The shop was tucked away out of view. It was so tucked away that it was not easy to find. The entrance to the shop was in the gap between two buildings. The gap appeared to be there to give the four story buildings on either side breathing space. The light seemed never to find its way into the small space to give any hint of a door’s existence.
The door, when seen, was a sharp contrast to the new and sleek of the city. It was an old door, brown and worn. As a door it must have survived hundreds of years and seen many events. The tree that it was made from would have been even older and would have been a sapling when the secrets that were sold inside were only first being discovered. The fruit of the tree was used in certain formulas, the type of which were certainly in the shop that it protected. The door was not made from a single piece of wood, but by planks. The craftsmanship was extraordinary; the border of the door made a frame into which the rest of the planks were set. The vertical planks were further secured with horizontal supports of the same wood, though narrower and thinner. In addition to the wood metal shanks were spread from one side to the other connecting the boards with large headed nails. The nails were used on other parts of the door, giving it a medieval look. The top of the door was rounded and made a half-circle that contained symbols and strange writing.
There was no knob on the door, only a plate on the side opposite the hinges. In the center of the metal plate was a key hole whose key must have been a massive skull key. Around the hole was decorative scroll work. The curving designs looped around and were intertwined in intricate patterns looking as though they held some secret significance. Without the key admittance was only granted from the inside.
From the outside it would seem as though all that could be on the other side of the door would be a narrow hall only as long as the buildings that sandwiched it, though this was not the case. While the shop was crowded and small it was certainly larger than it should have been. The lighting in the shop was dim and undefined. It would be impossible to identify any single source of light that seemed to hang in the air. The walking space was narrow, only wide enough for one person, having wares stacked on either side. Old boxes, small trunks and other parcels were stacked one on top of the other along with packages in brown paper tied with twine. Shelves stood behind the stacked boxes and held countless bottles of varying size and shape each containing a different colored liquid, powder, or curiosity. The level in each was less than full, though all had parchment labels with faded writing. From the ceiling hung various objects—dried lizards, bones, sacks of unknown contents, and metal instruments of unknown uses.
At the back of the shop was a small counter covered in such clutter that no part of the surface was visible. There was a bookshelf stretching to the ceiling filled with volumes of all sizes, all leather bound and brittle from old age. The spines of the books had large bands between which were written their titles and authors. The space between the tops of books and the bottom of the shelf above held more books, lying on their sides. Stacks and rolls of parchment were also fit into gaps and crevices that remained. Many of the books were covered in dust, their knowledge having remained long unneeded. A ladder hung on large rollers was pushed into the corner. Over the rungs draped pieces string of varying length, thickness, and color.
Behind this counter hunched an old lady wizened with age. Her skin was brown as leather and wrinkled. Her hair was thin and white with no trace of gray. It was mostly pulled back but disheveled, much of it having been pulled out of the tie. It hung in matted clumps with a strand hanging over one eye. Her eyes were a green, bright and cunning, though they mostly hid behind squinting lids. They would dart back and forth seeing every movement and every change in her small world. She thought out loud with grunts and moans and when she spoke her voice was raspy. She mostly spoke in words and phrases, not in full sentences; she said only the minimum needed to get the answer out.
The smell that hung in the air was unique, the product of thousands of strange smells mixes together. It was distinct but not unpleasant. It was the smell of secrets and mystery.
* * *
It was on this door, to this shop, that a man with a concerned face knocked. He was short and had a slumped posture of one who lacks self assuredness and has seen more failure than success. His hair was thinning as well as receding. He was not a handsome man, and he didn’t seem happy.
Bang, bang were his first two tentative knocks, followed by a long pause. The thickness of the door had muffled the knocks and the man thought they could not have been heard. Thud—He knocked again. Thud—he knocked a second time. His arm hung still, suspended, as he went for another thud. Before his hand hit the door it opened. The door’s movement was smooth, not the slow creaking the man had expected.
Where he stood on the stoop it was dim but beyond the threshold of the door it was darker. He couldn’t see in. He stood motionless, his apprehension growing.
I shouldn’t even be here—he thought silently. But before the thought was finished in his mind he found himself drawn into the darkness of the shop.
He noticed the smell as he entered, only to forget it by the distraction of the step he hadn’t noticed. His foot fell farther than it should have, past where he thought the ground would be. His body jolted as his foot finally found the ground. “Oh,” he said not as a thought but as the reaction from having air forced out of his lungs.
Inside the shop his eyes began to adjust. He took two steps forward. The door closed behind him. He heard a shuffling sound near the back of the shop and followed the aisle toward the sound.
He found himself standing in front of the counter and the old lady. He stood there momentarily with his mouth open, not knowing what to say. He knew what he wanted but had never put words to his desire. Now when he needed the words they did not come because they had not been prepared.
“I need….” And his voiced trailed off and he stood simply staring at the woman. She looked back at him, with penetrating eyes, as if reading his soul.
She was the next to speak, “Yes,” pause… “I know what you want.” Then she chuckled a strange, raspy cackle. To the man it seemed as if she were mocking him, and not knowing how to answer remained silent. She gave a sidewise nod of her head signaling him to follow.
They moved down a narrow aisle, silently, the old hunched woman shuffling along with the man following. She knew precisely where she was going and stopped suddenly to reach up to a shelf at her eyelevel. She took from the shelf a bottle of thin blue liquid and a small cloth bag that looked like it held sand.
The woman then retraced her steps to return to the counter. She took no note of the man that stood in the way of her back tracking, he had to lean back against a shelf to make room for her to pass. After a moment the shock of the old woman nearly running over him dispelled and he followed. Back at the counter with bottle and bag on top of the newest layer of clutter, the woman gave a smile while nodding her head in turn at both ingredients. Her gaze moved back to the man’s face, still holding the smile. Then the smile slowly slid from her face.
“This isn’t it, but close. You want success. You think it comes from luck. No. Comes from work, toil. Only looks like luck—you don’t know what work is.” She waited, giving him a look that seemed to ask if he understood. After a long pause she continued, either thinking he understood, or knowing he didn’t and going on all the same.
“This is gambling. You know the price?” then answering her own question, “No. Your type? never. Cost your life? Your youth? Happiness? Maybe. But something.” The man listened confused. He had thought to pay with cash. He thought that the concoction would be surefire.
What is this talk of gamble?—he thought to himself. Instead of answering his own question he addressed the woman, “I’ll take it.”
She reached down to uncork the bottle muttering, “Maybe it takes you…” Her voice trailed off as if not finishing the whole thought. She poured two swallow fulls into a vial and added a pinch of the powder. The granules slowly sank and dissolved, making the liquid milky.
The woman raised it to her eye level and gazed at the contents, slowly swirling the tube, then slowly extended it, offering it to the man. He took it and simply looked at it, not knowing what exactly to do. He wondered if he needed to pay first.
“Drink,” the woman said. He lifted the vial to his lips and drained its contents. He almost choked, and sputtering said, “That tastes awful, like… I don’t know what, but disgusting.” He hadn’t expected such a vile taste.
“What did you expect, sweet like honey?” the woman questioned chuckling. “Yes, your type, always entitled to have sweet and no bitter.” The woman then wiped her hands on her apron as if to signal that the exchange was complete. The man felt he owed her something and asked the total for the drink. The woman just nodded her head from side to side.
“Well, will it make me lucky like the others? Will it make me rich? Will it make me happy?” the man asked. The words of what he desired now came to him. He thought of all the men he envied for the ease of their success. He thought of all that he wanted and did not have.
“I don’t know. Won’t make you happy, only you can do that. Might make you rich. Or it might take everything. Shortcuts are never sure.” Pause, “Now go, see what happens.”
With the old woman’s words the man became concerned, she had said gamble, and in his experience that only meant that you most likely were going to loose.
He left the shop the same way he had come in and stood on the sidewalk watching cars pass. After deciding he felt no different and that the woman was up to funny business he turned and began to walk away.
He noticed someone walking down the street in his direction. The young boy was walking quickly and with purpose. His expression was one of youthful love. He was obviously enamored by some girl. He also noticed a tinge of concern. Perhaps the feelings aren’t mutual, he mused. The boy passed him. He glanced over his shoulder in time to see the boy slide between the two buildings from where he had just come. “Good luck, kid, it’s just come kooky old woman in there. Just a waste of time.”
The man, distracted by his thought, turned to cross the street. He didn’t look to see if there were cars coming. There was a car coming, and he put stepped directly in front of it. The impact killed him instantly. His last thought was one of blame to a person who couldn’t solve his problems.
* * *
Inside the shop the old woman was shuffling down an aisle with a young boy following her. She paused, as if sensing the events outside, as if she somehow knew the man was now dead. The boy was confused when the woman who stopped for no reason said, “Oh well…” before continuing down the aisle to find a few bottles that contained ingredients that she needed to mix a love potion for the boy.
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