The Cellar Dweller

It was another cold December morning when an elderly gentleman woke as usual. He tousled his hair; it was speckled with age like snow on the streets outside. He was to meet his best friend today, Mrs. Lawney. She was the local pharmacist; he would often visit her to acquire a prescription to ease the pain in his hunched back. He enjoyed meeting her greatly – for in his age it was the highlight of the week seeing the most pleasant and kind Mrs. Lawney. She was an expert scientist and chemist; she would often lecture him on the periodic table, and the “great experiment she conducted on Harry the cat yesterday”.

He walked the short distance to the pharmacy, and admired its white-washed walls and the neat sign that read “MRS. LAWNEY’S PHARMACY.” briefly before strolling inside. Today Mrs. Lawney wanted the elderly gentleman, Mr Wilkes, to try another of her special concoctions. He greeted her warmly and she smiled back. Mrs. Lawney was a small woman in her forties who, through some form of black magics or scientific enhancement had been able to keep her youthful good looks. Mrs. Lawney’s smile, like her pharmacy, was just a façade.

Mrs. Lawney led Mr. Wilkes down the stairs to the laboratory in the cellar. She nudged the old, iron-wrought door open with a mighty push to reveal a jungle of science, alchemy and medicine. Half-performed experiments lay across each table; scientific tools and utensils were strewn across the floor and tables, and test tubes and flasks stood in shelves along the walls. Vials filled with all sorts of lotions and potions stood in racks; bulbous flasks lined other tables; and the stoking hot stove emitted a warm red glow over the room.

That day, Mrs. Lawney wanted Mr. Wilkes to try a peculiarly coloured concoction. It was a swirl of purple and green and it bubbled violently. It produced a thin, pale smoke which rose and danced inside the glass vial.
“And what should this cure, Mrs. Lawney?” said Mr Wilkes, cynically. Many of her previous “cures” had ended him in bed with a hot water bottle and a fever; others turned him very green in the face, or in the worst of cases dyed his hair a shade of yellow.
“Why, sir, this should help your arthritis.” She uncorked the vial and handed it to him. He smelled it suspiciously, like a lab rat testing hemlock. He could not name what he smelt; was it the familiar smell of Mrs. Lawney’s pharmacy? The smell of leather jackets... or was it the marmalade in his pantry? He could not tell by any means.

He gulped it down before spluttering loudly. It tasted very peculiar indeed, he thought - of chocolate, or cheese, or tea, or all?
“My my, Mr. Wilkes, you’ve gone awfully pale.” Mrs Lawney said. “Take a nap on this couch here. You’ll sleep it off. Don’t you worry.” she said, reassuringly. “Just hand me your waistcoat and you can sleep as you are. You’ll sleep ever so softly. The best sleep you ever had, you’ll say, Mr. Wilkes.”

“And the last,” Mrs. Lawney burbled under her breath. As she accepted Mr. Wilkes’ waistcoat, she formerly rifled through the pockets for a very ripe wallet and an elaborate golden pocket watch. As Mr. Wilkes easily settled to sleep, little did he know that he would never wake; he was buried alive, betrayed by the woman who he called friend in the place he loved.

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 19.12.2011

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