Adrenaline surged through Kevin's bloodstream as he emerged from the SMARTA station. Today would be the day. Today would be the day.
Crossing the street to Washington Heights, he dodged an ice cream truck merrily chiming "Twinkle, Twinkle" from its speakers. Knowing the neighborhood for what it was, Kevin guessed that the truck sold more magic herbs than ice cream - and not the type of magic herbs he had bought from the woman at The Wrath.
As Kevin opened the door to apartment 981, his heart thundered with excitement and the effort of sprinting up nine flights of stairs. Dropping his bag by the door, Kevin got to work immediately.
Patrick's body still lay chained to the steel table in the center of the room, the corpse's pallid skin glowing in the light of the bare bulb overhead.
Kevin lifted the now dried entrails and placed them in a large mortar. Adding the herbs the woman at The Wrath had given him, he began to grind the mixture with a pestle. When he had successfully powdered the herbs and innards, he divided the mortar's contents into four small bowls. Placing one at each corner of the steel table, he lit the powder samples with a lighter from his pocket. As a savory yet revolting aroma filled the room, he picked up the piece of scrap paper the woman had handed him. Her calligraphy itself seemed to evoke the magic in the words, as though no recitation was necessary.
Mors non finis est; mors solus inceptum est; is qui mortatus est rursus vivet
As the last syllable echoed against the barren walls, Kevin felt a change in the atmosphere of the room. The room seemed to have a new life to it. The hairs on Kevin's neck began to stand up. He could feel the incantation working, but Patrick showed no signs of life as of yet. Kevin would have to wait.
Pulling a chair to the table alongside Patrick's head, Kevin sat to wait. He waited for hours. He waited until the flames died down to embers. He waited until the glowing embers began to fade.
As the last burning ember was dying, Kevin turned to leave. His plan had failed. He would never have Patrick back in his life again.
But as Kevin reached for the door handle, the last ember died with a puff of smoke. With this final signal came a slight rustling. Upon hearing it, Kevin turned around, searching for the source of the sound. It came from the table. Kevin's heart skipped a beat.
Patrick was moving hypnopompically, as though he was waking from a deep sleep. At last, he opened his eyes. "Kevin?" he inquired in a voice that seemed as if it had not been used for the last three years.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Train of Thought
It was another rainy afternoon. Luckily, Kevin wouldn't be out much. He had only one class today, an afternoon lecture on the endocrine system.
Kevin sat alone in the car of the SMARTA train, staring blankly through the window across the aisle, watching flashes of orange light the color of macaroni and cheese pass by, interrupting the blackness that was the bowels of the city.
Lulled by the rhythmic clacking of wheel on rail, Kevin was lost amid the sea of thoughts swimming through his head. He reflected on the crazed events of the morning.
Especially noteworthy was his lunch with Maria. She had bumped into him as they were both leaving their apartments in search of decent food, a rare commodity among the residents of Washington Heights, it seemed. They had ambled down the wet pavement together, the both of them skipping the sidewalk in Maria's usual, peculiar manner. Then came the fun. The sandwich Kevin had been eating had a serious onion leakage problem. One piece of onion that fell onto the table seemed to flip a very strange switch in Maria, causing her to fall into a silence only to be broken with shouts of despair and affection, followed by her flight from the diner.
Kevin's thoughts also wandered to an attractive young woman he had seen around Washington Heights. She, too, wore a Johns Hopkins sweatshirt. He wondered what she might be doing around Washington Heights so much. Did she live there, too?
Kevin was aroused from his meditations by the squeal of brakes as the train entered a station. Glancing up, Kevin saw the sign reading Johns Hopkins University. Grabbing his bag, he trod onto the platform and up the stairs, returning to the gray world outside.
Kevin sat alone in the car of the SMARTA train, staring blankly through the window across the aisle, watching flashes of orange light the color of macaroni and cheese pass by, interrupting the blackness that was the bowels of the city.
Lulled by the rhythmic clacking of wheel on rail, Kevin was lost amid the sea of thoughts swimming through his head. He reflected on the crazed events of the morning.
Especially noteworthy was his lunch with Maria. She had bumped into him as they were both leaving their apartments in search of decent food, a rare commodity among the residents of Washington Heights, it seemed. They had ambled down the wet pavement together, the both of them skipping the sidewalk in Maria's usual, peculiar manner. Then came the fun. The sandwich Kevin had been eating had a serious onion leakage problem. One piece of onion that fell onto the table seemed to flip a very strange switch in Maria, causing her to fall into a silence only to be broken with shouts of despair and affection, followed by her flight from the diner.
Kevin's thoughts also wandered to an attractive young woman he had seen around Washington Heights. She, too, wore a Johns Hopkins sweatshirt. He wondered what she might be doing around Washington Heights so much. Did she live there, too?
Kevin was aroused from his meditations by the squeal of brakes as the train entered a station. Glancing up, Kevin saw the sign reading Johns Hopkins University. Grabbing his bag, he trod onto the platform and up the stairs, returning to the gray world outside.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Pancakes and a Pancreas
Despite cold air and intermittent sleet, Kevin was in a cheerful mood. All he had left to do was to burn some rat entrails. Not wanting Patrick's first day of resurrection to be sleety and gray, Kevin was taking his time in obtaining the entrails. He even allowed himself a normal meal in the diner down the street.
Taking the last seat at the diner's counter, he waited to be served. He didn't understand why "waiters" referred to the servers instead of the customers because it always seemed to him that he was waiting on the waitress.
At last, a young waitress approached. The small placard pinned to her shirt read "Mandi Mac." Kevin found her name to be a bit rustic, perhaps even redneck, but this was a diner, after all.
Kevin placed his order for a stack of chocolate chip pancakes. Mandi Mac turned and headed back behind the counter. Kevin began to stare off into space, lost in thoughts about the day soon to come. He needed those entrails first, though.
A few minutes later, Mandi Mac placed a plate full of steaming chocolate chip pancakes in front of Kevin. Dousing them in syrup and butter, Kevin ravenously dug into the pancakes.
After a little while, the bell on the diner door rang, letting in the street noise of sirens and squealing brakes. Kevin, however, was too engrossed in his food to look up. But before he knew it, Maria, his neighbor from across the hall, sat next to him. Kevin smiled. Maria blushed.
Half an hour later, Kevin emerged from the diner. He strolled down the street, noticing a black van whizzing around the block. Merrily whistling the overture from the Marriage of Figaro, Kevin took a shortcut through the empty lot behind Washington Heights to the lonely taxidermy stand. He approached the small, dark-haired woman behind the stand. Here goes nothing, he thought.
"Can I help you?" the young woman asked.
"Uh, this might sound like an odd request, but, uh, do you have any extra entrails I could have? Preferably of a rat?" Kevin responded.
"You're in luck. I just finished a rat moments ago. I was going to give the entrails to the bu- never mind. Sure. You can have them."
She fished around in a bucket behind the stand and withdrew a gloppy-looking mess of rat organs. Wrapping the innards in a sheet of newspaper, she handed the newly-formed, slightly leaking package to Kevin.
"Thanks," Kevin muttered as he turned to head back to Washington Heights.
After his daily sprint back up the stairs to the ninth floor, Kevin proceeded to Apartment 981. Sneaking in and shutting the door quietly behind him, he unwrapped the package of entrails. Based on his studies as a premed student, he guessed that he had been given the intestines, gall bladder, and a pancreas. It would suffice. Spreading the innards out under a lamp, now all he had to do was wait for them to dry.
Taking the last seat at the diner's counter, he waited to be served. He didn't understand why "waiters" referred to the servers instead of the customers because it always seemed to him that he was waiting on the waitress.
At last, a young waitress approached. The small placard pinned to her shirt read "Mandi Mac." Kevin found her name to be a bit rustic, perhaps even redneck, but this was a diner, after all.
Kevin placed his order for a stack of chocolate chip pancakes. Mandi Mac turned and headed back behind the counter. Kevin began to stare off into space, lost in thoughts about the day soon to come. He needed those entrails first, though.
A few minutes later, Mandi Mac placed a plate full of steaming chocolate chip pancakes in front of Kevin. Dousing them in syrup and butter, Kevin ravenously dug into the pancakes.
After a little while, the bell on the diner door rang, letting in the street noise of sirens and squealing brakes. Kevin, however, was too engrossed in his food to look up. But before he knew it, Maria, his neighbor from across the hall, sat next to him. Kevin smiled. Maria blushed.
Half an hour later, Kevin emerged from the diner. He strolled down the street, noticing a black van whizzing around the block. Merrily whistling the overture from the Marriage of Figaro, Kevin took a shortcut through the empty lot behind Washington Heights to the lonely taxidermy stand. He approached the small, dark-haired woman behind the stand. Here goes nothing, he thought.
"Can I help you?" the young woman asked.
"Uh, this might sound like an odd request, but, uh, do you have any extra entrails I could have? Preferably of a rat?" Kevin responded.
"You're in luck. I just finished a rat moments ago. I was going to give the entrails to the bu- never mind. Sure. You can have them."
She fished around in a bucket behind the stand and withdrew a gloppy-looking mess of rat organs. Wrapping the innards in a sheet of newspaper, she handed the newly-formed, slightly leaking package to Kevin.
"Thanks," Kevin muttered as he turned to head back to Washington Heights.
After his daily sprint back up the stairs to the ninth floor, Kevin proceeded to Apartment 981. Sneaking in and shutting the door quietly behind him, he unwrapped the package of entrails. Based on his studies as a premed student, he guessed that he had been given the intestines, gall bladder, and a pancreas. It would suffice. Spreading the innards out under a lamp, now all he had to do was wait for them to dry.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Magic Herbs
The sun was setting as Kevin finished threading the second wire through Patrick's vertebrae. It had been a blustery day. Dark, ominous clouds had barely let any sunshine through. Once again, Kevin had returned to room 981, Chinese takeout in hand, to work on his labor of love.
Now that this step was complete, Kevin knew what he had to do. He would have to face the wind again, though.
Stepping out onto the street, Kevin trundled down the sidewalk to a small store right next to the empty lot surrounding Washington Heights. He entered the store, which was named The Wrath.
Sitting behind the counter was a woman. Kevin approached her.
"I need some magic herbs," he said.
"I don't cater to the wants of those wishing to consume controlled substances," the woman responded.
"I'm not looking for drugs," Kevin rebutted. "I need something that actually has magical properties."
"Well, what are you trying to do?" the woman questioned.
"Bring back a friend," Kevin said. Then, after a short pause, he continued, "from the dead."
The woman stood still and silent for a few breathless moments. Finally, she turned toward one of the glass cases along the walls. "Follow me," she said.
Stopping at one of the glass cases, she pulled a set of keys from one of her pockets. Slowly turning one of the keys in the lock, she turned toward Kevin.
"I can't provide you with all you need," she said, "but I can get you on the right path."
"What do you mean?" inquired Kevin, confused.
"I have a few herbs that you can use, but what you will need most are the entrails of a rat."
Having selected samples of several of the plants in the case, she began to scrawl a few strange words on a scrap of paper. Finishing the last word with a flick, she handed the paper to Kevin.
"Dry the rat entrails - once you've got them, that is. I suggest you visit that taxidermist around the corner. She might spare a few. Then, add these herbs and powder the mixture. Once you have powdered them, burn the powder in the room with the body, letting the smoke fill the room. After a few minutes, say these words. Then, wait. It may take up to hours, but you will reach your goal. I can feel it."
Thanking the woman, Kevin turned to leave.
It was late. He would have to visit the taxidermist tomorrow. It was sure to be a unique experience.
Now that this step was complete, Kevin knew what he had to do. He would have to face the wind again, though.
Stepping out onto the street, Kevin trundled down the sidewalk to a small store right next to the empty lot surrounding Washington Heights. He entered the store, which was named The Wrath.
Sitting behind the counter was a woman. Kevin approached her.
"I need some magic herbs," he said.
"I don't cater to the wants of those wishing to consume controlled substances," the woman responded.
"I'm not looking for drugs," Kevin rebutted. "I need something that actually has magical properties."
"Well, what are you trying to do?" the woman questioned.
"Bring back a friend," Kevin said. Then, after a short pause, he continued, "from the dead."
The woman stood still and silent for a few breathless moments. Finally, she turned toward one of the glass cases along the walls. "Follow me," she said.
Stopping at one of the glass cases, she pulled a set of keys from one of her pockets. Slowly turning one of the keys in the lock, she turned toward Kevin.
"I can't provide you with all you need," she said, "but I can get you on the right path."
"What do you mean?" inquired Kevin, confused.
"I have a few herbs that you can use, but what you will need most are the entrails of a rat."
Having selected samples of several of the plants in the case, she began to scrawl a few strange words on a scrap of paper. Finishing the last word with a flick, she handed the paper to Kevin.
"Dry the rat entrails - once you've got them, that is. I suggest you visit that taxidermist around the corner. She might spare a few. Then, add these herbs and powder the mixture. Once you have powdered them, burn the powder in the room with the body, letting the smoke fill the room. After a few minutes, say these words. Then, wait. It may take up to hours, but you will reach your goal. I can feel it."
Thanking the woman, Kevin turned to leave.
It was late. He would have to visit the taxidermist tomorrow. It was sure to be a unique experience.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Bakery Woes
Kevin wanted something different for breakfast. He was sick of all the Eggo waffles and their freezer burn. He'd had barely anything other than the mass-produced waffles for breakfast since moving into this hellhole. Tossing them aside, he strode out of his apartment, locking it behind him, and descended the stairs.
Stepping out onto the street in the pouring rain, Kevin headed for the bakery, wishing he had thought to grab his raincoat. In the empty lot next to Washington Heights, Kevin noticed a bright yellow stand out of the corner of his eye. Staffing it was a small woman who looked about his age, perhaps a little younger. When it finally dawned on him that the stand was that of a taxidermist, Kevin felt somewhat disgusted. Cutting open animals to fill them with foam or whatever didn't seem like Kevin's idea of a good time. Oh, wait, Kevin realized, my work with Patrick isn't all that different...
Putting the taxidermy stand out of his mind, Kevin crossed the street and entered the bakery. Approaching the counter, he was surprised to see Maria, his neighbor from across the hall, standing behind it. He had no idea that she worked there. Overcoming his surprise, he asked for a croissant, preferably with raspberry and cream cheese filling.
"No croissants. Sorry," came the reply.
"How about a blueberry muffin?"
"Nope."
At this point, Kevin didn't even bother asking for a scone.
"How about a bagel?"
"We do have those. Here you go."
Kevin accepted the bagel from Maria, handing over a few crumpled bills in exchange. Flashing a faint smile to show his thanks, Kevin turned to leave. Sinking his teeth into the bagel, he realized that it was a little stale, but he didn't care at all. Despite it being an ordinary bagel, stale and all, it was still better than freezer burned Eggo waffles.
Stepping out onto the street in the pouring rain, Kevin headed for the bakery, wishing he had thought to grab his raincoat. In the empty lot next to Washington Heights, Kevin noticed a bright yellow stand out of the corner of his eye. Staffing it was a small woman who looked about his age, perhaps a little younger. When it finally dawned on him that the stand was that of a taxidermist, Kevin felt somewhat disgusted. Cutting open animals to fill them with foam or whatever didn't seem like Kevin's idea of a good time. Oh, wait, Kevin realized, my work with Patrick isn't all that different...
Putting the taxidermy stand out of his mind, Kevin crossed the street and entered the bakery. Approaching the counter, he was surprised to see Maria, his neighbor from across the hall, standing behind it. He had no idea that she worked there. Overcoming his surprise, he asked for a croissant, preferably with raspberry and cream cheese filling.
"No croissants. Sorry," came the reply.
"How about a blueberry muffin?"
"Nope."
At this point, Kevin didn't even bother asking for a scone.
"How about a bagel?"
"We do have those. Here you go."
Kevin accepted the bagel from Maria, handing over a few crumpled bills in exchange. Flashing a faint smile to show his thanks, Kevin turned to leave. Sinking his teeth into the bagel, he realized that it was a little stale, but he didn't care at all. Despite it being an ordinary bagel, stale and all, it was still better than freezer burned Eggo waffles.
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