The Spice Rack
By Monica Anderson
Copyright @ 2010 Monica Anderson
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
Harry Lancaster reached for the pepper on his spice rack without looking. His fingers walked down he line of strategically placed mini glass jars and lifted the last one out of its place. His morning egg sizzled furiously, and he watched it with a keen eye. The sight of uncooked egg was enough to ruin his day. But the yolks had to be slightly runny so that he would have something to dip his dry toast in. He checked his wristwatch and the temperature of the burner twice before flipping the egg.
Two shakes of the pepper, a perfectly fried egg with toast, and all would be well in Harry’s world. Except what came out of the shaker was not pepper. The substance residing on top of the egg was a fine orange dust. Nutmeg? He examined the glass shaker. The label clearly read “Pepper,” but the contents reminded him of the desert sands that he had only seen in movies. He dipped his finger in the substance and tasted. Definitely nutmeg. Someone had been in his house.
Expressionless, he looked over his shoulder at the door that opened into the backyard, and then jerked back reflexively when the burnt toast leapt out of the toaster. His sudden movement shook more of the fine ground nutmeg out of its container and onto the stove and floor. Recovering quickly, Harry took the now overcooked egg off the burner and wiped up the mess.
It only took him a short while to determine that nothing else had been touched, because Harry knew precisely where everything in his house was located. He found no evidence of a break in, and all of the spare keys were accounted for.
The only chore that remained was to return the spices to their proper glass jars. Upon inspection, he found that the nutmeg had not simply been switched with the pepper. Every spice had been poured into another bottle, and then the bottles were placed back into the same order that Harry always kept them. A small bead of sweat formed at his right temple as he poured the correct spices back into their properly labeled bottles. His face was a mask of perfect serenity, but inside he churned over the situation again and again, wondering at the motivation behind such a thing. And how did they get into his house
Several weeks passed and Harry convinced himself that he had forgotten the incident. It had become just a trifling worry that loitered on the outskirts of his mind, but Harry was a master of repression, and could always think of something more important to focus his thoughts on.
It was something of a surprise then when he returned home one evening to find that his home had been trespassed upon yet again. For several moments, he just stood staring, motionless, at the spectacle in his kitchen.
All of the food items from his refrigerator and cupboards had been removed and were neatly stacked into great food towers that took up the majority of the space in the room. One tower was composed solely of boxed items, with the large cereal containers forming the base, and then working up to smaller sized packages. Harry noticed that the chocolate pudding boxes nearly touched the ceiling. The second tower consisted of canned goods and all of the jarred foods from the refrigerator. Fruits and vegetables were used as decorative pieces and were not a part of the main structures themselves. A crowning jar of maraschino cherries atop the stack did not escape his notice, but Harry was not amused.
Putting aside his shock that someone would deliberately go to so much trouble to do this to him, Harry allowed himself to be amazed at how much food was laid out before him. He knew that he was something of a “stockpiler,” mainly because he never wanted to make a special trip to the grocery store. The result was this massive pile of food that he may never have the occasion to eat. Looking upon it now, he felt small and ridiculous and wondered if that was the intention of the prankster who had done this.
By far, the most unsettling aspect of this for Harry was the center piece. The dining room table had been moved into the kitchen and a small castle had been constructed out of boxes of “Peeps” marshmallow candy. Yellow, blue, pink, and purple chicks sat facing him in rows, shoulder to shoulder, as if in battle formations. Usually one could only obtain this particular treat around the Easter holiday, but Harry had a special online supplier. “Peeps” were his downfall, and he was terribly ashamed of his addiction. He kept his horded cases in his bedroom closet so that visitors would not stumble upon them by accident. He munched on them at night while watching television in bed, and could polish off five boxes without breaking a sweat. It was such an embarrassing issue for him that he had never confided in anyone or sought out help.
The briefcase he was holding fell the floor with a thump as he turned to go up the stairs. He had installed a lock on his closet door because it was also where he kept his important documents and some valuable old coins handed down from his grandmother. The doorknob was locked and did not appear to have been tampered with, and no other signs of forced entry were visible. As he feared, everything in the closet was exactly how he had left it, except for the empty space on the shelf where the Peeps were usually stored. How in the hell..? He ran a hand through his thinning hair. A deep and heavy feeling of unease in his stomach made him wonder if he would need to visit the restroom.
His all-important sense of control was slipping, though no one would be able to tell from his face. He had always felt deep pride in his ability to remain perfectly cool and show no indication of distress, even during the toughest situations. It was what made him so good at his job.
Before he allowed himself to ponder all the possibilities of why someone might do this to him, or how in God’s name they were doing it, he thought about what he was going to do with the mess downstairs. The idea of ingesting tampered-with food made his already upset stomach worse. He took a deep breath, collected himself, and made the small journey downstairs and back into the his kitchen.
He decided to throw out everything that had already been opened, but keep the things that were still sealed, unless it was something that had been sitting outside of the fridge for too long. He began by throwing out the jar of maraschino cherries because it had already been opened. He wondered if his antagonist had helped himself to some before using them as his coup de gras. Next were several small unopened cans of sliced jalapeno olives. As soon as he picked on up, he knew something was wrong. The weight was off- it should have been heavier. Wondering if it had been damaged or something, Harry brought it up close for an inspection. There were no punctures at all; not even a dent. And yet the can was much too light. With a mental shrug, he popped the tab and pulled back he lid. When Harry saw what was inside the can, he instantly looked up at the spice rack in disbelief. The mini glass jar labeled “Nutmeg” was stuffed with sliced black olives. The pepper jar now contained baby corns, and the jar labeled “Oregano” was home to canned green beans. The other spice jars were similarly packed with unrelated items. With a look of complete indifference on his face, Harry let the olive can slip from his fingers and hit the ground. A small, desert-sand colored poof of nutmeg hung in the air for a few seconds, but Harry didn’t notice as he walked out of the kitchen.