Three Wishes

There was a knock at the door.

Rich cursed, set his beer on the table, and pressed pause on the DVR.  It was Friday night for Christ’s sake.  Who the hell would be bothering him now?  And during WWE Smackdown even.  What a fucking nuisance.

KNOCK-KNOCK

Rich grumbled all the way to the door.

KNOCK-KNOCK.

“I’m comin’, I’m comin’.  This better be good goddammit.”  He slurred as he threw open the door.

Standing in the doorway was a man.  A short, balding, chubby man.  He had a straggly white beard and blotchy white skin and a single silver horn that spiraled from his forehead that was nearly a foot long.

Rich belched with annoyance, not amused by the joke.

“You wanna let me in?”  The horned man said.

“Why would I do that?”

“A general sense of human decency?”

Rich chuckled, “What the hell are you supposed to be anyway?”

“Mother Theresa’s handmaiden.  I’m a unicorn, dude.  What the hell do you think?”

“You don’t look like a unicorn.  Well, except for that Wal-Mart prop you got glued to your head.”

“And what does a unicorn look like exactly?  Have you ever seen one before?  Wait.  Lemme guess.  You were expecting a horse?”

Rich belched again.  “Yeah, kinda, but what I got instead was a horse’s ass.  Now go on, I ain’t got time for your shit and Halloween ain’t for six months.  Go bother someone else.”

Rich started to close the door when the unicorn shoved his foot inside, except that it was not a foot, it was hoof.  “Come on, man.  I really need to get off the streets or they’re gonna find me.  I need a place to hide, somewhere to hang out, just for a little bit.”

Rich glanced down at the unicorn’s hooves and scanned him all the way back up to the ridiculous horn on his head.  “Who’s gonna find you?”

“Who do you think, man?  The police.  Y’know, the fuzz, coppers, pigs, five-O.”

Rich rolled his eyes.  “And why are the cops after you?  Did you wave that sparkly cock on your forehead at some little ole lady and make her shit in her knickers?”

“Ha ha, very funny.  Come on, man, help a brother out, I really need to come inside.”  He looked past Rich and pointed.  “What the hell is that!?”

Rich turned to look and the chubby little man ducked under his arm and walked inside.

“Dammit.”  Rich mumbled under his breath.  He looked outside, glancing up and down the street.  No cops.  All was quiet.  He closed the door and went after the unicorn.

He found the unicorn in the kitchen, digging around in his fridge.

“What the hell are you doing?”  Rich said, exasperated.

The unicorn cracked a beer and strolled by Rich into the living room.  “I’ve been on the run all day.  I could use a drink.  Go ahead, have yourself one.”

Rich sighed.  “Gee.  Thanks.”

Rich looked at the phone hanging on the wall.  I could just call the cops myself, he thought.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”  The unicorn called from the other room.  “Unless you don’t want your three wishes.”

Rich grabbed a beer and followed the unicorn into the living room.  The strange little mutant was sitting in his recliner, hooves propped, remote in one hand and beer in the other.  He casually flipped through the channels, not lingering on any one station long enough to even determine what was on.

Click-Click-Click

“Motherfucker!  I’m watching Smackdown.”

The unicorn didn’t look up.  “You know that shit’s fake, right?”

“Fuck you.  I’m giving you one more chance to get the hell outta here before I beat you with a tire iron.  Then I call the cops.”

“Are you sure you don’t want three wishes?”  The unicorn looked around the room.  “Judging by the looks of things, you could use a few.  I mean, look at that television.  How old is it?  I’m betting older than you.”

Rich started to protest when the unicorn farted.

“Did you just fart in my chair?”

“Do you want some wishes or not?  Look.  Lemme stay here, just for tonight.  Lemme have some of your fine,”  he looked at the beer can, “You call this shit beer?  Tastes like swill.”

Rich was getting angry.  “In case you hadn’t noticed, this ain’t Cocktails and fucking Dreams, and I ain’t Tom Cruise.  But it’s mine.  And so is that chair.  And the–”  he sniffed, “What is that smell?”

The unicorn chugged the rest of his beer and belched, “Sorry.  Must be the Chi-Thai I had for lunch.”

“Unicorns like Chi-Thai?”

“What?  Don’t you?”

Rich rolled his eyes again.  “Okay, say I let you stay here.  What about these wishes?  How do I know you ain’t bullshitting me?”

The unicorn shrugged without looking away from the television.  “What’ve you got to lose?  Give it a shot.”

“Well, for one, I wish you’d get the hell outta my chair!”

“That was stupid.”  The unicorn stood up.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

The unicorn turned to look at Rich.  “Nope.”  He said, rather plainly.  “Wanna try again?”

Rich took a deep breath.  “Okay.  I got your wish, Mister-Smarty-Fucking-Pants-Unicorn.  I wish for one trillion dollars.”

The unicorn nodded.  “Done.”

The two of them stood there for several long moments, staring one another down.

“So.”  Rich said.  “Show me the money.”

The unicorn smirked.  “Look outside.”

Rich walked to the window, and sure enough, right there in the backyard, stood a veritable skyscraper of cash.  He couldn’t even see the top of it from inside the house.

Rich wobbled on his feet.  “Holy shit!”

“Pretty slick, eh?”

“Fuckin’ A.”

Suddenly Rich got very nervous.  Where the hell was he supposed to keep all of it?  If no one had noticed already, he was certain to attract a fair bit of attention come morning.  He ran a shaky hand through mottled hair.

“I wish I had a secret vault or something to store it in.”  Rich mumbled to himself.

“What’s that?”  The unicorn asked.  “Secret vault?  Done.”

The tower of money vanished.

Rich blinked.  “Wait!  What the hell?  Where’d my money go?”

“To the secret vault you wished for.”

“Oh.  Okay.”  Rich sighed.  “So, um.  Where’s the vault?”

“I can’t tell you that.”  The unicorn stated flatly.

“And why the hell not?”  Rich asked, already regretting it.

The unicorn shrugged, kicked back on the sofa and cracked open another beer.  “It’s a secret.”

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