‘Can’t we talk about this?’ asked Jack.

‘No,’ Jacob said. ‘No more talk. I’m done with talking.’

‘But,’ Jack said, ‘maybe you’ll get used to it?’

‘Get used to it?’, Jacob said with a snort. ‘I’d rather kill myself than carry you around for the rest of my life. In fact, I’d rather kill myself than carry you around for just one more day.’

‘Oh that’s lovely,’ said Jack, ‘you really know how to make someone feel like shit, don’t you?’

‘It’s nothing personal,’ Jacob said. ‘I didn’t ask to be cursed, you didn’t ask to be the curse. But here we are. Now shut up, I’m trying to read.’

‘Shut up, he says,’ Jack muttered bitterly to himself inside the box. ‘All I’ve really got is the ability to talk, and he says shut up.’

‘Shut up,’ Jacob repeated, and flipped another page of the very old book. ‘Okay, it says here that Goldmeadow was able to get rid of Evil Pixies with some sort of potion. Are you a Pixie?’

‘How the hell would I know if I’m a Pixie?’ replied Jack. ‘What does a Pixie look like? While you’re at it, what do I look like?’

‘I could tell you what you look like, but you won’t let me open the box.’

‘Yes! Don’t open the box!’ Jack said emphatically. ‘Something bad will happen if you open the box!’

‘So you keep saying, but it occurs to me that I only have your word for it.’

‘Please don’t open the box!’ Jack begged. ‘I promise you something bad will happen!’

‘Okay, okay,’ Jacob said with a sigh. ‘There’s a drawing here of a Pixie. You don’t sound like you look like that.’

‘Show me?’ said Jack. ‘You can open the box just a little bit. But,’ he added hastily, ‘only just a teeny, tiny little bit!’

Jacob held up the book and pulled the lid of the box up a fraction, so a small sliver of darkness showed from within. There was a scuttling sound inside the box, and an eyeball pressed up against the sliver.

‘This Goldmeadow,’ Jack said after a moment, ‘was he completely right in the head? I thought Pixies were supposed to be cute with an extra helping of cuteness. That thing looks like it could eat through concrete.’

‘Who knows?’ Jacob said with a shrug. ‘Maybe you need to be a bit mental to write a Grimoire about banishing Demons and Devils. And Pixies. I mean, it’s possible it might help with trafficking with the dark arts, if you’re already a little snorting mad to begin with.’

‘What’s in this potion he talks about?’

Jacob scanned the page again. ‘Doesn’t say. Just says that it’s a ‘vile and most profane concoction.”

‘Right, well, I can’t say I like the sound of that. ‘Vile and most profane?’ That sounds pretty bloody unpleasant, actually.’

‘No-one said getting rid of a curse would be pleasant. Or easy, for that matter. Don’t worry, I already assumed you weren’t going to enjoy it.’

‘Oh, that’s a weight off my mind,’ said Jack. ‘You know something? I’m three-and-a-half thousand years old. Maybe you’re my curse, did you think of that?’

‘Nice try,’ Jacob said with a razor-edge smile, ‘but you’re in the box, and I’m not. I’m going to get rid of you, and you are going to be got rid of. See? At the end of the day, it doesn’t really matter who is being cursed.’ He dropped the book back onto the table and got up. ‘I’m going to see what I can find in the house to make a ‘vile and most profane concoction.’ You stay there.’

‘Oh, very funny,’ said Jack inside his box. ”You stay there.’ You should be a bloody comedian, you really should.’

A few minutes later, Jacob returned, carrying several bottles. He set them down on the table, and added a ceramic pouring jug that he had been clutching under one arm.

‘Okay, let’s see,’ he said. ‘I have bleach. I have turpentine. I have weed killer. And I have creme de menthe. If that doesn’t make a ‘vile and most profane concoction,’ nothing will.’

He reached for the first bottle and at that moment a loud thump was heard from upstairs.

‘What was that?’ Jack asked.

‘Is it 6:15?’ Jacob said, as he poured a measure of bleach into the jug. ‘It must be 6:15. At 6:15 Mrs Sphyx always hangs herself upstairs. She’s my landlady.’

‘Wait, wait, your landlady hangs herself every day at 6:15? I mean, she hangs herself?’

‘Has every day since I rented my room from her, yes.’ Jacob said with a shrug. ‘Nice lady, though.’

‘Is she not good at it? Not that I’m an expert, but I thought most people only hang themselves just the once.’

Jacob leaned closer to the box. ‘Yes,’ he said helpfully, ‘but this is Elsewhere, you see. Things are always a little different Elsewhere, haven’t you noticed? You get used to it after a while. She’ll be down in a few minutes and cooking dinner.’

‘Wow,’ said Jack. ‘You can get used to your landlady hanging herself every evening, but you can’t get used to a talking box. What does that say?’

‘It says,’ Jacob said slowly, as he measured some turpentine into the jug, ‘that you are much, much more annoying than my landlady.’

A short while later the jug was full, and while the contents looked and smelled unpleasant, neither Jacob or Jack were entirely certain it was the vile and most profane concoction mentioned in Goldmeadow’s Grimoire.

‘I have to give you extra points for adding in the creme de menthe,’ Jack said. ‘Not everyone would have the courage to do that. It definitely makes it technically evil, but I don’t know about vile and profane, exactly.’

‘Only one way to find out, I guess,’ said Jacob, taking the jug by its handle and lifting the lid on the box a fraction.

‘No, wait!’ shrieked Jack. ‘Why don’t we-’, but he didn’t get a chance to finish the thought.

‘Aargh!’ Jack yelled as Jacob poured the potion into the box. ‘No! Please! It’s…! NooooOOOooo!’

Once the jug was empty Jacob set it back on the table and listened to Jack’s shrieks and wails. Eventually Jack fell silent, and Jacob frowned.

He used a finger to open the lid a fraction, and peered inside. ‘Did it work?’ he asked hopefully.

There was a short silence, and then a sarcastic voice said from within, ‘Depends. Were you trying to make me sticky and smelly? Because, if so, I am completely fucking sticky and smelly. Well done, if that was what you were trying to achieve.’

‘Okay,’ said Jacob, ‘but no feeling like you’re going to die, or be banished, or just generally, you know, disappear?’

‘It stings a little,’ Jack said. ‘I guess that’s a plus, from your perspective.’

Jacob sighed. ‘Okay, Plan B. I brought the electric drill from the garage as well. Let’s see if that works.’

‘A drill?’ Jack said. ‘But hold on, to use a drill you’d have to… DON’T OPEN THE BOX! Please don’t open the box! The bad thing will-’, but he didn’t get a chance to finish that thought, either.

There was a sproinging sound, followed by an uncomfortable silence. Jack was hanging limply over the side of the box, his shiny wooden face and improbably large hook nose glowing with embarrassment and humiliation.

‘So,’ said Jacob calmly, ‘when does the bad thing happen?’

‘When does the… Isn’t this bad enough?’ Jack demanded. ‘I’m just hanging here, like some sort of useless idiot! I hate it when people open the box. It’s so… so… demeaning, is what it is.’

‘I can see that,’ Jacob said with a nod.

There was a soft knock on his door, and a pleasant voice said, ‘Dinner will be ready in 10 minutes.’

‘Thank you Mrs Sphyx,’ Jacob called out. Then, ’10 minutes gives me enough time to see if the drill will do any good. It’s cordless.’

‘No, wait!’ yelled Jack, but there was no waiting to be had.