THE GLASS JAR

My Dad was a traveller. 

He travelled around and sold stuff door to door. Hoover parts and shit like that stuffed in a suitcase.

He was also a complete bastard.

After a bad day he'd make sure Mum and me had a bad evening, usually involving one of the hoover parts from his piss-poor case.

It was worse when his customers couldn't pay. Times were hard and people coughed up grudgingly.

Some had cash, some sweaty cheques and some good old fashioned barter.

Barter was Dad's bane and he ended up bringing home more shit than he'd set off with.

This bartering usually lead to an argument with Mum and her and me getting a beating.

"I go out to graft all day long and all I get from you two is lip!" he'd shout whilst belting us both on the kitchen floor.

One day he was given a "weird bit of crap" as he called it and flung it disgustedly into the swing-bin.

"Fuckin' shite!" he bellowed.

For some reason he looked back over his shoulder as he walked away. Something about that crap he'd just chucked had bothered him.

Mum and me were bracing ourselves for a leathering but it never came, which was unusual in itself. The old bastard must be ill or .... it's something else.

When he was settled in his favourite armchair like a big fat toad watching telly I sneaked over to the bin and reached in for the object he'd thrown away.

My hand clasped around cold glass and I pulled it out quietly. It wasn't just cold glass, it was freezing and I very nearly dropped the damn thing.

I took it gingerly to my room and got under the bed-covers. I didn't want Dad to find me with it.

I grabbed my bedside torch and looked at what I was holding.

It was a glass pickling jar with something rammed in it. I turned the jar round. It had the word Kilner on the glass.

I noticed bulges, stitching and furry mounds inside.

And then I saw it, a face.

It was the face of a teddy bear!

A teddy had been crammed into a pickling jar. Why on earth would anyone do that I wondered!

I stared at the bear's face and realised that it had a sort of grimace. This could have been because it was all scrunched-up but I got the feeling it wasn't. It looked mean.

"You're one fuckin' grim teddy aren't you mate!" I whispered in the torchlight.

For some reason I was loathe to take the bear out of its jar. Something niggled me about it. Maybe that was what had bothered my Dad when he looked back at the bin. A niggling feeling about this freezing jar.

But if it bothered the old bastard then it had to be good, so I put my fears aside and unscrewed the tin lid.

I could have sworn I heard a grunt as the lid slid out of my hand.

"Must have been stiffer than I thought that lid," I consoled myself.

Resting the torch on a pillow I'd dragged in I reached into the jar with my free hand. I gripped the thing. It felt cold as hell but holding on tight I started to pull it out.

Plup! It popped out like a whelk!

It felt like a frog fresh from a ditch, slimy and wet. Maybe they'd really pickled the fucker. I held it closer and yes, vinegar. Yuk! Some sad twat had actually pickled this teddy!

As I was debating this puzzle the scrunchiness of the bear started to smoothen and it began to get ... bigger!

I jumped and yelled. Fortunately my mouth was muffled by the blankets but unfortunately the torch rolled out and fell onto the wooden floor.

Bang!

"Stop making a racket up there and get to bed you little wastrel!" my Dad screamed.

I heard Mum say he's only a boy and I heard the familiar slap like a fleshy full stop ring out.

"Don't fuckin argue with me!" Warned Dad. No doubt his hand raised for a little more punctuation.

"Bollocks!" I muttered. I'd got Mum hit. Again! I reached for the offending torch and shook it.

"You twat torch!"

I shone its beam at the bear. During the 'interval' the teddy had doubled in size! It was just finishing unfolding as I looked. God damn! it seemed as if it was stretching after a long sleep!

I shivered! This was some right bastard monkey business as Dad would say. Well, this was more like bear business and I was bricking myself under that blanket I don't mind admitting.

The ted stared at me with its dark grave-yard eyes. It reeked of Sarsons Malt but the cold was fading. It was warming up under my cover.

"I reckon I'm going to keep you bear. You'll need a name though. I can't just call you bear."

I shone the light onto the pickling jar and noticed again the brand.

"Thats it! Kilner. Kilner the pickled teddy!"

I was quite chuffed with myself and almost sensed the same in that plush minger facing me.

"Just don't let Dad find you or he'll have my balls on a plate!"

We curled up like badgers in our den and fell fast asleep the whole night through. I dreamed of wide open spaces where we dined on pickled onions.

The next day I rushed home from school to talk to Kilner my new buddy. He always listened and never gave me any grief.

Dad was home early and had sent Mum for fish and chips. She looked upset. I could see the wetness under puffy eyes.

"Did you remember the fuckin' bottle of vinegar like I asked you you fuckin' tramp?" Dad roared from the head of the table, knife and fork erect in his fists like a demented butcher.

Mum placed the brown bottle on the table next to the Daddy's sauce.

"Good bastard job too or I'd ...."

She crept away like a shrew in the grass, though she managed a thin smile as I passed her to sit down for tea. I smiled back and knew she couldn't survive much more of this.

Clearly Dad had had a really "shit" day.

We ate in silence and at the end I snook a chip butty upstairs for midnight munchies.

As I closed my door I heard Dad mutter, "this fuckin family will be the death of me. Workin' every hour God sends and what does he send me. You fuckin' two. I'm going to have to sort you out once and for all!"

I'd heard Dad's threats before, usually said to his mirror shaving. But this was different. A bad omen. He sounded serious.

I got under the covers and stroked Kilner my new best pal. It seemed to purr but I'm sure I just imagined it. I was already hungry again and bit into my chip sarny. Kilner eyed me up enviously, or so I thought, smiling.

"So what does a jar ted like you eat anyways Kiln?" I asked, half expecting the toy to say pickled onions and pie! I chuckled but my merriment was cut short by a shout at the foot of the stairs.

"You little streak of piss! Have you been using my vinegar! You've left the cap off! What have I told you about leaving the lids off my food. I work for that food. Not you or your fuckin' slut mother. Meeeeee!" Dad howled like a rabid wolf.

"But he's only a b..." Mum squeaked.

I heard the thump from under my covers and dropped my sandwich. The shrew was taking a real beating and she fell silent except for faint whimpers of pain as Dad's fists pummelled her like dough.

He climbed up the stairs in three strides ....

.... and smashed open my door.

"Look what you made me do you little fucker! Your Mum's all upset because of you and your lazy fuckin' ways!"

Dad strode in and ripped my cover away.

He saw the chip butty all over my sheet and then he saw the jar and Kilner. His eyes blazed.

"What the fuck! You unruly scrote. You've hidden food up here. Food I pay for. Look at the bed. Looook!" Dad bellowed as he rubbed my face in the fries, tomato sauce and buttered bread. I came up looking like a car crash victim.

"And what's this?" He yelled as he picked up the jar, "I threw this in the bin!"

He stepped back and hurled the glass jar at my head, where it clonked me with a sickening thrump! As a huge welt appeared on my forehead the last thing I recall was Dad taking off his studded belt and blurting:

"A fuckin' tip rat! That's what you are. Well, if you want to live like a rat then I'll treat you like one!".

I'd more or less passed out as the first stud hit my cheek but I could have sworn I also heard another voice in the room.

It growled "Don't!".

Hours later, in fact the following day, I opened my eyes and felt the tender lump spanning my brow. I felt groggy and thankful I wasn't dead. I thought of Mum and staggered out of bed on shaky red-lashed legs.

What I saw in front of me froze me to the bone and I screamed like I'd never screamed before.

Kilner was eating my Dad!

At least I thought it was Dad. The bear's woolly chops were munching on the very last of his fingers. I recognised the cheapo ring someone had palmed him off with. There was thick blood all over Kilner's paws and he sucked the finger like a chicken bone.

His furry belly was completely distended and I knew why.

It was then I heard Mum. She was laughing like a lunatic. A trail of blood running along the floor lead under my bed covers. I peeled them away and saw what Mum was holding. It was lit up by my torch.

The glass jar.

Something had been stuffed into it!

I peered in and saw it was ....... Dad's head!

His face was all scrunched-up like a little bloody pillow. 

I began to laugh loudly as well and when Kilner hobbled up and poured Dad's precious vinegar over his squashed head we all howled uncontrollably and rolled around the bed happier than we'd ever ever been.

Me, Mum, Kilner and Dad's jarred head.