This was written for Bradley Ramsey’s Flash Fiction February. This was for the Day 24 Prompt.
Darryl brought home a teapot from the Verrano estate auction, and I rolled my eyes.
“You call that dangerous?” I asked. Made of fine china painted with pink roses and pale green leaves, it looked like something my great-grandmother would’ve served tea from.
“Hell yeah, I do,” he blustered, offended. “The last three owners were either suicides or murder/suicides. It’s deadly!”
I snorted and shook my head. “Whatever you say, hon. You get to put this one away.”
I usually put the objects away — I was a little more detail-oriented than Darryl. But I was pretty sure he’d be safe handling the pretty little teapot.
“Sure. I got it. No worries,” he said, his chest puffing out at my ‘faith’ in him. I moved on to my next project repainting our third bedroom.
When he brought me a cup of tea a couple of hours later, it was a pleasant surprise. I didn’t think twice before taking my first sip. “Mmm. Nice. Chamomile?” I tried to ask. But what came out of my mouth was, “You slept with Elly Francis in college while we were dating.”
Wide-eyed surprise was his response to my accusation. It was also my response.
“Did you… serve me tea from a cursed teapot?” I asked quietly, my temper growing as hot as the liquid in my cup.
“I mean, I just wanted to show you it’s really dangerous,” he said sheepishly.
I gritted my teeth and sat the cup down hard, splashing hot tea over my hand. I swore as my skin reddened. “Asshole!”
“I told you!” Darryl crowed, chest once again puffing out like some pigeon dandy.
Glaring at him, I reached deliberately toward the cup and lifted it for another sip. Then I said, “You spent half our savings on a tricked-out van full of features we’ve never used!”
Eyes wide again, he yelped, “What are you doing? Don’t drink any more from it!”
I took another sip. “You made out with a stripper at your bachelor party.”
Another. “You coveted the Lyons’ oldest daughter when she was only 17 years old!”
But with the next sip it changed. “I had dinner with Jim Dekin when I was in San Francisco last May.”
“You what?” he yelled.
I quickly sat the teacup down again. “I think we’ve both learned our lesson,” I huffed. “Let’s lock it up.”
He pouted, but nodded his agreement, and we headed for the kitchen. Without another word, he began preparing the storage label, and I dumped the undrunk tea down the sink.
But when I picked up the pot, it was full.
“Oh shit,” I said. “Guess we’re storing it as-is.”
Darryl paled and nodded, then handed me the clipboard.
Object #482. Conflict Induction Vessel. Do not serve at holidays.
“We should probably talk,” he commented as I placed it in its lead-lined cabinet and locked the door.
I nodded. Then Darryl mused, “Think it would work on the Hendersons?”
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‼️ If you liked this, you may want to check out some of my other fiction.
Did this story make you laugh, cry, or think? Buy me a cup of existential dread, and I’ll keep the stories coming.
Cursed tea pot!!! I want one!!!!
TRUTH SERUM ANYONE??? Or this!! https://youtu.be/JWFuyuUidAg