"Jesus, If I knew you were going to whine this much, I would have just done it myself," said Nolan as he dropped another crate next to his friend's feet.
"I'm not whining," Ron responded, indignantly, "I just think I have better things to do than do your job for you."
"Oh bullshit. School won't be back in session for another month and you've been bitching and moaning about how bored you are. You may as well have volunteered to teach summer school if you wanted something to do so badly."
No matter how bored Ron (or Mr. Dickson to his students) was these last 2 months, teaching summer school was about the worst possible scenario for him and most every other teacher on earth. The boredom of sitting in a sensory deprivation tank all summer would be preferable if it got him out of that classroom full of brain-rotted teenagers until the next school year.
Being perpetually single with no family and fewer friends than he could count on one hand, Ron had to admit, his options for entertainment were limited in his shitty little college town. A high school teacher in his 50s, his options for socializing were getting more and more limited by the year.
Which is why, to his deep regret, he jumped at the chance when his friend, Nolan, offered to hang out with him all day at the local university. Nolan, however, failed to mention he would be helping to catch up on the backlog of work Nolan was too "busy" to get to.
"Busy my ass," Ron fumed internally, "I wonder which of his students he's screwing now."
Ron knew his friend wasn't particularly shy about giving better grades to students, male or female, if they gave him something in return. Just before the previous semester ended, Ron spoke with Nolan over the phone and his friend seemed oddly out of breath. It was only when he heard some light moaning and groaning in the background that it finally clicked what he was doing.
"Lucky bastard," muttered Ron.
Ron went back to his duty of making a list of artifacts the university's archeology department had received. Ken would have to properly record and catalog them later. Ron only needed to write down what was in each crate to keep everything organized. Or, in the case of the broken pottery in crate 37, write down what he thought he was looking at.
"I hope this shit wasn't broken in transit," Ron yelled to his friend across the room.
"With the garbage they send this shithole, I don't think anyone gives a shit about proper storage procedure," Nolan called back.
The university Nolan was a professor at wasn't exactly known for its academic merit. It was more known for its social atmosphere and energetic get-togethers. Like the end of semester get-together a few weeks earlier that resulted in 48 arrests for drunk and disorderly conduct, vandalism, public indecency, an unfortunate case of arson and a litany of other charges.
"And that was a small one by this madhouse's standards," mused Ron.
Any artifacts of actual value went to far more prestigious institutions. This university got what was left with whatever budget the football team hadn't bled dry.
Which is why Ron was so surprised when he opened the next crate.
"Damn, this looks expensive," he said to himself.
"What does?" Nolan replied, causing Ron to jump, having accidentally snuck up on his friend.
Inside the crate were a few random trinkets that looked to be from somewhere in the Middle East. Of the old, dusty knick-knacks one in particular caught his eye. An old, shiny, golden oil lamp that looked exactly like something a stereotypical genie would pop out of. Besides a bit of wear on the sides, it looked relatively new, especially compared to everything else in the room.
"Think it's real gold?" Ron asked as he gently picked it up.
"Naw. Probably just brass or something," Nolan replied, "Probably fake too considering how new it looks. How did this crap even get in here?"
"Hey, you think if I rub it, a genie will pop out?" Ron asked jokingly.
"HA! That'd be great. I'd love to retire early," Nolan responded, "But I don't think you be the first to try with how weathered the sides are."
Ron continued inspecting the lamp. Besides some simple embossing designs, it was a pretty plain-looking lamp. No jewels or fancy colors to be found.
"How do these things work anyway?" asked Ron, "I know they're called lamps but it looks like it functions more as a kettle or something. "
"Eh, it's kinda like an oil candle. You put oil inside, put a wick in the spout and light the wick for light. Then you carry it around by the handle."
"Huh, neat," Ron said, checking the bottom for any markings or stickers saying it was made in China.
"You want it?" Nolan asked.
"What?" Ron said surprised.
"Do you want to keep it?" repeated Nolan, "It's probably fake anyway and it keeps you from whining while we get this done, you can have it.
"I can't steal an artifact from the university!" exclaimed Ron
"Oh please, shit goes missing from here all the time. Not like we get anything good. No one is going to give anything of actual value to the damn party school in the middle of nowhere. Just take it and let's get back to it. We're burning daylight."
Ron looked uncomfortable, but figured with Ron being one of the most senior members of the archeology department, if he didn't care it was missing, then no one would. Ron shrugged, set the lamp aside and got back to work.
The two men continued their boring, tedious work for a few hours longer until Ron finished logging the last crate.
"Alright that's it for me," Ron yelled into the large room as he gathered the lamp and the rest of his things, not wanting to be asked to do more work, "I'll see you later."
"Alright," Nolan called from somewhere behind the shelves, "Let me know if you want to hang out here again."
"Go fuck yourself," Ron called back, walking out the door.
Ron was excited to try out his new antique. On his way home, he made a quick stop at the local hobby store to acquire a wick and some lamp oil. With that, he had everything he needed to use his new lamp as he rushed home.
*******
Three weeks later, Ron was sitting at home, watching nothing of value on TV as he wasted another evening waiting for bedtime. With school starting back up soon, Ron wanted to make the most of his remaining days of freedom. Unfortunately, that would require effort that could be easier spent doing nothing.
So there he sat, half watching TV, browsing social media on his phone and nursing a beer he didn't even like. He was content.
His home settled a bit, making a noise that knocked him out of his mindless scrolling. He glanced around the room, seeing everything was where it should be, without expending a single bit more energy than was necessary. His eye caught something shiny sitting on his coffee table. He realized it was the lamp that he had gotten weeks earlier that he had sat down and hadn't touched or thought of since.
"I should have asked that jackass for money," Ron thought, "What am I supposed to do with an old oil lamp? Sell it, I guess?"
In an instant, the room went black. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to just the light of his phone screen.
"Damn it," Ron said as he slowly stood up.
He made his way to a window and peered out.
"Looks like it's the whole neighborhood," he thought, "Good. That means I don't have to fix anything."
He turned around and walked back towards his chair when suddenly a sharp pain shot up his leg from his left pinky toe.
"FUCK," Ron exclaimed, stumbling a moment, "DAMN TABLE! I can't see shit in here."
After recovering a few seconds later, Ron turned his phone's flashlight on to get his bearings. He then noticed his phone was only at 20% charge and realized it wasn't sustainable.
"I need a better light," he thought, "and I think I found one."
The phone's light bounced off a gold metallic surface sitting on the coffee table.
Ron went to acquire the plastic bag that contained the wick and oil needed to use the lamp that he had likewise abandoned on an empty corner of his kitchen counter and forgot about, along with a lighter from a nearby drawer. After a few minutes of setup, he had what he thought was how the lamp was supposed to look. The wick sticking out of the spout and oil resting inside.
Using the lighter he lit the wick and to his surprise, he had done everything correctly. The small flame cast a surprisingly bright, soothing orange light across his living room.
"Perfect," Ron said to no one, "Now I can hope this thing isn't spewing lead or something into the air and I can go back to doing nothing."
As he was about to set down the lamp, the light showed the weathering on the sides in more detail. Ron looked closely at it and wondered if there was any way to get it back to looking like new.
"Maybe I could polish it with something later," he thought as he tried to scrape away at the flaw with a fingernail then rubbed away some residue with his thumb.
Suddenly, something began dripping out of the spout, bypassing the wick entirely. Ron panicked, worried the oil was leaking out and would now ruin his carpet, either by staining it or burning his house to the ground. He tilted the lamp backward, to keep the oil in, but the leak only increased in volume, as if the lamp was overflowing.
More and more poured out, and only then did Ron realize what was coming out wasn't oil. It was smoke. The smoke acted as a liquid, gushing out of the spout, and enveloping the small flame. It poured to the floor, covering Ron's feet in thick, black clouds. The clouds grew thicker and spread unnaturally fast throughout the room, climbing up the walls and across the ceiling.
Ron stood frozen as small, bright green lightning bolts began crackling through the smoke. The bolts grew bigger and bigger until a large one struck from the ceiling to the floor in a loud crash that shook the room. Ron shut his eyes and dropped the lamp in series, the light being smothered by the smoke.
He waited a few moments, his eyes tightly fastened as he listened to the lightning and thunder die down slowly. He opened his eyes a bit and looked around the smoke-filled room. He was shocked he could still breathe until he realized it still only clung to the floor, ceiling and walls. Looking forward, he could only see by the light of the eerie green lightning.
He noticed directly in front of him a gap where the lightning wasn't showing. A silhouette of something blocked his view of the other end of the room. It almost looked..... vaguely human-shaped.
Two glowing green eyes suddenly opened at the top of the shape, startling Ron backward, and causing him to stub his toe again in shock. This time, he didn't have time to focus on the pain as he stared at the person standing before him. The glowing eyes gazed back.
The smoke began to recede, being sucked into the feet of the dark figure, and within a few seconds, the room was back to normal. Only now Ron was no longer alone. The lamp's wick ignited on its own, illuminating the room from where it fell on the floor.
In front of Ron stood....what could only be described as a boy. He was a thin thing, standing not much taller than 5 feet. He wore thin, harem pants with a very small, open vest that left most of his smooth torso bare. In the warm light of the lamp, Ron could somewhat tell his skin was a bit darker than white with very dark short hair.
The boy's eyes dimmed before shooting up and returning the stare Ron was sending his way. Neither moved for a moment.
"Greetings master," the boy said with a wide grin, before bowing deeply, "I am Harun. How may I serve you?"
"Oh..." Ron said aloud as he stared at what was obviously a genie, his view of reality shattering, "I guess you had to rub it when it was lit."
"Indeed, master," the little genie said, "Excellent work figuring it out. You must be a great scholar of this land."
"Was...was that sarcasm?" thought Ron.
Harun's face, however, showed nothing but a respectful smile.
