Potion Promises Lucy B 21

Lucy B. ’21

The bog was a mess of gnarled tree trunks and twisting vines snaked across muddy water. Lark waited in the midst of the thick fog seeping out from every dark crevice, her translucent form practically invisible. Soft croaks bubbled up from the water occasionally, but for the most part it was strangely silent.

In the center of the water was a wooden hut made from branches and vines held together with mud. A barnacled pier led up to the door, which had a very unwelcoming looking welcome sign hanging sideways on it. As she floated up to the hut, she noted tangles of weeds latched onto the wood of the pier that would have made it hazardous to walk for anyone with an actual physical body.

She phased through the door, unsure of what would greet her inside the hut. The pit of her would-be-stomach curled uncomfortably with anxiety. It was only a phantom pain, but the feeling remained.

On the other side of the door the hut was lit with various candles. Dried wax coated the windowsills and pooled over the candelabras. The ceiling was cluttered with dangling plant life and figurines. Some looked to be made of bone while others were carved from wood and straw. Painted skeletal faces stared out blankly from the walls. Though they were lacking pupils Lark still had the feeling that their empty eyes missed nothing.

Lurking in the low candlelight behind a large table covered in glass bottles was a man. Everything about him was dark: his hair, skin, clothes, aura. His face was the only exception. The top half of it was hidden with a white skull tattoo, and a pair of inky green eyes, not much unlike the sleek vines hanging outside, were staring up at her expectantly.

They watched each other in silence. She stared with curiosity and unease, while his gaze was more piercing with a hint of humor, as if he knew something she didn’t. She was beginning to feel uncomfortable when all at once the candles burned brighter and he turned his eyes away.

“Do you want a beverage?” He swept up a few bottles of vibrantly colored liquid from the table. “I’ve got swamp stain, pumpkin potion, spirit malt, bog brew, a gecko tail cocktail, and some”— he paused to lift one of the bottles to his nose, taking a swig and swishing it around in his mouth before spitting it back out— “frog poison.”

She stared at the array of bottles he had shown her, the sudden change in aura throwing her off. “Uh— ”

“Anything sound appealing?” He held up what she thought might be the poison and shook it invitingly, the bone bracelets encircling his wrist clattering together.

“No thanks I’m, uh...I’m good,” she mumbled. It wasn’t that he was scary, per se, there was just

something unsettling about him. She couldn’t be sure if it was his raspy yet sonorous voice, the odd trinkets hanging from his hair, coat, and belt, or his pine-colored eyes, stark against the pale white of the skull tattoo on his face.

He shrugged at her response and set down the bottles. “So,” he said, clapping his hands together and effectively startling her from her thoughts. “What can I actually do for you?”

She swallowed down the lump in her technically nonexistent throat. “I need help.”

“I can certainly be helpful if I desire, so you might have come to the right place.”

Her thoughts hitched on the word ‘might,’ but she held hope. “I heard you could do magic. And healing.”

He steepled his fingers under his chin. “Healing and medicine are my recognized talents. I am also able to dabble in some forms of magic, yes. Anything you’re looking for in particular?”

“I was wondering if you had anything that could reverse side effects? Or...cure something that already happened.”

Her question caused his eyes to narrow, but he kept a smile on his face. It managed to look more like a sneer under his tattoo, though. “Would you care to be a bit more specific in your description? I’m not entirely sure I know what you’re trying to say.”

Worry leaked into her mind, making her float higher subconsciously. This was a foolish thing to come here for. He remained still as he waited for her response.

She took a deep breath, an unnecessary habit she couldn’t, well, refused, to get rid of. “I need you to bring me back to life. Or just, reverse my death.”

Silence fell in the hut. The candlelight flickered across his face, which held an expression she could not make out.

“I know I work in medicine, but I’m uncertain if something like this really falls within my bounds.” He leaned back from the table, watching her with a scrutinizing glare. “You are a ghost, correct?”

Discomfort trickled through her. “Yes. Does that change anything?”

He tilted his head to the side, the light catching on one of his eyes, making it appear to glow an ominous green. “It does. I could see myself attempting to provide some sort of reverse for let’s say, a vampire or ghoul of sorts. You, however, don’t have a physical body I can work with. So, in all honesty, no, I don’t think there’s much I can do for you.”

Any hope she had of living once again crumbled. If he couldn’t help her no one could. Everyone else she had questioned about this had laughed at her as though she were crazy, and maybe she

was. With the way everyone reacted to such a feat she might as well accept the fact that she’s dead and will remain that way. Forever.

“Right. Thank you for your time.” She began floating out through the rotting wooden door, her spirits lower than they had been the day she died.

The sound of a throat clearing halted her movement. Halfway through the door, Lark turned back to the man behind the table.

“I may not have any promises to reverse your death,” he began. A butterfly of hope fluttered within her. “But I do have a suggestion.”

She shifted out of the door to face him fully once more. “What is it?”

“Possession.” The declaration hit her, as if words could hit and she could feel. “You’re a ghost, you don’t need a body of your own if you can take the bodies of others.”

The suggestion was said so casually, a droplet of hope that could change everything. She stared at him in disbelief. The fact that this had never dawned upon her before...she could be anyone.

“Amazing,” she whispered.

“Hm?”

“You’re a genius,” she said.

“I’ve been told before. Now,” he said as flung his feet upon the table, rattling the remaining jars. His face dripped with smug victory, the signature of his win. “Let’s discuss my payment.”