"Yes, Chris, you. I really have no friends, being so new to Tampa and all. I thought maybe you and I could be friends." Her voice trailed off as she waited for his response.

"Friends? Yeah, sure we could be friends. Say, I'm off work tomorrow, would you like to maybe come over to my place and we could talk and maybe get to know each other kinda?" Jeez, Chris, you sound like Ma, for chrissake!

But, to his surprise, Pandora accepted his invitation, "How about seven, Chris? Is that okay?" She still held his hand in hers.

"Yeah, that's fine, that's perfect, see ya then?" She released his hand and walked away.

"Yes, Chris, see you then." Her smile promised things he didn't dare to consider. She ascended the stairs as he watched, fringes swaying on her dress. Wasn't that the same dress she had on when they met? Must be her favorite. And something about it looked vaguely familiar. Maybe he had seen one like it in the old Playboys. Yeah, probably.

The next day, Chris bustled around his apartment, cleaning for the first time in what seemed like decades. As a finishing touch, he put fresh sheets on his bed, you never knew, he could get lucky. There was something blatantly sexual bout the way she looked at him, that was certain, yes indeedy. He whistled "Strangers in the Night" as he cleaned.

At five-thirty, he showered and shaved, slapped on some Aqua Velva and brushed his teeth until his gums ran red. He took out his scissors and trimmed his nose hair, blew his sparse hair dry and went to the closet.

He chose a melon colored nylon shirt and a pair of tan polyester Sans-A-Belts he had gotten from the Goodwill last year. The buttons on the shirt strained to contain his belly and the slacks did likewise.

He went to the kitchen and opened the cupboard. There he found a bottle of Blue Nun and he put it into the freezer to chill. He had had the wine for several years so it should be good and aged by now. He arranged some Ritz crackers on his best plate and put some Cheez Whiz in a small bowl in the middle of the plate.

He glanced at the kitchen clock, six forty-five. His stomach turned flip-flops. Almost time. He made his last minute preparations, put his Chianti bottle candle on the coffee table and lit it. He put out the snacks on the table by the candle and uncorked the wine, then he placed two jelly glasses beside it.

He went to the bedroom and turned on his clock radio, tuned it to Warm 101.5 and waited for his goddess to arrive as the strains of Barry Manilow filled the apartment.

At precisely seven o'clock she knocked on his door. He took a deep breath and opened the door, there she was, red hair gleaming in the hall light, breasts peeking over the top of her dress.

"Hello, Chris," she said in a voice dripping honey. She reached out to stroke his arm. The hairs stood on end at her touch. She looked around the room, "Did you do all of this for me?"

"Yeah, Pandora, for you." His penis stirred in his polyester pants. She sidled over to the couch and sat down her skirt hiking up an incredible thigh, smooth skin stretching on forever. His heart hammered in his chest. She patted the couch beside her, "Come on, Chris. I won't bite . . . "

He took a deep breath and sat down beside her. Her scent was wildly provocative, not perfume exactly, something more primal. He reached a trembling hand to pour the wine and she covered his hand with hers. He looked into her eyes and saw incredible lust and hunger. Could this be happening to him?

She took his hand from the bottle and pressed it to her breast. He nearly fainted at the sweet weight in his cupped hand. She squeezed his hand so that it as squeezing her, then leaned closer and ran her red tongue over his lips. He shivered, suddenly terrified he would climax before they got started.

She moved closer and her skirt slipped higher, she was naked beneath the dress. Chris moaned and placed a sweaty palm on her thigh. She parted her legs and let him run his hand to the triangle of fluff between her thighs. He nearly swooned.

He was convinced he must be dreaming and in his dreams he was all powerful so he grasped her hair in his fist and pulled her red lips to his. After a deep kiss, he pushed her face to his crotch and she opened her vermillion mouth and took him in. It was incredibly warm and wet and he began to thrust, holding her head tightly against him.

Just when he could stand it no longer, she slid up to kiss him. He tried to protest but her lips were locked on his. Her kiss became harder and deeper. Her full lips created a suction as she pressed his head into the back of the couch. It hurt like hell. He tried to push her away but she was strong and try as he might the suction kept on getting stronger, her mouth sucking on his like a friggin' vacuum cleaner.

He opened his eyes wider, breathing heavily through his nose, trying to thrust her away. His hands came up to grasp her cheeks and push at her face as he strained to free himself. But she only opened her mouth wider and covered his nostrils and her eyes opened and he saw the emptiness there and he saw his doom.

This was no friggin' dream girl, this was some kind of monster and he was gonna die, oh God, his Ma had warned him about strangers, why hadn't he listened for chrissake . . . why?

Pandora continued to suck the sweet life from Chris Shenky as he slipped from consciousness in her embrace, still wondering why his life was so full of crap. She drained the last essence of him and his dying breaths entered her, filling in the empty spaces and as she stole from him his life she became more vivid and alive.

At last, she released him letting the lifeless husk of his body fall back on the rag-taggle couch. His once round face had caved in upon itself, his mouth and nose now elongated and thin from the force of her sucking.

His legs and arms were spindly bones covered with the dry parched stretch of his skin. It was the thinnest Chris Shenky had been in his life . . . it did not become him.

Pandora stood up and smoothed her dress down over her hips, feeling the new rich, blood-pounding life coursing through her like vintage wine. She had forgotten how exquisite it felt to be human, how wonderful it was to feel blood racing through her pulsing veins.

She would grow stronger and more capable of holding form and substance each time she fed. She walked to the mirror and fluffed up her red hair, then she walked to the door and reached out her very firm, very human hand and turned the knob. This time it would last a few hours, much longer than any animal allowed, but not long enough, not nearly long enough.

As Pandora turned to leave, she spotted a thin young man with thick-lensed glasses and pock-marked skin standing in front of a closed door. She smiled as she held out her hand to him and said hello. Maybe this time she could manage a whole day.