"Little Troubles" by Steve Weddle in Beat to a Pulp

When he was done screaming, he turned back to her, saw her slack-jawed, staring where he'd been looking. The coffee table between the two overstuffed chairs and the overstuffed couch. Standing in the center, where most people in the neighborhood would have put a bamboo bowl full of pinecones or a giant book of Mary Cassatt paintings, was a glass jar. If you were a doctor, you might fill it with tongue depressors. Giant swabs.

"Is that—" Chrissy started.
 
Garrett said he thought it was.

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