A Light Bite
Dave thought he'd found the perfect bargain - but sometimes the best deals come with unexpected consequences… and very sharp teeth.
Photo by Dorran via Pexels
Dave was pleased with himself. Not only had he managed to buy a new lamp — something he had been meaning to do since the old one blew a fuse, but it had been an absolute steal. The man in the shop had practically been giving it away.
The shop had been there as long as Dave could remember, but he usually got his furniture from IKEA so hadn’t paid it much attention. This time he thought he’d try something new, after all, what harm could it do?
The new lamp was ornate but not ostentatious, tall but not imposing; it would sit perfectly on his bedside table. For the rest of the day, until he settled in bed, he admired the detailed brass carvings whenever he looked at it.
Early the next morning his alarm blared out. He reached across to turn the light on, eyes still half closed, when something clamped on his hand. He let out a gargled wail, snatching the hand back to his chest. Rolling out of bed he glared around the room trying to find the source of the injury.
He had no pets and, looking under his bed, there was no sign of a mouse or rat. He was sure it had felt like a bite, there was even a mark appearing on his hand, a neat half circle already red and swollen.
Rubbing the sore spot, in the hope of easing the pain, he tried to come up with an explanation. It took a while but, while washing his face, he decided that it must have been static. Just a static shock, that’s all.
He was seemingly happy with this answer until he reached towards his bedside table to pick up his watch. There was an undeniable growl. He withdrew his hand instinctively. He reached forward again and the growl resumed. Deep, metallic, the sound of heavy gears grinding over one another. He moved his hand around the table as the sound grew louder until, his hand only an inch away from its base, a small mouth appeared on the lamp.
Frozen in shock he could clearly see small rows of teeth bared menacingly in a mouth carved from brass. Speechless he held his hand still when the lamp lurched forward and snapped at Dave’s fingers.
Screeching, he withdrew his hand. Tumbling over his own feet he crawled into the bathroom, slammed the door shut and turned the lock.
“What do you mean you won’t take it back?” Dave yelled.
It had taken him almost an hour to build up the courage to leave the bathroom. Then twice that to fetch a large box from downstairs and, flipping it upside down, trap the lamp. Ever since he’d closed the lid, a low growl and occasional gnashing of teeth had come from inside the closed box.
The shop keeper didn’t seem the least bit concerned. He shrugged with an apologetic smile and slid a small piece of paper across the counter-top. In curly elegant letters, was the phrase:
All purchases are final. No exceptions.
Grabbing the slip of paper, tucking the box under one arm, Dave huffed and left the shop. He swung the door shut as hard as he could on the way out. An effect made less impressive by the doors slow close mechanism, which gave out a soft sigh as he left.
The walk back to his house led Dave past the school, the sight of which sparked an idea. After some searching, and more than a few odd looks at both him and the still growling box, he managed to track down the science teacher, a retired engineer.
Dave put the box on his desk and said, “Excuse me, I need help with this.”
The teacher looked up from his desk, and gently looked under the lid, “I think you might be in the wrong place. You’d be better off with an electrician.”
Dave was not in the mood for jokes, “Trust me, this is not an electrical problem. Can you please just take a look.”
The teacher reached down and pulled a screwdriver from a desk draw. Dave took a cautious step back as the teacher opened the box further and leaned over to look inside, screwdriver dangling loosely in one hand.
The whole box rattled and the mouth of the lamp darted up and clamped onto the end of the screwdriver. The teacher screeched as the lamp dragged his hand into the box. An odd game of tug of war ensued, which came to an end with an almighty crunch when the lamp bit clean through the screwdriver and the teacher went spinning backwards, knocking a stack of books to the floor.
Standing up, dusting himself off, he pointed at the box with what was left of the screwdriver, “Get the hell out of here, and take that thing with you.”
Dave was rapidly running out of options. It was a diversion from his route home but the chapel seemed like his last sane option.
The silence inside was eerily impressive, or it would have been if not for the metallic grinding that echoed from the box. No doubt the lamp was still finishing its snack.
A reverend approached, bible in hand, and gestured at one of the pews, “Please come in, how can I help?”
“Well…” Dave hesitated. He didn’t know if he could tell the story without sounding insane. He sighed, “Honestly father, I think I’m being punished. I don’t know what I did, but something is out to get me.”
“Life can sometimes feel that way, but there is always a way out. What can I do to ease your burden?”
Dave thought he’d try his luck, “For starters you can take this lamp off my hands.” He pushed the box towards the reverend, who leaned over and lifted the lid to look inside.
As soon as the lid was up the box lurched sideways. The lamp’s jaws snapped, gripping onto the book in the reverend’s hands, tearing it from his hands and pulling it into the box.
Blood drained from the reverend’s face, leaving him silent and pale. Shredded chunks of book flew out of the box. Dave took his chance to slam the lid, sealing the lamp back into its, clearly inadequate, container.
After the colour returned to his face the reverend stood up and gestured towards the rear of the chapel, “I don’t think I can help you.”
Dave was at the end of his rope now, which is how he ended up in a tiny parlour on the edge of town.
The decor was mainly plastic jewels, oversized candles and odd shaped knickknacks. The woman opposite was similarly adorned, an oversized robe draped across her shoulders and thick glasses framing dark eyes.
Before he even opened his mouth she waved her hands over the table and said in a throaty whisper, “You are troubled, that is why you seek the advice of the Mystic Madame Monroe.”
“Yes, I…”
Before he could finish the sentence the Madame interrupted, “Is it woman troubles?”
“No it’s…”
“Ah it must be money troubles then!” She exclaimed.
“No.” This time he didn’t even try to continue
“Oh. Care to give me a hint then?”
Dave reached under the desk and put the box on the table, “It’s this lamp. I think it’s cursed, I need…”
“Say no more. Cursed object. Of course, of course. That was going to be my next guess.” She withdrew a deck of tarot cards from the depths of her robe, “Let me commune with the spirits and we’ll have the lamp back to normal in no time.”
She waved her hands over the cards and started to deal them onto the table one by one.
“First we have the flaming torch, no doubt representing the light of the lamp.” She pulled the next one out with a dramatic flourish, nearly hitting Dave in the face with a baggy sleeve as she did so.
“Next we have the wolf’s jaw, full of viscous teeth. Representing…er…” She waved her hand around dismissively, “Well, let’s see if the last card makes the image clearer. It’s…oh..it’s a deck of cards. How odd?”
The box on the table lurched forward and the lamp came tumbling out. Rolling across the table, it snatched the deck of cards from Madame Monroe’s hand. With a squeal, she lurched up, the lamp tangling in the sleeves of her robe.
Once it was disentangled, Dave had flipped the box back onto the lamp. Still righting her robe and glasses, she breathlessly retrieved the remnants of her cards and gasped, “I think that’s the end of our session. Please don’t come back.”
Dave made the decision to get the bus home, it was now too far to walk home and as he’d set off rain had started to fall.
After a few stops an old man sat beside him and brushed some rain off his hat. He gave Dave a polite nudge and asked, “Why so glum?”
Dave slumped in the seat and sighed, “It’s a long story.” He hesitated, not wanting to burden yet another stranger with his problems but also unable to stop himself for fear that he was going to lose his mind.
“This bloody cursed lamp.” He kicked the box by his feet which gave off an aggressive growl, so he tucked his feet back under the seat. “It causes chaos wherever it goes. If I were you I would probably move seats.”
The old man chuckled, “Don’t worry, I’m only on for one stop. That does sound like quite a challenge. Although a word of advice, in my experience lamps tend to prefer to be rubbed rather than kicked.”
Dave barked a laugh, thinking the old man was making a joke. When he looked up the man had a genuine smile on his face, “Like I said, just some advice. Well’ here’s my stop. Good luck with the lamp.”
The man stood up and, as Dave caught his eye out of the window, he gave a wave of his hat.
Later that evening Dave sat with a glass of whiskey in one hand staring at the box which still contained the lamp. He muttered to himself, “Prefer to be rubbed…rubbed.” He took another sip of the whiskey. “No, it would just bite my hand off.”
After several hours of staring, and several more glasses of whiskey, Dave stood over the box wondering how it had reached this point.
He lifted the lid carefully, currently there was no growling, which was either a good or bad sign. Dave couldn’t decide which.
“Well, here it goes.” Dave eased his hand into the box with a grimace.
Dave’s feet rested on his coffee table. He had a book in one hand, a glass of whiskey resting on the table beside him and the dying embers of a fire were crackling in the grate. His free hand rested gently on the base of the lamp.
When he’d put his hand in the box he had been terrified. He had expected to hear growling and feel a sudden burst of pain. Instead, he’d managed to touch the cool brass and pat it gently. Rather than a growl, the lamp had given out a soft purr. The same noise it made now, and had every night since, whenever Dave’s hand gave it an affectionate pat.
He closed the book, finished his glass of whiskey. As he stood, he felt something crease in his pocket, the small slip of paper from the shop. Walking past the fire he tossed it onto the embers and watched as it shrivelled and turned to ash.
With a satisfied grin, he reached over to the lamp and gave it one last affection pat and, as he turned it off, said “Goodnight lamp.”
