‘No attention was given to the small dedicated space allowed to the jar of ‘Over-Millenium Oats’ in the unnamed local museum of Lassater, Minnesota until it began to glow. The phenomenon was first noted in 2022, shortly after the museum re-opened following an extended Covid-19 lockdown. The museum’s sole security camera holds a view of the parking lot and had been non-functional since 2016, so there remains no clear understanding of when the ‘Over-Millennium Oats’ illuminated and whether or not there was a catalyzing force. Many suspect it is a hoax- a prank meant for locals that inadvertently went viral.
Rabidly viral.
There is a certain subsect of people that believe overnight oats are a panacea and a subsect of the subsect correlates length of containment with alleged health benefits. This small, but very enthusiastic, population sometimes pushes their oats past a week- past a month. Sometimes a sort of fermentation occurs. Often, the oats rot into a slurry.
Nobody has gone on record as having left their batch for as long as the ‘Over-Millenium Oats,’ which, if the museum is to be believed, were jarred in 1935. Daily, the oats grow brighter. The unnamed museum flickers like a jack o’lantern in the night. If the current pattern persists, travelers may soon need to don protective glasses to view the oats.
The ‘Over-Millennium Oats’ may yet be taken by some tendril of the government that specializes in the study of strange and dangerous thing and it might prove to be a relief. Several private attempts have already occurred, half-baked burglaries by a population that seems no more physically healthy than the rest.’
My grandmother used to can and she used mason jars much like that which houses the ‘Over-Millennium Oats.’ It’s one of the bigger sizes- 32 oz maybe, and its lid is bulged further than I am comfortable with. Whatever’s happening, there’s a lot of pressure inside.
A woman stands near the display, authoritative and bored.
I step nearer until a shift in her stance indicates that I’ve entered a zone where she is now forced to see me as a potential threat to the ‘Oats’.
I stop. “Can I ask you questions about this?”
She seems both relieved and annoyed. “I’m not an expert.”
“Is there an expert available?”
She doesn’t respond to that.
“Is it warm?”
I’m surprised when she reaches out to touch the glass. “No.”
“You’ve never touched it before?”
“I’m not supposed to touch it.” She seems to remember this as she says it.
“What do you think would happen if you eat it?”
The woman shrugs. “They hired me because I’m not very interested.”
I nod and let her lapse back into a glassy-eyed middle-distance.
A sketch on the wall indicates a much grander opening ceremony than I would have expected for the opening of a jar of oats, planned to occur on the final day of 2035 (because the exact date of canning is not recorded). The sketch itself dates back to the early thirties and, the longer I look the more concerning it becomes. There are men in what appear to be hazmat suits in attendance of a parade at the center of which is the jar. The ‘Over-Millennium Oats’ are balanced precariously on a platform by itself, the central float. Lines indicate that it is glowing brightly and onlookers peer at it through blackened opera glasses.
They look despairing.
A sneaky looking man shifts in the crowd, reaching vaguely toward the ‘Over-Millennium Oats.’ A bird caught in the illustrated illumination has died and is plummeting toward the concrete. A regal politician awaits the parade and marks its end. He sits in a simple chair and has a spoon in his hand. He’s patting his stomach like he could eat, but isn’t starving.
A sign indicates this will take place in Washington D.C.
I’ll be sure to avoid it.
-traveler
