Hello.

My name is Sandy.

I'm sixteen years old and one of the most popular (not on purpose) guys in my town. I spend most of my days working at a fortune-telling shop with my older sister Tara. The other half is spent sleeping. I'm not a gym bro. I'm not an artist. Contrary to popular belief, I'm not celibate. I'm just a regular teenager with a normal life and a loving family.

Except for one tiny, little, insignificant detail.

A plate of steamy pancakes was placed before me. The shining gold-encrusted saucer perfectly bounced off the embroidered tablecloth beneath it. My sister rested in the seat perpendicular to my own. She was also presented with fluffy confections topped with maple syrup. She was quick to retrieve her meal and walk away from the table. Not without first thanking our benefactor, Gene.

Gene.

You see, this is that miniature misstep in my wonderfully placid life. A purple presence that giggled in his unnatural language as he cleaned up the kitchen. He's been with us for as long as I can remember. He was there (I assume) for my first steps. He was there when I had my first fight. I've even asked for his advice on my first love.

With all of that, as he approaches me asking if I want more I politely decline and move to wash away my waste. When he takes the plate from me and merrily states that I can go about my day (he'll handle the cleaning). Even as Tara and I leave, entrusting him to take care of the abode while we get to work for the day. I still have one eternally unanswered question.

'Gene... who are you?'

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

I remember that day explicitly. It was a warm Tuesday afternoon. The sun had just begun its departure and bathed the ground with its powerful rays. I sat inside a clay box without central cooling so all the windows were glassless openings to the dirt street. We did have a tiny electric fan that I had on full tilt against my face. So I guess things could have been worse.

The sound of the people passing by served as an excellent white noise for my regularly scheduled mid-day nap. My technique had been perfected with years of practice turning my arm into the most comfortable pillow the universe had ever seen. However, my slumber was not detrimental to my awareness. The gentle shimmer of dangling beads to my left was enough to wake me.

Two bodies came from the blackout backrooms. One was my sister, she had on her best blue garb. She'd told me that the soft colors would work well for the news she'd have to deliver today. However, it didn't make sense for today's most recent client.

"I can't thank you enough, Madam Tara." A redhead with a big chin was being led away by Tara's kind glint. His deep forest green undershirt and black vest hugged his slim chest. The six-shooters on his waist gave a clamoring tune to his arrival and eventual departure.

Tara pushed aside her teal blue shawl and provided a one-eyed smile, "Mh hmm'hm hmhhmhm hm hmhm mhmhmhm..." she motioned towards his hips, "hmh M hhmhh mh'h hmhm hmh hmm hm hmmhm."

Obviously, Colt had no idea what she was saying. He turned to me with a hopeful glance, "*yawn* She said that you're about to get a call," and again I drifted into a soft snooze.

On cue, his phone bubbled up with some tune that I'd heard over the radio a million times. He playfully snickered back, "You are a clever lady Tara. I better leave. Duty calls."

With that, he dashed out the wooden door and loudly yammered on his merry way. Tara's sophisticated demeanor quickly fell. She turned to grumble, "Hmhh hmhhh... hmm'hm hmhhhhmmhh hmhhh. Hmhh hmhm mhh mhhmh hmm."

I cracked open an eye to ask, "Shelly?"

"Mh hmh."

I guess she does call after every meeting, doesn't she? She kicked back in a wooden rocking chair to my right. I passed her a bottle of water and positioned the fan to help cool her off. We sat there for a moment just relaxing until Tara started to vent about her annoying clientele. Colt was especially getting on her nerves. Every day he came with the same question and she always gave the same answer.

"Will I be as beautiful tomorrow as I am today?"

It was so dull that she stopped actually using divination a month ago, "You're beauty will only grow." Now she was just telling him what he wanted to hear.

As much as I love listening to her drop the high and mighty act I needed her to answer a pressing question. One I thought was rather natural as it rolled off my tongue, "Tara... who is Gene?"

She gave me an odd side-eye, "Hhmh hm hmm hmmh?"

I found it hard to answer, "I mean... like who is he to us?"

Her response was uncomfortable. She just kind of stared at me. It was hard to read Tara's mood with those wrappings over her face but I was good at judging her mood. Now she was frozen solid and looking through me.

Then she shot up and slammed down the shudders. The door was quickly locked and she placed a sign explaining we were 'Out For Lunch'. I didn't have time to feel shocked, scared, or confused. She quickly turned to me and said, "M hmmhhh hmm'h hmhh hmhhmhmh hmh hmmh hmhhmh mh hmhmhhmhh."

I was a little offended, "Why would I think th-... he's purple."

She blew a heavy breath and beckoned me to join her in the back. Once inside I sat on the other end of her crystal ball amidst the twinkling lights overhead. It felt like we were under a bed of stars as the colors in her ball swirled together. It was so peacefully tense that I could doze off even in a thunderstorm.

Just remembering the feeling that day makes me droopy. Actually, I think I'll take a nap, you can listen to Tara's story for now.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

As I'm sure you already know, our parents were not present for your youth. They left us rather early in life. When you were still just a baby. In fact, it was after your birth they came to a unanimous decision. They were unfit to take care of children. When I was told they were going to give you to an adoption agency I refused to leave you alone. You were still just a baby, what kind of sister would just abandon her little brother.

I feel it important to mention that I harbor not now nor then any ill tidings to our birth parents. You see, I have a measure of respect for them. To acknowledge their incompetence and allow us even the sliver of a chance to prosper in more experienced arms was a mature choice. Even if it did sunder my soul seeing them leave.

Now the orphanage we resided in, Tidemont Children Sanctuary, was not an abhorrent residence. They had quite the expansive facility with an in-house school, gender-separate dormitories, a nursery, a doctor's office (and I must specify it was a doctor's office, not your public school's nurse hole), and most importantly... a library.

Oh, what a vast library it was. The shelves stretched to the ceiling. A collection spanning generations. From the latest mystery novels to dated drabble from the early 18th century. They had it all. I should go visit them once again, maybe they have something to tickle that itch I've struggled to scratch.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's focus on the library. It was my favorite part of the orphanage. I wasn't unpopular with the other kids but I wasn't the star attraction like you, Sandy. I spent most of my time pursuing pages and getting lost in limitless knowledge. So much so that the librarian would often employ me to inspect the most obscure corners of their collection.

That was how I found it. Divination and Projection. A detailed guide to astrology. At the time I didn't believe in such hoopla but I was never one to shy away from knowledge. Besides it had this rustic charm to it. It was a leather-bound notebook with warped pages and water-damaged edges. The cover showed a bland brass nameplate which the title was etched into.

Muddy brown. Scribbled writing. Calling it a book was a falsity. It was a journal. A memoir or manuscript from a lost time? Maybe a chronology of a life long forgotten? I didn't know at the time and I shouldn't have cared but I had to know.

I should have stopped when I asked sister Sarah if I could borrow it. She said she'd never seen that book before but it must just be an old copy she'd forgotten about.

Sister Sarah never forgot a book. I'd once seen her hunt down a young lad for forgetting to return a copy of 'Mr. Mouser has a Snack'. It was a five-page picture book that looked like a toddler's macaroni art project. That was the first red flag of many. The next was when I finally opened and inspected the pages.

The journal was written entirely in Italian. It's not like the language had never been used around me before. I'd met many potential parents who were of Italian descent but something about the language felt... malicious within those folds. Yet, I continued. I checked out an Italian learning book alongside it. I discovered a new love that day. The various tongues of the world. All thanks to a tiny journal roughly fifty pages long.

Along the way, I discovered a lucrative industry. The astral arts. I don't have to dive too deep into that subject so let's move onward. It was a lonely day when I finished translating and comprehending that journal. While I felt rewarded after learning proper balance and motivation through affirmation I got a particularly tasty surprise at the end.

Now I'd flipped through the pages once before I began my reading. It was something I did for all my books. Helped me get a feel for the girth of the journey I was going to embark on. In the many times I fanned those pages I always found it strange how the last page was entirely blank. Neither side had anything to say. At least that's what I thought.

After reading the last page that night I flipped forward expecting there to be a blank page waiting for me. The back cover staring back at me was confusing. Had I been reading so blindly that I glanced over the blank page? I flipped back and forth until I noticed it.

The last page was occupied.

I swore I'd flipped through it countless times and that page was blank but now it had a final message. Transcribed in an esoteric font typecasted by a professional greatly exceeding the sloppy scribbling I had grown accustomed to. It read, "First Word. Each Page. A reward has been laid. Said aloud, speak his name, and your dreams will be gained."

Now any reasonable person would slam that book shut immediately. However, I was a child with an overactive imagination and nothing better to do. I grabbed some extra paper from the librarian's desk and pulled a desk light close to me. I scribbled down each word one by one until I had a short paragraph transcribed. It was an odd passage but I pushed aside my hair to better read it aloud.

'If you've read the entirety of this journal congratulations. Not only will your past be enlightened, but your future prosperous. Now comes the present. For your patience and perseverance, there is a reward. Your dreams shall come true. Say my name and I will appear. The mighty magician, Gene. Created to serve you.'

I stood in front of the paper and book with a confused squint, "Gene?"

I'd heard the name before. It came up once or twice in the journal's many pages. It was said that during the Vedic period, religions were just beginning to propagate. As such many stories and characters were created. One of those was of an ancient trickster known as Gene. It's said that the spirit would approach those it deemed worthy with the supposed guise of a human and only reveal its true form to them in secret. It would then proceed to taunt them by making minor changes to their lives that outsiders would be incapable of recognizing. It took some sick pleasure from watching the psyche of its victim break down as isolation drove them mad.

Of course that was just an old story. Even the journal admitted that most of the practices explained between the bindings were entirely pseudo-sciences and faux medicine. So of course stories like those were just that... stories.

A staggering shiver rolled over my neck. I decided that it was getting late and I should clean up for the night. When I turned back to retrieve the book there was something new in my setup. A large golden lamp like the ones from my stories. A curved spout and shimmering handle waiting to be rubbed.

I looked around trying to see who'd left that there. I mean, I certainly hadn't brought such a gaudy object with me for casual reading. Yet here it was. Sparkling under the lamp light. Again, I was a foolish child so I didn't think twice about picking up an unknown object. However, I did further inspect my surroundings in search of a particular group of boys known for their practical jokes.

When they didn't show my mind wandered. As much of an oddity as it was, I was eerily aware of its arrival. You see I'd done a personal reading that very same morning. It told me that my near future would hold a life-altering event.

Now I was still a novice and partially a non-believer so I wasn't fully convinced that prophecies even existed. Though, what are the odds of not only finding this mystical addition but also divining such a major event so soon?

So with this oddly heavy accessory in my hand I rolled it over once or twice before deciding, I had to rub it. To not rub it would be missing out on the opportunity of a lifetime. What if it worked? What if there really was a magical genie waiting to grant my wishes three?

So I rubbed it with my fingers. Rubbed it with my thumbs. My palms, my wrists, even my tiny little elbow. I rubbed and rubbed... and nothing happened. I was so frustrated. Some boy probably had a camera in a corner and was having quite the laugh at my expense. Honestly, how did I fall for that?

I placed the fancy paperweight to the side. As I shut the book I noticed that even if it was a fake it still would make for quite a shelf ornament. I motioned my hand over the cover and paused. Something was wrong. The brass label. It was different. It was supposed to be a square. Beveled edges and rounded corners.

So why was I looking at a brass face now?

It was pudgy, wore a turban with a medallion in the middle, and it was almost sleeping. No, it was definitely snoring. I'm sure of it. I could see drool engraved into the metal.

Then its eyes suddenly shot open.

I fell away with a sharp yelp as the oddities rose. An arm burst out of the pages. It reached around until it placed itself on the tabletop. Then came a matching limb. The sight forced me under another table and I ducked for cover. I could hear something writhing up. It fought and struggled for a minute until there was an audible pop.

Then two feet dropped to the floor. Curled pink shoes attached to a pair of baggy purple pants. They paced around in a circle before disappearing behind another shelf. Even with the disappearance I still didn't move. Not yet. I waited a few minutes to make sure it was gone.

When I finally got up I was still cautious. I peeked around the shelf it vanished past and felt my stomach drop. There was this massive thing walking around. I'd call it a man at first glance but it had pudgy purple skin and waddled around the carpeted floor. Despite its clear size advantage, it seemed oddly short. How do I describe it? Imagine a midget except it's been scaled upward. Still the proportions of a dwarf but the height of a standard human. It was so unnerving.

It sent goosebumps down my spine. I felt a warm aura rushing over my neck. Instinctually I looked up and nearly fainted. Someone was standing over me. It had an oval for a face and its mouth was agape. It stared forward at the creature that had suddenly arrived. Then quickly snapped its vision downward. Massive black discs looked through my soul.

The scream I unleashed could have alerted the Americans far better than Paul Revere's little horn. I rushed past where he originally was and into the hallway. As I escaped the knowledgeable jail cell I tried to reason what I'd seen.

Was that Gene? The same one from the stories? Were they all true? What kind of reward brings a trickster spirit into my life?

I kept running until I made it to the door connecting the library to the main office. I slammed through it with the hopes of alerting our headmaster of this intruder. Only to find myself staring at the library's front desk once more. Gene was standing in the middle of the room with a simple smile. He politely waved at me as if he'd been waiting for my arrival.

I did the only logical option and tried to escape again. I rushed off into the halls once more and tried a different door. When I saw Gene staring back at me I nearly cried. But I tried again and again until I collapsed inside the hallway. I decided it best to just cry in a corner rather than attempt a fruitless escape.

Even sitting still didn't help me. When I raised my head I was sitting in a chair inside the library's center. Gene was sitting across from me on the floor like a toddler waiting to listen to a story. Seeing him keep his distance helped me adjust. He looked human-ish. However, I knew he was something else. Something ancient and untamed. Yet at the same time, he seemed approachable. Not like the trickster demon that the journal had described.

He patiently waited for me to adjust to the atmosphere he'd unintentionally created. He didn't say a word. He just sat down and watched me. Finally, I sucked up my sniffles. He must be waiting for me to take the lead. With a soft squeak, I asked, "Who are you?"

The voice he had was just like the stories said. Garbled nonsense with a playful undertone. It made it a lot easier to talk to him. Even if I couldn't understand. I decided to ask easier questions, "Are you Gene? Like... the Gene?"

His head nodded so fast that his cheeks jiggled like jello. I asked, "Why are you here?"

It was harder for him to answer this one. His voice garbled about a ton and he made a bunch of hand signals. I don't remember what he was trying to sign and I'm sure my childish mind couldn't put together that puzzle. However, I'll never forget what happened next. I let my eyes shut for a bit. I guess he'd finally gotten me to relax, "I wish I could understand you."

I didn't see it at the time, but he stopped his charades instantly. He stood up and stared directly at me as I wiped away the residual tears and small headache it had formed. Then suddenly a new voice broke the silence.

"Your wish is granted."

It was smooth. Sultry. Sinister. My eyes shot open. I looked around the room asking, "Who said that?"

"Me."

I looked back at the spirit. He was standing with his arms resting at his sides. "Gene?"

"Yes?"

His mouth moved and I understood it. I understood his speech. It sounded like English to me. I don't know how but I could understand him. No, it wasn't just understanding, it was translation. A real-time conversion from his nonsense to actual language.

I immediately shot up in my seat, "How?"

"You asked for this, right?" He had an inquisitive look on his face.

From there I proceeded to finally converse with him. I won't bore you with the gory details. He told me about how his stories are (mostly) overexaggerated. He has been known to play with people but he doesn't take pleasure in torturing them. Most of the time.

He also explained that he was magically woven into the book a millennium ago to serve an eternity of solitude. However, the sorcerer that trapped him didn't realize that he could be released under specific circumstances. Someone had to read the entirety of his journal. And that meant reading every single word. Not a single letter could be skipped. He'd been watching people gloss over the work for years or miss the quota by a single lexicon. Finally, someone had completed the task. He had to give them something in return.

However, he failed to mention one caveat. While he could give me anything I wished for there were rules to his spells. Some kind of law called, 'Equivalent Exchange'. The way he described it, he could give me the world but first he must burn it to the ground. He said that with a rather nervous calm.

He took a book off the shelf and ran his hand over the paperbound face. It shifted and shimmered until a mirror was revealed. I saw my face looking back at me. My stony eyes, button nose, and tiny mouth. So tiny. Miniature... missing. I remember the paranoia so well. My hands flew to my face and desperately clawed at the missing opening. How smooth my skin was back then. I nearly fainted from hyperventilation. Even if I could feel my breaths pushing back down my throat.

While I panicked Gene monologued. Something about understanding his language is to understand speech beyond speech. In order to do something like that, I'd need to relinquish my former ties to speech.

So while I continued to claw at my face Gene suddenly approached. He placed a hand on my shoulder and narrowed his massive eyeballs. I tried to anchor myself on his aura. He seemed less like an ally by the second yet he promised me so much. He said to me, "What is it you want?"

I thought about that for so long. I burned a circle in my mind trying to think up what I wanted, what we needed. Then I remembered. We. Not just me, but you as well. What was it that we needed? All I had to do was ask, "I want my brother and I to be adopted by a loving parent. Not just any old family. I want someone who will care for us. Understand us. Someone who won't abandon us again." I stared deep into his eyes as they began to spiral like water down a drain, "I want someone who always dreamed of being a parent."

After that, all I remember was a smile. Then a massive ghostly hand covered my face.

I woke up the next morning with a groggy wobble. The sun was just creaking over the horizon and all my roommates were fast asleep. I don't remember how or when I fell asleep but I quickly checked my face once more. Seeing as a missing mouth might cause more problems than solutions I quickly swaddled my neck with a scarf stolen from our closet.

That morning's breakfast was awfully depressing. I snuck my tray outside to my room and tried to enjoy the eggs and bacon we'd been provided. Smashing pork against unopenable flesh made the hunger twice as powerful.

I gave up when a housemother called for my presence. She seemed unnaturally elated when I was found. I was escorted into another small room with a single table and a few chairs. I was quickly joined by you. We'd been there for three years at this point so you'd finally learned how to walk though you wobbled much like Gene does today.

We were greeted by the headmaster. He came with great news. We were being adopted. I felt my heart skip a beat. He'd done it. He kept his promise. We were going to be taken in after what felt like ages.

Then our adoptive father turned the corner. He was a large white man. Portly, saggy skin, dark brown bifocals, and a mustache as bushy as a wild hedge. With a smile twice as large.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

"And from there, you understand the rest. We've lived under Gene for years." Tara scratched her chin as she considered her wording, "Though I guess it's more like we're living with him. He's basically more of a roommate than a father figure." She shook her head at that statement, "No, more like a toddler most days."

My sister seemed pleased with her successful storytime. Almost marveled at how well she retold the tale. I on the other hand was dumbfounded, "That wasn't sweet at all!" Rarely did I fully open my eyes and even less often would I raise my voice, "He basically crippled you for life and then forcibly abducted us."

"Ah! Adopted," she swiftly corrected.

I wanted to argue more but that outburst left me winded. I wanted to know who Gene was and how he got here, and I got my answer. My chin bumped against the wooden countertop, "I need a nap."

Tara gave a warm smile pleased with the conclusion. She requested I open the shop once I'm ready to receive more customers. I'm sure she was aware that I wouldn't open anytime soon. However, "Hey, Tara..." there was one final problem bugging me.

She refocused on me as I reasoned out my request, "Gene took your mouth so you could understand his language." She nodded her head in acknowledgment, "Well... I can understand both you and Gene just fine." I rolled onto my cheek and looked directly at her, "Why hasn't he taken my mouth?"

My sister froze with her arms over the embroidered curtain. She again mulled over how to word this and returned that signature smile. Even her medallion matched the mood, "Gene is a powerfully fickle god..." She turned away from me with a finger in the air as she departed, "But he isn't forgetful."

My eyes followed her exit. Something about that felt off, "God? Tara, I thought you said Gene was a spirit." My sister never responded, "Tara... Tara, what do you mean by god?"

Despite the blistering heat, a heavy chill ran down my spine. My head instinctually snapped to the window. It was supposed to be boarded up behind the shudders. When had they been opened? Worse than that. Why was there a table sitting outside our shop?

Why was there a genie's lamp resting atop?