"O, Djinn of the Lamp"

Miriam nudged open the attic door, kicking up a flurry of dust. The wooden steps groaned and creaked under her searching feet, the shine of her flashlight bouncing against abandoned trunks and shelves full of cobweb. She hated being up here, but she felt a need to investigate the leak.
Something scintillated out from under a pile of worn-down blankets. She knelt down, the dust filling her sinuses, and tugged free a brass oil lamp, its surface blotchy and lusterless. A relic of some bygone yard sale, most likely, she thought to herself. She polished the stain with her sleeve, intending only to clean a small patch—but then, sparks began to dance all around it.
A deep groan, ancient and tired, rolled like soft thunder through the attic. Purple and pink smoke billowed from the lamp's spout, thick and roiling, filling the space with the scent of scorched air and something older than dust. Miriam scrambled backward, heart hammering, as the smoke sparkled and solidified into an authoritative figure. His flesh scaly and blue, his beard jet black, his eyes redder than the pits of hell. He wore jewelry encased with several glowing diamonds and a bright green turban. He brushed his sable beard with a clawed hand. Miriam screamed.
"What—what are you? What do you want?"
She had the sneaking suspicion that this creature was a hell-sent demon on the brink of punishing her.
The creature seemed to be ignoring her.
"At last," he murmured, shaking his body as if to slough off old age itself. His voice was soft but thunderous. "I am the djinn who once called Aladdin his master. Three wishes I must grant before I can finally go to my final resting place."
Miriam propped her back against an old dresser, her breath inconsistent and gulping. "Rest?" she echoed.
"Die," he clarified, watching her while firefly flames danced in his eyes.
She shook her head dramatically. "I—I can’t be responsible for that."
The djinn sighed, long and slow, a soughing through dead leaves. "Then you would doom me to continue this long-forsaken life," he said. "We djinni do not fade with time—rather, we stagnate. We rot. And our despair…bleeds into the world of mortals."
Miriam blinked. "What do you mean?"
"Have you noticed the cracks in reality? The unending wars, the weight in the air, the storms that rage too long? We are beings of fire and thought, and our hopelessness is not confined to our dwellings alone." He spread his hands, palms up. "You would not simply be freeing me—you would be bettering your world."
She gulped, her fingers tightening around the lamp. If he was telling the truth…what choice did she have?
"I wish for world peace," she said.
The djinn closed his eyes. A deep hum resonated through the attic. Outside, the wind stilled, the distant honk of car horns softened into something gentler.
He nodded once. "It is done."
Miriam licked her lips. "I wish for a reason never to have to leave this house." The house became a blur, then something else. Larger. Warmer. Shelves lined with books. A kitchen filled with everything she could need.
Another hum, a breeze emerging cooly into the half-open window.
The djinn’s lips curved in something close to a smile.
"And your final wish?" he asked.
She balked. Her fingers twitched a little. Her world was a small one—these walls, this house. Outside was panic, a crushing weight of people upon people. What she wanted, truly, was to never have to leave her abode again.
"I wish…for a friend."
The djinn inhaled deeply, lit by an unearthly light. The attic blurred. When the world eventually settled back down.
The djinn himself faded away to nothing. A small puff of smoke appeared where he had stood, was blown by an unseen gust, and dissipated.
At the door downstairs, someone knocked. She descended the attic steps and went to the door in the anteroom.
She turned the knob hesitantly. A man stood there, smiling good-naturedly. He was a dead ringer for the now vanished djinn, minus the scales. He had his facial hair, cheekbones...his eyes were now amber and almond-shaped.
"Hello, Miriam," he said. "How are you?"
Something in her chest unfurled, light and cautious. "You look like someone I just met."
The human who looked like the djinn narrowed his eyes, smirking.
"Curious," he said, "Perhaps I am. But I think I’m also just… me. Truly, I didn't know djinni could reincarnate." He stepped back, nodding toward the quiet, sun-drenched street. "Shall we go for a walk?"
She hesitated. The wish meant she never had to. But—she realized with a start—that didn’t mean she couldn’t. And besides, the world would be an Eden with an all-encompassing peace.
She exhaled, then stepped forward.
"I’d like that," she said.