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There's an angel in the jar above my grandma's refrigerator.

It's a porcelain jar with red swirly vines painted on it, and it has a swirled sort of top that has a rubber stopper that pops open. It used to be on the coffee table, but when I was younger I kept trying to get into it. I don't remember that now, but she said I used to say it was humming at me. After that, she moved it to the fireplace mantle, but when my little brother Scotty and I were playing Nerf guns, we almost knocked it down, so she moved it to the fridge, thinking we couldn't get it.

Shows how much she knows.

Last time we touched it, I came home from school and Scotty was on the kitchen counter, reaching for the jar.

"Grandma's gonna get mad," I said.

"I just wanna see," he said. He took it and plopped down so he was sitting on the counter, and then he opened the top.

The jar started to scream. The whole house shook and the windows rattled. The lights flickered, then died. The TV and Gran's old radio turned themselves on so loud that it hurt my ears. Both played static, high pitched, screeching noises.

Inside the jar was a glowing red light that got brighter and brighter, and a noise like heavy footsteps that grew louder and louder. . .

I ran over to Scot and took the jar and lid from his hands. I closed it shut while he just stared.

Everything stopped. The TV and radio turned off, and the lights came back.

"Put it back," I said, giving him the jar.

He nodded, eyes wide, and put it back on top of the fridge.

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