It was a dark and stormy night… she typed.
“So how’s the story coming?” Ian, her brother, asked tauntingly. She moaned in reply. He peered over her shoulder at her meager efforts, bursting into laughter. “That’s your grand entrance? Nobody gets anywhere with that line!” Liz shot her brother a glare. “Know what I’d do?”
“Not really,” she grunted.
“I’d get a snack, get the juice flowing,” he suggested.

She searched the fridge for her favorite snack. To her delight, there was one left in the jar. But her delight was extremely short-lived.
“Ian?” she called in slight terror, “What’s in the pickle jar?!” Something oddly pickle-shaped was circling around in the pickle juice. Tenatively she unscrewed the lid and tried to fish out the last fermented cucumber, but the swimming thing nearly latched onto her finger. She dropped the jar, shrieking while it shattered on the floor.
While the thing wriggled on the floor, inspiration struck. Deleting her first line, she typed, It came from the pickle jar…