Stanzas: Monthly Chapbooks October 2014: Halloween | Page 19

The Hypothetical Apothocary
Shane Vaughan

T

he street was narrow, as all strange streets ought to be. The
sun was dipped in dark skies and the moon was pellucid
as it flickered between the scars of transatlantic aeroplanes and
nimbostratus cloud formations. She was dressed in ragged handmedowns, a Columbian Mochila bag draped over her left shoulder
sporting a flamboyant pattern of Aztec Technicolor out of sync
with the monochromatic street.
The sign to her destination, Gobber’s Hypothetical Apothecary,
hung crooked over the doorframe and the hand-painted
calligraphy had chipped, revealing the soft wood underneath like
flayed skin does to bone. As she turned the worn handle a bell
trilled through the silence.
The smell hit her first; saccharine lilac and juniper masking
a rot of rats and flakes of dead skin. She drew her hand up to
her mouth, but noticing the wizened stare of Old Gobber at the
counter, withdrew back to her pockets. To her left was a birdcage
made entirely of chicken bone and inside was the skull of a
rabbit, forever quenching its thirst at a dry water bottle. If she
didn’t look directly at it she could almost see its hollowed sockets
wink. At her right was a gnarled and gangrenous hand pointing
its index – pointing at her.
She approached the counter and nodded to Old Gobber. He
gave a brief flick back sending his oiled hair swishing around
his cataract eyes. He spat chewing tobacco into a mug through
Autumnal teeth and raised an eyebrow in question.
She touched the counter with a hand before taking a deep
breath, then reached into her bag and pulled out an old vulcanite
tome with brass hinges and a lock long prised open. In intricate
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