Three Wishes: This didn't go as planned!

An Unused Oil Lamp

It went like this:

I was going through my grandparents basement. They died, recently, one after the other.  My sister, Kate, says Grandpa just couldn't live without Grandma, and it's true he only lasted a year.  Three quarters of it were sentient, but the last bit was just him and I and adult diapers.  He'd have a clear moment every now and then.  Mostly he just asked for Carol, my grandma.  

In any case, I was going through their basement.   Old people gather stuff like birds collect twigs for their nests.  None of it worth much, but I guess collectively it makes them feel safer.  Kate was cleaning upstairs, going on about how when she get's old she's going to do something called 'Swedish Death Cleaning' so her kid won't have to put all this effort in.  I don't figure I'm going to have any kids myself, so I guess my Swedish Death Cleaning would be to spare her kid as well.

Halfway through a box of antique dolls, I saw it, resting in the corner.  A box labeled 'Do not use.'

Those are three words you should never tell me.

It was an old box, and by old I mean it-should-be-falling-apart old.  There were grease stains all up and down the sides, rancid ones that had turned black.  It was made of solid, dark wood with no cracks.  It lurked in the corner.  It was a miracle I'd seen it at all, much less read those fatal words.  It wouldn't surprise me if my grandparents had never seen it, this house had been passed down for generations-- and Kate was going to live in it now-- so the old box could have been there for centuries.  Dust coated it thickly, and as I tugged at the lid the particles rose into the air, catching at my lungs.  I coughed.  I'd never had the strongest lungs, besides. 

I sighed, coughing again.  It was locked. There was no visible padlock, perhaps there hadn't been any in existence when the box had last been open, and there was no keyhole, either.  I felt my way around the edge of the lid.  There was an indentation on the left, back next to the hinges.  It wasn't deep enough to need a key but-- there was a loud click.  My fiddling had done something to it.  I pulled the box open with a shrieking creak.

Inside was a glass oil lamp.  It's glass covering was soot and smoke stained.  The flimsy tin that made up its body was pounded into the shape of a snake eating its tail.  I could just make out the diamond-shaped eyes, staring up at me with cold calculation.  I shivered, clearing my throat.  I wiped dust from my eyes.  Reaching into the box, I felt around for anything else that might be there, but my hand came up empty.  

I took the lamp from the box.  

It was cold in that basement.  I pulled my coat closer.  I was a skinny guy.  I'd never really filled out like my classmates.  You could see the veins in my ankles, my skin was so thin, and rings under my eyes always looked like bruises.  Kate called me a girly man.  She wasn't wrong.  I'd never admit that to her, though.  

I brought the lamp upstairs with me.  It was light in my hands, a little unbalanced.  When I reached the kitchen, I set it down and ran my hands under hot water.  I'd been in this house for months and never felt so spooked.  Shaking my head, I hacked up the remaining dust in my lungs and got a rag.  Glass cleaner was under the sink.  I gently scrubbed the grime from the glass cover.  It gleamed strangely when I was done-- more golden then it should have been.  I worked over the base of the lamp, too, and filled it with canola oil.  The wick was fragile, but I set a match to it anyway.

I placed the glass covering over it, dropped the blinds down, and turned out the lights.  The flickering glow filled the room, bouncing off the counter and making mirrors out of the windows.  I sat down in a stately wooden chair, watching the flame dance.  

"Well, now,"  A girl said.  "This should be interesting."