My entry for 'A Mysterious Jar'. As I have said, it is entirely different than any that have been posted so far. Do enjoy! 

Albenstein and Co. is a very reputable accounting house, I’m sure you’ve heard of it. Not many people haven’t. They have been in business since that war in 1812, and will probably continue to do so until the end of time. No one knows why they have so successful a business, because to all appearances, it is but a humble working place. Gossip has abounded on how it could stay in such good standing in the business world for so long, but really, no one has the answers.

  Many young men pass though Albenstein and Co., in as unknown lads and out as successful business men. However, there is one employee that could not be considered a young man, in fact, to all under the age of twenty-five, he is labeled as an ‘old’ man, for a few gray hairs and some wrinkles around the eyes are clearly signs of a man’s passing into the elderly realm (I do not think he was a day over forty-two). Many wondered why he did not pass on to a different business or that he did not accept a higher ranking position in Albenstein and Co., as he had remained in the same position since he joined the firm in his youth. Old women speculated on why this was so, but their resolution on this question was the same as that of Albenstein and Co.
 
  But those who worked with Mr. Stevens knew that he had some sort of a secret, something that none of them could figure out. Some believed that this particular secret was connected to the reason why Albenstein and Co. was so successful, others thought it had to do with why he stayed with the company. But the rest didn’t even try to figure it out, they just wanted to know. Messrs Peccadillo and Waggins were just a few of those men. Having worked with the firm for almost three years, they concluded that they were already old-timers in the office. As such, the two figured that they deserved to know everything that was going on in ‘their’ office. The pair were taking a lengthy lunch break next to one of the front windows. That way, they could survey everything and know if any of the ladies they particularly admired passed by the place. After dining upon eggplant-and-watercress sandwiches, they were naturally in a very poetic mood.
  “Wag, my boy,” exclaimed Peccadillo, with a gratified sigh, “we’ve been through a lot.”
  Waggins nodded his head agreeably. One is especially agreeable after eating the aforementioned sandwiches.
  “Yes, quite a lot,” continued Peccadillo, “I think I can safely say that this place has so much of my blood in it that I could call it a relation.”
  At this, Waggins peered at his friend in a curious way. Seeing his expression, Peccadillo endeavored to explain.
  “What I mean is this: I’ve worked here so much and spent a great deal of my time-” From somewhere within the office, a person was heard to explode in contained laughter, which shortly turned into a clearing of the throat.
  Peccadillo glared in the general direction of the desks, then returned his attention to Waggins.
  “What I was saying was… oh, good gracious, I’ve forgotten. Blast.”
  Waggins shrugged his shoulders.
  “It can happen.”
  “True, so true, my friend.”
  Then, Mr. Stevens got up and went into the backroom. This room was merely a place where the employees kept their things and stored ready-made ink, as well as other boring things which I shall not endeavor to describe. The reader will probably be bored with such a rant.
  “Take Stevens, Wag my boy. Why the Dickens does he always go back there?”  
  Waggins lazily rolled his eyes to where Mr. Stevens had disappeared.
  “Perhaps he’s got something in there…”
  “Don’t be daft! Of course he’s got something in there, but what?”
  Waggins went into a state of deep mental reflection. He suddenly appeared to have a brilliant idea, and proceeded to relate it to Peccadillo.
  “Corn muffins?”
  A glance from Peccadillo told him that this was not so. Mr. Stevens returned to his desk, with a pained look on his face.
  “Look at him! Every time he goes in there, he comes out with a different expression on his face! He’s got some sort of a secret up his sleeve.” cried Peccadillo.
  Just then, Miss Maud McMurray passed by. The faces of Messrs Peccadillo and Waggins were momentarily pasted against the window as the lady in question caught sight of them and quickly went on her way. Being absorbed in their own thoughts, it was a little while before either remembered what they had been speaking about. They were reminded when Mr. Stevens got up again and went to the backroom. However, instead of going in, he paused on the threshold and decided to return to his desk.
  “I say we go in and find out what it is.” said Peccadillo.
  “That’s a good idea.” replied Waggins.
  “But we have to do it casually, see?”
  “Right. That’s a good idea.”
  “So I’ll go first, then you follow in two minutes.”
  “That’s a good idea.”
  Peccadillo then proceeded to rise and slowly walk across the office, towards the backroom. He whistled, an action which he believed would be the epitome of subtleness, but only caused all eyes to be fixed upon him. Waggins did none worse. Upon waiting three minutes (unfortunately, Mr. Waggins cannot properly tell time), he bumbled into everyone’s desks, apologized for upsetting half the inkwells in the room, and finally joined Peccadillo in the backroom.
  It took them a little while to discover what Mr. Stevens had been doing. There were labeled shelves for each of the workers, and the only thing on Mr. Steven’s shelf was a plain terracotta jar. The reason it took so long was -so Peccadillo says- on account of the dim lighting in the back room. Glancing over their shoulders to ensure no one was looking, they quickly seized the jar and opened it. A strange smell greeted their noses as they lifted the lid.
  “Oh, he’s gone and done something terrible, that’s what! I wonder what it is?” said Peccadillo, in a hoarse whisper.
  Waggins had not waited to determine what was in the jar, he merely inserted a finger and half his hand in. Pulling it out, there was a dark red substance on it.
  Both of them screamed. The jar fell and smashed on the ground, splattering the red stuff everywhere. Waggins nearly fainted as Peccadillo shouted,
“He’s a bloody murder!”
  Mr. Stevens stepped in, and, seeing the mess, covered his face with a hand.
  “You bungling idiots!”
  Peccadillo, pale-faced and scared as he was, bravely raised a shaking finger and pointed accusingly at him.
  “You murderer! How many people have you killed?”
  “It’s not blood, it’s jam! My mother sends me some every week and each one brings back a different memory of my childhood! And now you’ve ruined my favorite jar!”
  Waggins inserted his finger into his mouth.
  “Beastly good jam, eh?”


THE END