theBarnstorming

But then again, this is a story, and story nights always seem to start off dark and stormy. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. It was a Mexican burro-seller . . . and why is someone always knocking on the door in those dark and stormy nights? I don't ever recall getting a knock on my door when it was storming.

"I have a secret to tell you," he said (in Spanish).

I said, "I'm sorry, but I don't speak Spanish." So the Mexican burro seller took out a notepad and began to write out his story in broken English.

"Esta noche, how do you say, dark and muy stormy..."

Then his pencil broke and we stood there. In the dark. And the storm. Staring at one another for what felt like eternity. Until suddenly the Mexican burro seller reached into his pocket, and pulled out a jar so dirty and rusty that it looked as though it had been through quite a bit of adventure.

Looking closely, I could see something moving inside. In the background, I noticed the burro beginning to back away, whining, visibly disturbed by the contents of the jar. The smell. The smell was just awful. And Mexican fear has a distinct smell. Was it Mexican jumping beans? The burro seller began to whisper under his breath, caressing the jar, and passing his hand over the opening.

Right then I began to wish I hadn't been so lazy about replacing the burnt out porch light or fixing the rusty hinges on the trap door. At that moment, either one would have been helpful. I thought of stepping back and closing the door, but didn't want to offend the man standing before me. That, and I was growing curious despite my unease.

The burro seller began to speak: "Before I show you the contents of the jar, you must be aware of three rules: The first rule: Never double down against an Ace," he said. "The second: never mix whites and reds. The third: Do not feed it after midnight."

The Mexican burrito seller looked fearful as he uttered the third rule. His eyes darted from side to side, as if at any moment a terrifying transformation could take place.

Just then the burro snorted and bellowed. It was a hideous sound. I didn't know what to make of it, so I tried to shut the door, but the old Mexican was too quick and darted in behind me. In a panic, I threw a judo chop, which launched the mysterious jar into the air!

Out of the blue, there was a flash of light, and I found myself flat on my back, staring up at a very ticked-off burro seller.

"Que paso?! Are you loco?" he exclaimed. Suddenly a John Williams soundtrack approached from the distance, signifying impending bowel movement. John Williams always, inexplicably, caused the runs. I rolled over on my side, struggling to sit up, and it was then I saw the shattered jar.