THE MUG
Short fantasy about a talking mug and a reluctant spinster
A series of clattering, clunking, and banging rocked the kitchen. A lonely woman straddling middle age loaded the dishwasher from a sink full of dishes, bowls and frying pans piled over the last few nights. She discordantly hummed out a tune when she stopped short, pulling out a mug in the form of a caricatured human face. It was oddly proportioned, even pushing the uncanny valley. She stared at the oversized grin. It had the look of ridicule. She knitted her brow; what an eyesore!
With a casual shrug, she threw it in the wash. It might have belonged to her last boyfriend; she recalled his poor taste in aesthetics, but that was all in the past.
As she grabbed the silverware, someone cried out her name. Caught off guard, she whipped around, searching every corner of the kitchen. Living alone, she prayed to the high heavens she wouldn’t come face to face with a home intruder.
“Right here! Right here!” The voice sounded inches away, but she saw no one else in the kitchen.
She skimmed the apartment, searching through every room and closet, and shouting for whoever violated her private residence to leave at once. Not a peep. She paused to scratch her head.
“No. Over here!” Another shout blurted from where she stood moments ago. It’s nasal tone became clearer.
Her heart raced. Was the intruder playing games, ready to spring a trap? Mustering as much courage as her feeble heart could bear, she skulked back into the kitchen, grabbed the closest piece of cutlery from the wood block, and crept toward the dishwasher precariously pointing the knife with both hands.
“There you are!” The voice bellowed. She froze, her hands shaking uncontrollably. “I’ve been looking all over for you. Now if you will, pluck me from this tomb of cheap ceramics.”
She tried to look threatening as she leered into the dishwasher.
“Who—who’s there?”
“Do we have to play this game again? Besides, you look goofy with that knife in your hand.” The voice chided.
She leaned further in, her knife quivering.
“Okay, stay put,” it said. She froze in her tracks, her eyes wide with fear. “Now, pull out the top rack.”
She obeyed.
“Um…all I see are a bunch of glasses.”
“The mug! The mug!”
Three of them lay scattered among the other receptacles. She played eeny-meeny-miny-moe, then picked one up.
“Not that one!” the voice shouted.
She dropped it back into its slot and picked up another. It said, ‘I’m with stupid.’ No dice.
“Hey, genius, you’ve got only one left. Can you guess which one it is?”
She leaned from side to side, looking perplexed.
“The one with the face, dummy! Come on.”
Her shoulders slumped. She held out a shaky hand over the mug, too afraid to touch it.
“I don’t have all day, sister. Now pull me outta here!”
“Uh…I was going to wash the dishes—”
“Do I look like a dish? Just pull me out!”
She cautiously picked up the mug by the handle, slowly inspecting it and hoping nothing jumped out to grab her. The object was ugly enough on its own.
The face remained unchanged, and she thought herself crazy. She placed it on the counter next to the drainer as she would a bomb ready to burst, then flinched back, staring to see what it would do.
“There we go!” The voice proclaimed, revealing itself as the mug.
She dropped the knife, undistracted by its clatter.
“That’s why I kept my mouth shut when I was in your tender mercy,” it said, flapping its doughy lips.
Every time it spoke, she wanted to faint. The toothy grimace and wide-open eyes would haunt her dreams for years to come.
“What…I mean…who the hell are you?” She muttered with a notable ululation, covering her mouth.
“I see you’re the brains of your own outfit. FYI, I happen to be a magical mug. See me talking?” She almost screamed at the exaggerated the movement of its lips. “Now what’s the matter?”
She lowered her hand to speak. “Oh…uuh…nothing! I mean—”
“Spit it out!”
“I think…I’m seeing things right now.”
“So am I. You qualify as a thing.”
“But…but…I don’t even know where you came from. How are you able to…you know…” Utterly baffled, she waved her hands in circles trying to express what she failed to understand.
“Does it matter?” The lips continued to flap, the rest of the expression unchanging.
“Well,” she said flustered, smirking to mask her disarray, “you’re not something…you know…that I see every day!”
“I could say the same for you: a lonely heart cooped up in the house ‘round the clock!”
She lost her words, too addled by disbelief to notice the insult.
“Let me explain,” the mug continued. “I happen to be a seeker. I guess it’s appropriate to say that I’m a disembodied spirit using any physical means to get around this world.”
“Uh…sooo…like a traveler…that turned into something you drink out of?” She posed the question like a statement.
“That’s one way of putting it.”
“You look like something that belonged to my ex…well, one of them.”
“That’s irrelevant.” The mug rolled its eyes and cut to the chase. “I come from a magical kingdom from beyond—and don’t bother looking for it, cuz you’ll never find it. Now, to jump the gun, we’ve got a problem on our hands. Our king is missing his female counterpart.”
She furrowed her brow in confusion.
The mug resumed, “Um…I mean someone who can step up to the plate and assume the position of the queen.”
“Like who?”
“Like you!”
“Me?” She froze, as if caught in an accusation.
“Yes. Who else would I be referring to?”
“How? You’re a talking mug, and I’m kind of freaked out right now!” She couldn’t break away from its unblinking stare, or its mouth arched into a perpetual grin, regardless of disposition.
“Oh, come on! You’re not scared of a little hocus-pocus, are you? Magic’s your middle name. Just look at yourself.”
“My mirror’s in the other room if you want me to go get it.” She languidly pointed where her bedroom lay.
“Seriously, that won’t be necessary.”
“But why me? In a place where everybody looks like you?” The words awkwardly spilled from her mouth.
“I suppose so, but let’s not digress. Do you know anything about prophecies? Preordained happenings before they…happen?”
She noticed the eyes of the mug scanning her up and down as it spoke.
“No?” She inflected in the form of a question. “Except…maybe on the stock market?” She shrugged her shoulders.
“Good grief! I mean the stuff of legends where the big stuff happens. Kinda like a revelation.”
“What does that have to do with being queen?”
“Oh, for God’s sake, stop with the dumb questions! What I’m getting at is you’ve been chosen for leadership. You’ll be adored, exalted, even deified! Yet, here you are washing dishes.”
“Well, I can’t just let them pile up in the sink—”
“Um, did you hear me?” The mug cut in, its tone condescending. “You can ditch a life of mediocrity and fall into the lap of luxury. It’ll be your ticket to immortality!” Its eyes continued to vertically pivot.
She grew more nervous. “So, what happened to the last queen?”
“Oh, her. She got old and died.”
“Wait. Wasn’t she supposed to be immor––”
“Just think of it. You’re going to be worshipped! You’ll be sittin’ pretty on a throne with every subject bowing at your whim! Hear that? Think Marie-Antoinette or Empress Sheba, with servants shoving grapes and boxed chocolates down your throat. Sounds like a pretty sweet deal to me!”
A strand of saliva hung from its lip.
“Err…I don’t know.” She loosely pointed her finger to the side. “I think it’s better if I stay—”
The mug sucked in the drool. “Better if you what? Remain stuck in a rat-infested hellhole like this?”
“Rats? I haven’t seen any—”
“You’re a tough nut to crack! But I’ll tell you what. If I can get your attention for just one—wait, what are you doing?”
“I was about to pour in the detergent.” She held a box of dried dishwasher soap.
“Are you paying attention? Do you even know the trouble our kingdom’s in?”
She stood with the detergent in hand, saucer-eyed and her lip curling over the top of her teeth.
“Hellooooo? Knock. Knock. I said our kingdom will be doomed if no can fill in the shoes!”
She shook herself out of a stupor. “Oh…oh, my. That doesn’t sound good.”
“No, it doesn’t. That’s why we. Need. You. Get it? It sure beats the hell out of binge-watching soap operas!”
She felt more put off than flattered, but it was hard to dismiss a plea for help.
“Well, uh, that sounds nice and all, but I’m not exactly a spring chicken. What would you have me to do exactly? You know…to save your kingdom…or something like that.” She waved her hands, fumbling for words.
“Tell you what. If you accept my offer, all your worries will vanish without a trace. And WHAMMO! The kingdom’s saved and everyone’s happy!”
“Aaand you said I’ll be worshiped?” She canted her head, taking advantage of her position. The mug noticed how she started to capitulate, and seized the moment with undue confidence.
“Comes with the territory. Hand fans and all.”
“Um…maybe not the fans. But how about an AC unit when it’s hot?”
“Granted!”
“And grapes sound nice…and I like fine chocolate. Make it truffles!”
“Done!”
“And I want full access to every streaming service, complete with my own private theater!”
“You bet!”
“For real?” She kept tilting her head.
“More real than the dump you call home. You were made for this, babe—I mean my Queen!”
“Okay, so…how do I…you know…go about this queen business?” She couldn’t stop whipping her hands around. She was losing control of herself.
“Alright. Now, you need to listen to everything I tell you. Capiche?”
“I’m all ears!”
“Okay. First, take off all of your clothes!”
Alarm bells rang. Without another word, she swept up the mug and dashed it on the floor.
Special thanks to MarQuese Liddle for edits and suggestions.
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