It started with a wish, though no one knew that until much later.

Brenda Jean Kassidy, of Holland Road, came home early from work to find her boyfriend, Chad, in bed with his massage therapist, doing something that was definitely not part of the regular services.

This was not the first time she had caught Chad cheating, but this time, she decided she had had enough of his excuses. While he made his usual promises to never do anything like this again, she went around the bedroom gathering up his things and shoving them into a plastic garbage bag. Then she moved on to the bathroom, the kitchen, and the living room, until all his stuff was in the bag and out of her life.

She handed him the bag, opened the front door, and shoved him through. Then she locked it, sat down, and had a good long cry.

After a while, the pounding on the door ceased, along with Chad's pleas for her to let him in and talk it over, and she cautiously stepped outside into the backyard and sat down beside the old wishing well. She didn't have a coin, so she took off the diamond earrings Chad had given her and dropped them both in, one by one.

Then she made the wish that caused so much trouble:

"I wish that just for one day, all the liars in this town would just tell the truth. That's all. I just want to hear the truth for once. Please?"

She sat there for a little while, watching the fireflies dance around her, and then she went inside to bed.

Unseen by her, the wishing well began to glow. Her wish had been heard, and would be granted. And that's when the trouble started.

It started out as an ordinary day. I woke up, splashed cold water on my face, went to the kitchen and made breakfast for the rest of the family, and started a pot of coffee. So far, so good.

I had no idea anything was wrong until I turned the TV on to our local public access channel to watch the morning news, and . . . it was different.

Helen Hartley, who usually read the news, was wearing a pink bathrobe instead of her usual sharp red suit. Her hair was in curlers, and she had bags under her eyes.

"I want it to go on record," she slurred into the camera, "that I really HATE these early mornings! You think it's easy to get up at three-thirty and report for full hair and makeup? So today I just didn't bother. Deal with it! And bring me some damn coffee!"

I changed the channel, hoping that I hadn't missed the memo that today was Air Your Work Grievances Day, and was relieved to find that the national news was the same as ever.

Then I heard the thump of the Eerie Examiner hitting the front step. It was eight in the morning. The paper usually came about four. I opened the door and saw our current paperboy making his way to the next house.

"Hey!" I called to him. "Why aren't you in school today?"

He looked back. "No school today. The head of the school committee called off classes cause it's too nice out and everyone should have fun today. I'm getting the papers done now so I can go to the beach."

"Yeeeeah, okay." I made a few calls and confirmed that today was an unscheduled holiday in the town of Eerie. Good; I wouldn't have to get the kids ready for school. They could stay in and watch Frozen for the 5,923rd time.

"Who was that?" Sylvie asked as she came downstairs.

"Paper. I guess there's no school today."

"Why? It is not a holiday."

"It was . . . unannounced. We'll be fine. Go to work."

"Ah, well." She went to the fridge and took out a package wrapped in white paper, laying it in the sink. "Leave this fish to thaw for tonight."

"Can't we have something other than fish for once?" I said, before I could stop myself.

She turned on me, and let me tell you, Hell hath no fury like an angry kelpie deprived of her fish. "What did you say?"

I tried to apologize, but what came out was, "I just wish we could have burgers or chicken or hot dogs or something, once in a while." I literally couldn't stop the words from leaving my mouth.

"We eat fish," she said, with barely controlled rage, "because I like fish! And the children have to get used to eating it! You have never had a problem with this before! Why do you say this now?"

"I don't know," I said. "I'm sorry. I-" And then it was like someone took over my mouth again. "I've always felt this way, but I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to be mad at me."

She hauled the fish out of the sink and threw it in the garbage. "Fine! Eat what you like! I am going to work, and I may or may not come back!" She slammed the door on her way out, came back, and slammed it again, just to make her point.

"Dad?" Jack asked. "Why is Mom mad at you?"

"I told her I didn't want fish for dinner."

"Well . . . can I tell you something secret?"

"Sure, buddy."

He leaned in close and whispered, "I don't like fish, either. I'd rather have chicken nuggets."

"That's okay for now, but they don't have chicken nuggets in the ocean. You're gonna have a problem when you grow up."

"Maybe I'll live on a houseboat and keep my freezer stocked."

"Sounds like a plan," I said. "Well, looks like you kids don't have school today. What should we do?"

"Can we watch movies?"

I sighed. "Sure. Whatever you want." I sat down and picked up the paper. The headline read FORMER MAYOR CHISEL: "I WAS ONLY IN IT FOR THE MONEY"

Big surprise there. The article said that he just walked into the Starbucks downtown last night at midnight and started confessing everything bad he had ever done in his life. The full list covered three pages and half of a fourth, up to an ad for Bertha's Beauty Supply. Something about the ad was strange, and I took a second look.

WE DON'T HAVE THE LOWEST PRICES

AND OUR PRODUCTS AREN'T THAT GREAT EITHER

BUT WE NEED YOUR MONEY

MORE THAN OUR COMPETITORS!

PLEASE! MY KID ASKED FOR AN X-BOY FOR HIS BIRTHDAY AND I HAD TO ORDER IT FROM SOMEPLACE ONLINE THAT CHARGED A FORTUNE FOR SHIPPING!

I'M DESPERATE! PLEASE BUY MY STUFF!

Okay, that was definitely new. Something strange was going on here. Stranger than usual, anyway. I picked up the phone to call Simon, who I hoped knew he didn't have to go to work today.

"Marshall? I was just on my way out the door."

"Don't bother. School's cancelled today."

"Oh? They didn't call me."

"They didn't call anyone. I guess it was kind of a spur of the moment decision. Since you're going out, can you come over?"

"I guess so. What's up?"

"There's something you gotta see."

"Okay, we'll be right there."

I said goodbye and hung up, and only then did I realize he said "we". Oh, no . . .

Simon's new roommate was a guy named Igor. Yes, there are actually people actually named Igor. He was taking courses at the university, and because Simon didn't have a car, he relied on Igor to give him rides places.

Most people have slightly asymmetrical bodies. Sylvie wears a size six ring on her left hand and 6 ½ on her right. I knew a guy in college whose feet were a whole size different. (He packed the shoe for the smaller foot with newspaper in the toe.)

Igor looked like someone had taken two completely different-sized people, split them in half lengthwise, and then stuck two mismatched halves together. His right foot was a 10, his left a 13. The eye on that side was slightly bulbous, and his mouth turned up more on the left than the right. Even his hair was longer on that side.

Yeah, he looked a bit like Dr. Frankenstein had put him together out of spare parts, but he was a really nice guy who loved to help out. When he found out what we were into, he declared his love of the paranormal and of unusual mysteries and begged for the chance to assist us on a case.

"I am excellent," he declared, "at research! I know computer hacking as well. I know difference between Scandinavian goblin, Mediterranean goblin, and South American goblin."

"Yeah, if we run into any goblins," I said, "we'll give you a call."

So far, we hadn't had to call him in. Cases had been few and far between lately, and the one occurrence that we thought might have been something supernatural turned out to be raccoons in my neighbor's trash cans. (Bigfoot was long gone; I hoped he had just moved on and not died or something.)

I heard a rattle and a squeal of brakes, and looked out the window to see Igor's orange VW shudder to a stop in front of my house. Great.

Don't get me wrong; Igor's a great guy, but sometimes he's a little too eager to help. The moment he walked through the door, he said, "Is witches! I bring anti-hex charms and water for melting!"

"I don't think it's witches," I said. "It might be a curse, though. We need to find the point of origin and who cast it before we can figure out how to stop it."

"How do we do that?"

Simon pulled up a town map on his computer. "I've been charting the reported incidents along with the time they occurred. Mayor Chisel was the first. He left his house at 12:01 AM."

"And went to Starbucks," I said. "Why?"

"Here's the thing. I don't think he was in the mood for a Frappuccino. I think he was looking for Mr. Radford. You remember how they used to be pretty tight?"

"Yeah, back in the good old days." I was only half-joking. Realizing that Chisel's term of office had ended twenty-five years ago had made me feel old.

"I think he wanted to confess all the stuff that Radford didn't already know."

"Or didn't want to know. There was a lot of that around in those days."

"This Radford," Igor asked, "he is witch?"

"No!" Simon exclaimed. "Forget about the witches! There aren't any witches in this town!"

I said, "Let's forget about witches. I don't think it's witches. I think it's a curse."

"What sort of curse?" Simon asked.

I thought about the news readers talking about their personal problems on live TV. About the ad that was surprisingly honest. About the way I had felt compelled to say hurtful things to Sylvie without meaning to.

"A truth spell! What all these incidents have in common is that everyone was forced to tell the truth!"

"Truth spell on whole town?" Igor looked confused. "Usually, truth spells are one on one. To cast spell on everyone would take immense power."

"Do we really want to go up against someone that powerful? Can we?"

"We need more research."

"We don't have time! What if this spreads? You've seen the chaos it's caused already! We have to find some way to contain it before it gets any worse! How do we find the person or entity-not a witch-who's causing this?"

"That's what I was trying to tell you!" Simon tapped his screen. "Charting the incidents by time, and going backwards, the epicenter is right here." He expanded the map until we saw an image of one single house. "45 Holland Road. Which just happens to be," he said, pulling out a bit, "right next door to our former mayor. Which was why he was the first one affected."

"So we go to this house," I said, "and find out what's going on."

"We need protection! I have in car." Igor disappeared for a minute and returned lugging a heavy duffel bag. He set it on the coffee table and opened it up.

"What's all that?" asked Simon.

"Protection! Like I said."

"No guns!" I insisted. "We don't do guns."

"We not need guns! We have these!" He pulled out a handful of stuff that looked like the prizes they used to give out at the arcade. "Amulets! Anti-hex charms! Crucifix blessed by Pope himself!"

"Where'd you get that?"

He shrugged. "Some guy downtown. Comes with certificate of authenticity!" He showed us the certificate, which had clearly been knocked up on someone's printer at home.

"Yeah, okay. I don't think we're gonna need any of this stuff. We just want to talk to the person."

"Ah." He held up one finger. "How do you know is person? How do you know is human?"

"He's got a point," Simon said.

"For now," I told them, "we proceed on the assumption that whoever lives in that house is human. Maybe they cast the spell by accident. Maybe they got hold of a cursed object."

"Maybe is fairies!" Igor exclaimed.

Simon and I both face-palmed at the same time.

"No, no, listen! Real fairies not like in storybooks! Very powerful. Can look like humans to hide among us. We need iron. Where is iron amulet?" He dug through the bag for a minute until he found something. "Ah! Here! Wear this," he said, handing each of us a circle of metal on a chain. "Will protect you from fairy glamour."

"Uh . . . thanks." I tucked it under my shirt so it wouldn't be spotted (not by any supposed fairies; I didn't want anyone on the street asking me why I was wearing a washer as a necklace). "Let's go. We'll take my car."

"Why?" Igor looked hurt. "Brunhilde is dependable!"

"I think we should take something less conspicuous. Dude, you call your car Brunhilde?"

"Is her name! What you call your car?"

I didn't want to say anything, but once again my mouth made the decision for me. "Farrah," I admitted.

There was the choked sound of Simon trying unsuccessfully to restrain a fit of giggles.

"Just to myself, okay? Not out loud or anything! I don't call her that where people can hear me!"

"I hope not."

"Why do people give their cars female names, anyway? It could just as easily be a Steve. Or a Bruce."

"No, Bruce is a purple El Camino with decals on the side. If Farrah was a guy, he'd be more of a Tom. Or a Bob. Yeah, definitely a Bob."

"Can we just go already? I'd like to stop this before it goes any further." And got me into any more trouble.

So we drove to 45 Holland Road (after dropping the kids off at my parents' place, which fortunately was on the way), parked on the street (and hoped that none of the neighbors called to get Farrah towed while we were there), and rang the bell.

"Maybe they're not home," said Simon.

"There's a car in the driveway," I noted. "For the record, it's a blue Ford Taurus that looks like a Nancy."

"Why is car named after bull?" asked Igor. He had a flask of water in his hand, and I signaled him to put it away. Not a witch, remember?

The woman who answered the door was in her late twenties. She reminded me a bit of Shannen Doherty, on whom I had a major crush back in the day. (Stop it, truth spell!) "Yes? Can I help you?"

I had a cover story all planned about checking the gas meter or something as an excuse to get into the house and look for cursed objects or spell-casting ingredients or whatever, but of course as soon as I opened my mouth, what came out was: "We need to check your house for whatever's causing everyone in town to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. It won't take long."

I closed my mouth with a snap and prepared for the telling-off I was sure she'd give me, but instead of being angry, she looked guilty.

"Did you say . . . everyone is telling the truth?"

"It started at midnight. You know Mayor Chisel lives next door to you, right?"

She grimaced. "How could I forget? He came over and gave me an earful because his dog knocked over my garbage cans. Said it was my fault for not having the lids locked down tight."

"You haven't lived here long, have you?" I asked, thinking of Bigfoot.

"Just over a year. Why?"

"You don't know how this town works. Things like wishes are dangerous, cause you never know who or what might be listening."

"Wishes . . ." Now she really looked uncomfortable. "I suppose you'd better come in. Oh, I'm Brenda."

"Marshall," I introduced myself. "This is Simon, and Igor."

"Igor? Really?" She squinted at him. "Yeah, I can see it. Straight from Ubervald, are you?"

A lopsided grin spread across Igor's face. "You have read Pratchett!"

"Love his stuff! May he rest in peace. My favorite is Maskerade, but I'm rereading the Watch books now-did you know there's a TV series coming out in Britain soon?"

"Yes, I have heard. I am member of Facebook group-"

"Guys!" I interrupted, before they got any further. "Can we focus on the problem at hand? Brenda, what's this about wishes?"

She sat down on the couch and indicated that we should do the same. "Last night," she began, "I came home and caught my boyfriend cheating on me. And it wasn't the first time, either. I kicked him out and then I went out back and sat by the wishing well. And I . . . I made a wish."

"Could we see this wishing well?" I asked.

"Sure. You don't think-I mean, it's just superstition, right? Wishes don't really come true."

Simon raised an eyebrow at her. "In this town," he said, "a lot of things happen that couldn't be real. We could tell you all kinds of stories."

I had a pretty good idea what it was, although it wasn't anything native to Eerie. At least, it hadn't been until now. "If I could just get a look at the wishing well, I could tell you for sure. I know what to look for."

"Sure. It's out back here." She led us out the back door to a patio area with a fire pit and a picnic table with one of those big striped umbrellas. Beside the table was the wishing well.

I took a close look at the rim of the well, and sure enough, there were carvings on it. I didn't know what they said, but I knew that they were a sealing spell. And I knew what had been sealed into the well.

"Did you drop a coin into the well?" I asked Brenda.

"I dropped my diamond earrings. Because he gave them to me. I didn't want them touching me anymore. So I tossed them in just to get rid of them."

"And then you made the wish."

"Yes. Why?"

I had to tell her some time. "You offered him tribute, something of monetary value, so he made your wish come true. Was it the first time you've made a wish on the well?"

"Who's 'he'?" she asked.

Here we go, I thought. "There's a djinn in the well," I said. "He's the one who granted your wish."

She looked confused. "Like . . . a gin and tonic?"

"No. Like a genie. They're Muslim spirits of the air who can grant wishes when paid tribute by a mortal. Most of them were sealed away ages ago in lamps or bottles . . . or wells. But under the right conditions, they can do their thing."

"Djinni are real?" Igor was amazed. "You have seen one?"

"Two. When I was in Iraq, we ran into stuff like that all the time. I used to joke that there was a sorcerer on the other side who was sending all this stuff up against us. I don't know if that was true, but we ran into two djinni. One was reasonable. The other . . . not so much."

"And this is on my property?" Brenda was staring at me as if she wasn't quite sure whether or not to believe me.

"See these markings around the rim?" I ran my finger gently along them. "This is a sealing spell in Arabic. This part is a Hebrew translation of the same. This is what keeps the djinn confined to the well. But if we do it just right, we can talk to him."

"You never asked me about djinni when you were over there," said Simon. "You were emailing me every day about weird stuff, and that never came up."

"That's because I didn't need to. Our translator told me what to do. Though he thought it was just a bedtime story until he actually met one."

"How'd you deal with the other one? The one who wasn't so reasonable?"

"I'll tell you later," I said. "Let me do all the talking, okay? I think I still remember how to do it." It had been seventeen years, but some things just stick with you.

I drew the circle of protection, lined with the proper symbols, and when we were all fully enclosed, I dropped to my knees and began the Summoning Chant. It was in Arabic, which I had learned phonetically. Nasim had taught me syllable by syllable, and it took me a while to learn to pronounce them correctly.

"Djinni are very precise," he had told me. "One wrong word, one wrong sound, will bring his rage upon us. Be very, very careful in what you say. It could mean our doom."

I remembered that, and now I uttered each foreign word precisely. I wasn't sure of their exact meaning, but I knew it was a form of greeting that was ultra-polite, praising the djinn and asking him not to harm us.

As the last syllables of the summoning died away, the well began to glow. A voice spoke from within.

In English.

"Who seeks the spirit of the air?"

"My name is Marshall Teller," I told him. "Might I be permitted to know your name, O Illustrious One?"

"You may. My name is Aliazar Jizal al-Sabbod. You may call me Ali."

"Greetings, Ali. Could you possibly come out of the well so we can speak face to face?"

"I can if you wish it. And pay the proper tribute, of course."

I turned to my companions. "Anyone got a quarter?"

"I don't carry cash," said Simon. "No one does anymore."

"I have Presidential golden dollar!" Igor proudly drew it out of his pocket and handed it over. I took a look at it and felt my heart sink.

"Dude, this is a Chuck E. Cheese token."

"Is it? I wondered why George Washington looked like mouse."

"I have a real dollar coin," said Brenda, "but I'll have to go in the house and get it."

"Okay. Be quick!"

While she was gone, I attempted to keep Ali engaged in conversation. "How long have you been in America, Ali?"

"Since this well was built, from bricks brought over from my homeland, one hundred and forty years ago."

"So you're bound to the bricks, and not the well itself?"

"Originally I was sealed inside a wall, but when they tore it down, my essence was scattered like the four winds. I am not what I once was, but I still have power aplenty."

"Yeah, I can tell," I said, thinking of the feuding news anchors. Thinking of the hurtful things I'd said to my wife.

"Are you limited to three wishes, like in the stories?" asked Simon.

Ali asked, "What stories are these?"

"The One Thousand and One Nights of Scheherezade," I told him. "The story goes that a powerful king would take a bride every day, take her to bed that night, and then have her executed in the morning. When it was Scheherezade's turn, she started telling him a story just before bedtime. But she stopped before the good part, and made him promise to keep her alive to tell the rest of the story."

"And did he?"

"He did. She did finish her story that night . . . but then she started another one, and got halfway through that one before stopping. She kept on like that for a thousand nights, and on the thousand and first night, when she admitted she had no more stories to tell him, he was so in love with her that he spared her life completely."

"Saved by the power of words. Words are important to us, you know."

"I am aware," I said. "I met two of your brethren while I was overseas. The right words saved our lives, both times."

"Would you tell me some of these stories?"

"I can do better than that," I said. "I can show you. The best-known of the tales is the story of Aladdin. I have the movie on my phone."

Igor looked at me strangely. "You have Disney movie on your phone?"

"Dude," I said, "I have small children. I have Disney movies on my phone, on my computer, in my car-"

"How do you drive while movie is playing? You should watch the road!"

"I do! The movies are in the back seat. I can only hear them. Besides, I've seen them all a million times."

Brenda came running out of the house, a fist clutched in front of her. "I've got it!" she said. "What do I do?"

"Drop it in the well, Mistress," said Ali, "and make the wish."

"Do I need to say anything?" she asked me.

"Just the wish," I said. "Be precise. Some of the . . . less honorable djinni can get creative with a poorly-phrased wish."

"What do you mean?"

"Well," I explained, "let's say you wish for a million dollars. A truly benevolent djinn-which our illustrious friend Ali surely must be-would make sure you win the lottery, and that the payout, after taxes, comes to exactly a million dollars. A neutral djinn would just fill your house with cash, and not tell you where it came from. But the evil ones? They'd give you a million dollars in Confederate currency-completely worthless. So you have to know who you're dealing with before you wish."

"Sounds complicated. You do it."

"I can't. It's your house, therefore your wishing well, therefore you're the one who has to make the wish. You can do it, Brenda. You can make that wish. Go on."

"All right." She held the coin by its edge, and flipped it into the well. Then she took a deep breath and said, "I wish, Ali, that you could come out and grace us with your presence so that we could talk face to face."

"And not kill us," said Igor. Simon shushed him.

The well began to glow, and then purplish-blue smoke drifted up out of it and formed itself into a human shape. It took a few minutes for all of it to coalesce, but when it did, we finally saw what Ali looked like.

It wasn't very impressive. He looked like an olive-skinned man of average height and build, approximately late twenties to early thirties. His ears weren't even pointed.

"So," Brenda began, "you've been living in my well all this time."

"Yes, my lady."

"My name is Brenda."

"I know. I am aware of everything that has gone on since you took up residence here. I knew Chad was seeing that other young woman long before you walked in on him last night."

"You knew? And you didn't tell me?"

"You didn't know he was here," Simon pointed out.

"I would have told you about it all," said Ali, "if you had only asked. I am glad he is gone. If you will pardon my saying so, he was no good for you."

"Well, yeah," she said. "I know that now. Will you come inside with us so we can watch the movie?"

Ali's face lit up. "I have never," he said, "in a hundred and forty years, set foot inside this house. I am honored to be invited, my princess."

"Oh, stop it," she said, but I could tell she was flattered.

We went back inside and Brenda went rooting around in the basket on the coffee table. "I know I have an adapter here," she said. "So we can hook up the phone directly to the TV. Why crowd around a tiny screen when we can sit back and watch it in comfort?"

"I didn't know you could do that," I said.

"Oh, it's not mine. It's Chad's. He showed me how to plug the adapter from the phone to the HDMI port." Her voice became almost apologetic. "For watching porn. He thought it would loosen me up."

"What kind of porn?" Igor asked, and Simon nudged him.

So we watched the movie. I'd seen it already (my son Jack had asked me, "Is that Jaden's father?" and I had made a mental note to schedule a Fresh Prince marathon sometime soon), so I watched Ali seeing it for the first time. There were a few places where he nodded and said, "That's right," a few where he scowled and shook his head in annoyance, and quite a few where he jumped right up out of his seat and started dancing. He loved the music; his favorite, of course, was "Prince Ali," but he loved "Friend Like Me," too, and I even saw him blink back tears during Princess Jasmine's solo. For the record, I prefer the original version, but this new one had its charms.

When it was over, he wanted to watch it again, but I was low on battery. "Another time, dude," I said. Then I remembered who I was talking to. "I mean, Your Illustrious Self."

"You don't need to do that," he said. "We're friends now. Speak to me as you would any of your friends."

"I was told to speak carefully and respectfully to djinni," I told him. "I met two of your brethren in Iraq. Our translator told me what to do. It worked both times."

Suddenly there was a pounding on the door. "I know you're in there, you lousy crud muffin! Open this door now!"

"Oh, Lord," said Brenda. "Not him. Not now."

She went to the door and opened it resignedly. "Good morning, Mr. Chisel."

"Oh, it's you. Where's that creepy boyfriend of yours?"

"He's gone. I threw him out last night. Why are you looking for him?"

Chisel looked more furious than I had ever seen him. "That no-good stole my golf clubs!"

"I didn't know you played golf," I said.

He turned on me. "Why am I not surprised? You're into everything, Teller! And your little friend! And the-wait, you're not the gray-haired kid! Where's he?"

"Visiting his future in-laws," I told him. Secretly I was glad that Dash wasn't here.

"His name's Dash," Simon reminded him. "Remember? He built your sun room?"

"Yeah, whatever. Who's this freak show?"

"Igor," he introduced himself. "I am grad student from Chechnia."

"Your ears are two different sizes!"

"I know."

"I don't have your golf clubs, Mr. Chisel," Brenda said. "I know because I went through the whole house last night, gathering up all of Chad's stuff. If I had seen them, I would know. He probably put them in his car before he left. I can give you his number if you like."

Chisel glared at her for a moment. Then he turned to Ali. "And who's this? New boyfriend already? Probably illegal, too. And a terrorist!"

"He is not!" I said. "He's a genie! He lives in the wishing well!"

Damn truth spell.

"I am not," Ali said calmly.

"We'll see about that!" Chisel turned on his heel and stomped back to his own house, leaving us standing there bewildered. What did we do now?

"The wish," Simon reminded me. "We need to find a way to stop everyone from telling the truth all the time."

"Can wishes be reversed?" I asked Ali. "Or is that against the rules?"

"It can be done," he said. "But the usual wish protocol applies. Tribute must be paid."

"I don't have any more coins," Brenda admitted. "But I can offer you lunch. Tell me, Ali, have you ever had a grilled cheese sandwich?"

"He's been stuck in a well for a hundred and forty years," I blurted out. "I don't think they get meal service at the bottom of a well."

Simon rolled his eyes. Igor said, "I think we should reverse truth wish sooner than later, no?"

"I would like to try this grilled cheese sandwich," said Ali. "I do not need to eat or drink, but I hear things from the bottom of my well, and for all his faults, Chad did praise your cooking. That will be adequate tribute."

"Fine. I'll get started," she said.

Then the doorbell rang.

"Not again." Brenda went and flung it open. "I told you I don't have your golf clubs, Mr.-"

A woman was standing there. She was about forty, in a severe blue suit, her hair tied up in the tightest bun I've ever seen. "I'm from the Department of Homeland Security," she said. "We got a call about a terrorist living here?"

"I don't believe that man!" Brenda snapped. "I'm sorry, ma'am. My neighbor has an overactive imagination . . ."

But the woman, who had yet to introduce herself, pushed past her and into the house. She saw Ali and made a beeline for him. "I presume this is the suspected terrorist?"

"There's been some kind of mistake-"

"Young man," she said to Ali, completely ignoring Brenda, "do you have any ID? A passport? Green card? Anything with your name on it, even a piece of mail?"

Ali had to admit that he didn't.

"No! Come on, man! Check your other pocket," I suggested, hoping he'd get the hint.

He stared at me blankly for a moment, and then his eyes lit up. "Oh, yes, my other pocket!" He reached in, and if you were looking at the right moment and in the right direction (which no one else was), you would have seen a tiny flash of light, and then his hand came up holding a brown leather case. "Here you are, ma'am."

It was an Iranian passport in the name of Aliazar al-Sabbod. The woman looked it over and then handed it back grumpily.

"How long are you here for?" she asked.

"Six months," he said. "I am looking for work, and I hope to establish permanent residency here eventually. My application has just arrived in the local Immigration and Naturalization office."

"I'll be checking up on this, you know," she snapped. "If any part of your story doesn't check out, I'll be back. With the police."

She went out the door and slammed it behind her.

"What a horrible person," said Ali. "Why would she not want to help a guest in your country?"

"Dude," said Simon, "ever heard of 9/11?"

"The emergency telephone number?"

"Never mind," I said. "Let's just hope she doesn't come back before we get a chance to reverse that wish."

Unbeknownst to us, Chisel was prowling around outside, and as he passed an open window, he heard this last. He decided to eavesdrop and see just what was going on.

"Imagine if we told her," said Igor, "that you lived in well for hundred years!"

Well? This was turning out to be something after all.

"We won't get the chance," said Brenda. "Let me get started on lunch, and then I'll make that wish."

"Too bad one of us couldn't do it," I said. "Take some of the burden off you. But it has to be the owner of the property. Magic rules are weird sometimes."

Magic? So that was how they did it! Chisel had lived in Eerie too long to not believe in things like magic. So this newcomer was a spirit who lived in the well and granted wishes. Well, two could play at that game!

He stalked off to his own house to figure out how to turn this to his advantage, and we never knew he was there. Until much later, when the worst thing in the world happened.

Lunch was delicious. Brenda had the perfect touch with the grilled cheese sandwiches: flipping them at the right moment so they were evenly browned on both sides and the cheese was soft and gooey.

"You may make the wish now," said Ali. "I have found the tribute to be excellent. Go ahead."

"All right. I wish that people in this town would stop telling the truth and carry on as normal."

Ali nodded, waved his hands in a complicated pattern, and there was a barely audible hum that rose and then faded away.

"Is that it?" I asked.

He nodded. "Try and say something untrue."

"Um . . . I'm ten feet tall and come from the planet Neptune?"

It worked! That strange compulsion I had had all morning was gone. It felt good to not have to blurt out the truth all the time.

"Thank you," I said.

"Thank her," he said, nodding at Brenda. "I do as she commands."

"You mean, you're a slave?" asked Simon. "Like in the movie?"

"More or less. I am bound to the will of the one who owns the bricks to which I am bound."

"Can I wish you free?" Brenda looked at him. "Like in the movie?"

He frowned. "I don't know," he admitted. "No one has ever tried. I suppose, in theory, it should work. But I would like to stay with you, Brenda. You deserve better than that oaf who toyed with your affections. Good riddance to him forever."

I knew that tone. "You're in love with her, aren't you?" I asked.

He looked away. "I suppose."

"You totally are. Even though you never met her until today. And she didn't even know you were here."

"All I know is what I could hear. A good woman, wasting her affection on a man who didn't deserve it. I would never treat you the way that cretin did! I promise you, every day I spend in your presence, I will treat you like a queen. You will want for nothing that I can provide. Everything you could ever want will be yours."

Brenda looked a bit overwhelmed at this. "Look, I . . . I'm grateful for your help and all, but I feel like I just met you. I'll need some time to adjust to all this."

"Of course. I would never force you into anything you-"

It was then that the doorbell rang again. Brenda got up to answer it. You can guess who it was.

And he had a printout of a map of the plot of land between the two houses in his hand.

"So!" he said, as soon as she opened the door. "you have a magic man living in your well."

Her mouth fell open. "How did you-"

"You really shouldn't leave your windows open in this weather. I heard every word. Well, guess what?" He held up the map with a smile of triumph. "I checked the county surveyor's website, and I found out that the property line between our houses is actually five feet over from where it should be. Which means," he said, looking over to Ali, "that you actually work for me. You're my magic man now!"

"Is this true?" Brenda asked.

Ali looked sad. "I am afraid so. I am sorry, Mistress. I mean, Brenda."

I wanted to rip that smug smile off Chisel's face, but I held back. I knew he was right; djinni bound to an object served he who owned said object. It was how our company had beaten the second djinn we'd faced, the one who wasn't so reasonable. By getting the bottle away from the Iraqi soldier who had it, we took control of the spirit within, and commanded him to right that which he had put wrong. (Those were the exact words. I still remembered them, so many years later.)

"What is your wish, O Master?" Ali asked, still with that regretful look.

"Hang on," said Chisel. "What's the catch?"

"Catch?"

"What are the rules? The limitations? Like, you can't kill anyone, you can't make anyone fall in love-"

"Oh, would that that were so," the djinn muttered, glancing at Brenda.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, sir. There are no limitations. You may have anything you wish."

"Really?" The grin spread and became toothy. "Anything?"

"But remember that I am bound to the letter of the wish. I will give you exactly what you ask for."

"Hmm. I need to think about this. Let's go back to my place and I'll start planning my wishes. Come on, slave."

Ali sighed and followed in his footsteps. He looked back at us once, and then turned away.

"This is awful!" Simon exclaimed. "We can't let Chisel have anything he wants! The guy's a crook and a creep!"

"I know," I said. "I can message Nasim and ask his advice. He's the one who originally taught me about djinni."

"He left map behind," said Igor, picking it up off the coffee table.

"So what? He has the djinn-"

"No, wait!" Simon was examining it. "Marshall, look at this."

"What?" Then I saw it. "No way!"

"We need to get over there right away, before he makes a wish!"

"Wait a minute!" said Brenda. "We can't just go charging onto someone else's property! He'll call the cops on us. Or worse-he'll make Ali do something to us. Poor guy, I hope he's okay."

"You really do care about him, don't you?" I asked her.

She smiled faintly. "I wish I'd known about him sooner. Like before I met Chad. To think he's been watching over me all this time and I didn't even know it."

All of a sudden, there was a loud hum, and the air went . . . sparkly. That's not really the word for it, but it felt like something was happening. Then I looked out the window.

The modest two-bedroom house next door had been replaced with a huge mansion, four stories tall, with a swimming pool the size of my entire neighborhood. For just a moment, I envied that pool.

"Too late! He's made his first wish!"

"We've gotta go now, guys!" Simon insisted. "Igor, bring the map."

"How are we getting over fence?" he asked.

"What fence?" He looked out at the new Insta-Mansion and saw that the property was encircled by a ten-foot-high, wire-topped fence, and patrolled by guard dogs as well. "Great! Now what?"

"Bribe the dogs with some meat?" Brenda suggested. "I'll gladly sacrifice my steak dinner for a good cause."

"No," I said, "there's got to be a better way. Maybe we can make him come to us. Hey, yeah, that's it! You don't happen to know his phone number, do you?"

"Why would I?" she asked bitterly. "I try to keep that man away as much as possible."

"No problem, I'll just Google it."

I pulled out my phone and typed EDWARD R. CHISEL into Google, expecting a short bio of the man. What I got was an article about an Edward Chisel who had made a killing in the stock market, bought the entire city of Eerie, and retired in a "modest" home near the golf course which had replaced my parents' retirement community. I hoped my kids were okay.

"He didn't hold back, did he?" Simon observed.

"Go big or go home," I said. "No phone number. Guess we'll have to do this the old-fashioned way."

I went outside, scooped up a handful of pebbles from around the patio, and flung them at the closest window. As the window was now thirty feet away and behind a high fence, only one of them actually reached it, barely making a sound. I tried again, and this time a few more tapped against the glass.

The window went up. Ali leaned out and whispered, "What are you doing?"

"We want to talk to Mr. Chisel," I said. "Now."

"He is having his afternoon massage."

"Tell him it's important."

"I will try. My friend, I am sorry to have done all this-"

"I understand. It's not your fault, it's the rules. We can help, dude, just trust me."

He looked at me for a long moment. "If I could have a wish for myself," he said, "I would wish that I had never left my well. Then all this would never have happened."

"Who's letting in a draft?" Chisel, clad in only a towel, appeared at the window. "Close that window at once!"

"Mr. Chisel?" I called over. "I need to talk to you!"

"What could you possibly have to say to me?"

"Come over and find out."

He shook his head and pressed his lips together. "You've been a thorn in my side ever since you and your family moved here, Teller. For twenty-five years, every time something strange happens, you're right there in the middle of it. Well, no more! My next wish will get rid of you and your freaky friends permanently!"

"I wouldn't bet on it," I said. "Just come over. Oh, you might want to get dressed first."

"Fine," he said. "I'd like to see what you think is so important. I'll indulge you, but just this once." He turned away and ordered Ali, "Close that damn window!"

Ali looked at me, and I gave him a thumbs-up. He nodded and closed the window.

Ten minutes later, Chisel pounded on the door.

"What a surprise," Brenda said as he pushed his way past her. "My rich and powerful neighbor deigns to grace us with his presence."

Ali followed in his wake, looking apologetic. I motioned for him to sit.

"All right," Chisel said. "What's so darned important that you needed to interrupt my massage?"

"Well," I said, "I've been looking at that map of the property that you left behind."

"And?"

"I couldn't help noticing the date in the corner. March twenty-first, two thousand and two."

He exhaled heavily through his nostrils. "Get to the point!"

"The point, sir, is that this map includes your fabulous sun room."

"Which," said Simon, "we know for a fact wasn't built till two thousand four. Since it was our friend who built it for you."

"Thus proving," said Igor, "that map is fake."

Chisel shook his head and smiled. "You'll never prove anything. Not now that my house is bigger than some Central American countries."

"Yes, we can," I told him. "See, right after I noticed this, I went online to the county surveyor's real website, and downloaded the real map. The property line on this map," I continued, pulling it up to show him, "is exactly where it's been all along."

"So you don't own the well!" Simon finished. "Which means that you can't tell Ali to do a thing!"

Chisel turned to Ali, who sat up straight, a smile spreading across his face. "He is right," he said. "You are no longer my master. Therefore, any wish you have made fraudulently is null and void." He waved his hands. There was that hum and that sparkling again, and without even looking, we knew that the fabulous house next door had vanished.

"Noooooooo!" Chisel howled. "It's not fair! You meddling kids always spoil my plans!"

Igor looked confused. "Does that make me Scooby dog, then?"

"Mr. Chisel," Brenda said, "please leave my property. And keep your dog out of my garbage!"

He went, but he wasn't happy about it. "You haven't heard the last of me!"

"Unfortunately," I said. "But, that's Eerie for you."

I called my parents (to reassure myself that they were still there) and told them I'd be by to pick up the kids soon.

"Oh, don't rush," Mom said. "We're having a great time! Four o'clock is just fine, dear."

She said nothing about her home being temporarily displaced by a golf course, so either cancelling the spell had adjusted everyone's memories, or she just hadn't noticed. Either was likely.

"What do we do now?" Simon asked.

"I don't know about you," said Brenda, "but I believe I have a wish to make." She turned to Ali. "Ready?"

He stood up. "Oh, I am. Yes."

"Then let's do it. I wish that you, Ali, be free to live wherever you choose."

"And the tribute?"

She blushed. "I give you my heart," she said. "Completely and willingly."

"That will do." He waved his arms again. There was that sparkling effect, which seemed to go on for quite a while. When it faded, things were . . . slightly different. There was a pair of battered sneakers sitting beside the door. A red jacket was flung over the back of the sofa. A subsequent search of the house revealed male clothes in the closet, and men's toiletries on the middle shelf in the bathroom cabinet. And out in the yard, the spell etched into the rim of the well had disappeared. The stone was as smooth as if it had been newly cut.

"Unlike in the movie," Ali said, "I cannot change my basic nature. I cannot become human, but I promise you, as long as you live, I will do whatever it takes to make you happy. If you will have me."

She squealed and leaped into his arms. "Of course I'll have you!"

"Good. Then you will need these back." He opened his hand, and nestled in his palm were her diamond earrings.

"But . . . I threw them away because I didn't want them anymore. Because they came from him."

"Now, they come from me. I want you to wear them. You look stunning in them, especially with your hair up." He pulled her hair back from her face and held it on top of her head. "You should wear an updo more often."

"They're so much work!"

"I can help you. I would be honored to make you look like the princess you are. Give me a chance."

"Guys," I said to Simon and Igor, "I think this is our cue to leave. These two have everything under control. Besides, I have dinner to make."

When Sylvie came home, the kids were in front of the TV, watching Season 1 of Fresh Prince, which I had found on one of the streaming services. After one episode, Jack said it was "super funny" and Holly wanted to marry Carlton. I was in the kitchen, cutting up the fish, which I had rescued from the garbage, into bite-sized chunks, coating them in breadcrumbs, and then dropping them on a baking sheet and putting them in the oven.

"I thought you didn't want fish," she said.

I sighed. "About that . . . I'm really sorry for the stuff I said this morning. I don't really mind fish all that much. I understand how much it means to you-"

"No need," she said, dropping her jacket on the couch. "You were right. We don't have to have fish every night. Maybe one or two nights, we can have hamburgers, or pork."

"Or chicken nuggets?" I said, glancing at Jack, who was hopelessly engrossed in the program and didn't hear me.

"Perhaps."

"So I'm forgiven?"

"Maybe. We'll see."

While I waited for the fish to cook, I switched over to the news, promising the kids that they could watch more after dinner. There was no mention of the strange epidemic of truth-telling in town that day . . . until the end of the broadcast.

"And now," said the night anchor, whose name, I think, was Dan. Or Don. Or maybe Jon, I wasn't sure. "An editorial from our morning anchor, Helen Hartley."

Helen looked much better than she had that morning. "I wish to apologize," she said into the camera, "for my on-air outburst this morning. What most viewers don't realize is that television news is a very stressful business, and instead of dealing with that stress, I let it build up until it exploded. As of tomorrow morning, I will be taking a two-week leave of absence to attend a retreat in Arizona."

Unbelievable. Only in Eerie. I swear, if a flying saucer landed on the steps of the Town Hall and a ten-foot-tall green alien stepped out, it wouldn't even make a half-column in the Examiner.

But maybe that was just as well. The truth is out there . . . and sometimes, it's a dangerous thing. Like everything else in life, it needs to be taken in moderation.