Pythian Games

Maribeth Stumpft did not see the crack at first. She desultorily typed at her keyboard, translating the software designers’ notes into Help instructions that would be comprehensible by consumers.

A faint rattle and cricking sound caught her attention and she glanced over to the blue ceramic pot that served as her pen and pencil holder. She did not notice anything unusual. She returned to her typing.

Maribeth had worked at the software company for nearly 18 years as a technical writer. She had degrees in writing and at one time had won a number of prestigious writing awards. Fat lot of luck those awards had gotten her, she thought as she pounded just a little harder than usual on her keyboard.

Again, she heard a rattle and creaking sound. This time she saw the crack in the blue pot. How did that happen?, she wondered. Probably the cleaning crew had knocked it off her desk.

“Maribeth!” Dora Smither’s nasily whine cut through the air. “Are you going to have that section done by lunchtime? If not, you’ll have to work through the hour.”

“Yes, Dora, it’ll get done on time.” Dora was a thorn in Maribeth’s side. In spite of the positive feedback she got from various department heads and the vice-president, Maribeth rarely got the same from Dora, her supervisor. To the contrary, Dora had it in for Maribeth and found ways to remind her that the company was doing her a favor to keep her around for so many years.

My writing IS good, Maribeth fumed as she hit the enter key hard enough to make everything on her desk seem to jump and rattle.

Maribeth, in fact, loved to write and spent as much time as she could in that effort. However, quite often, she was so dog-tired at the end of the day, so emotional drained from being terrorized by Dora that she rarely had any good ideas and no energy to put the few she had on to paper. Maribeth sighed. She felt very old.

Suddenly, the blue pot hopped on her desk. Startled, Maribeth stared at it for a moment.

“Stupid mice! They’re into everything!” She reached over to the pot and pulled out all the pens, the ruler, the letter opener and pencils. As she rose to take the pot outside to release the mouse, she saw to her astonishment, that the pot was empty.

She slowly placed the pot back on the desk. It sat there for a moment, but just as Maribeth started to relax, the pot nearly jumped off her desk as it began to rattle again.

Maribeth pushed her chair away from the desk and slammed against the wall. “Dora! Dora, come here!” she shouted. There was no answer. “Angela? Fred? Anybody, come here!”

Silence.

As the pot continued to shake and hop on her desk, she noticed the crack in its side starting to widen.

“Dora! Anybody!” she shouted louder. Then she looked around and saw that she was completely alone in the office suite.

“Let me out!” hissed a voice. Maribeth froze and stared at the pot. It still gyrated wildly and the crack was nearly an inch apart. Maribeth gasped as she saw a pair of green eyes in the darkness of the crack. “Let me out now!,” came the voice again.

Maribeth scrambled to the nearest door. She pulled on the handle. The door would not open.

She began pounding on it. “DORA! This is not funny!! Angela? Fred? C’mon you guys!”

Maribeth looked back at her desk. The pot was beginning to disintegrate and an awful laughter pealed from the pot. “I’m almost free and I’m coming for you” said the voice.

Then with a loud crack the pot exploded.

Maribeth screamed and frantically pounded on the door. With a great bang, the door gave way and Maribeth fell through it onto the ground.

For a moment she laid there, stunned, her eyes closed. At first, silence enveloped her but then she began to hear the sound of chirping birds. She opened her eyes. Green leaves, dripping with dew surrounded her. She sat up and saw a sign nearby. It pointed up a hill and read: “To the Abbey.” She then looked at the ground.

Scattered all around her were enormous shards of blue ceramic.

Image and Story: L. Gloyd © 2006, Revised 2008