The Devil's Workshop

III. Rebirth

The first night could not go fast enough. 

Soon time for dinner had come, and yet he could barely hold a conversation with his family. His thoughts were consumed by the ecstasy of his newfound cure, each tick of the grandfather clock echoing louder and louder in his head the more time went on.

"George," His wife prodded "I've been told they've seen you hanging around that old cottage earlier."

Opportune as ever, Mr. Lewis chose that moment to remember he was supposed to eat his food and not just stare at it. He shoved a piece of steak so big in his mouth, that it was impossible for him to intelligibly mutter:

"Nonsense." 

That was the first and last word he spoke that night.

By the time the clock struck twelve, Mr. Lewis had already long secluded himself up in the attic. One hand remained fully latched on to the elixir; the other held a mirror to study his faults with.

No sooner he'd heard the first bell go off, than he felt a warm drop permeate the skin on his head. It was a painless sensation, but a curious one at that.

Drop, drop. The next two drops followed.

After carefully securing the cork on his shiny bottle, he immediately went back to staring at his own reflection. He moved the mirror at weird angles, but none of them would reveal even a hint of a new strand of hair.

It takes three nights, he tried to soothe himself.

Day two was but a bleak repetition of the first day. There's a certain hollowness that comes with longing for the improbable, but Mr. Lewis was no stranger to the feeling. He persevered.

Drop, drop, drop. No changes.

Third night.

Drop, drop, drop.

He hadn't felt that his face had ever been particularly graceful, but never before had he felt such vast sorrow upon the sight of his own likeness. 

He should have known better than to mess with one such as the Devil. O what a cruel jest, how he must be laughing at him from his little cottage. He would put the bottle away and learn never to mess with such wicked beings ever again. 

But then he woke up on the fourth day of his treatment and all of the previous night's proclamations were easily forgotten.

"Lori!!" He called out his wife.

He could scarcely believe his eyes. He felt like he'd just turned 20 years back in time.

"Come see!" He pleaded.

Now his wife proved more hesitant to accept this new reality as readily as he had. Where he had expected to see joy in her face, he found only suspicion.

"What have you done?" She need'nt wait for an answer "So you did go to that dreadful cottage."

He was hurt by her lack of enthusiasm. This was, after all, for her as well.

"So what if I did, woman?" He turned away from her and back to the mirror "It didn't cost us nothing, really. And now you've got the husband you've always wanted."

She would have said she had already had the husband she'd always wanted, if not for the fact that he would not hear of it.

The effects were, surely, noticed by everyone that day. It'd be hard to miss that George 'The Bald Eagle' Lewis had just woken up like, well, just your regular eagle.

But surprisingly it wasn't the hair that was the biggest change, as most seem to recall, but rather a change of spirit. 

Truth be told, Mr. Lewis had never been exactly too drawn to himself, but certainly a long lost spark of sorts seemed to have returned to his character. It was the way in which he carried himself that was the most telling: he'd lift his hat more often when he'd cross paths with the ladies of the town, and maybe include a wink if they were particularly handsome; he'd become more generous with his wife's requests; grown bolder in his card games... Whether it was the trick of the workshop or simply Mr. Lewis coming back to himself, things were looking up for him.

The high lasted for about 3 months. Some say 4. Just about long enough for him to notice a new line under his eye.