The Terror #wattys2017 #TNTHorrorContest

HAWKWIND

    After the call from Danny, Jimmy went back home thinking about the preparations he was going to have to make for this kid's problem. He was dazzled with the crossing thoughts of how dangerous it all could be, his childlike glee with the excitement of the coming event. He turned the stove on under his tea pot then went to move the hand-hewn chair his father made from willow and bear hide. He rolled up the nineteenth-century Indian rug that sat beneath the chair and pulled on the leather strap that was attached to the hatch in the wooden floor that led to the root cellar. The trap door creaked as it opened, and it pulled cobwebs and pungent dust with it as it raised.

There were steep steps, almost a ladder, leading down into the dank darkness below. About half way down there was a lamp cord that lit a single clear bulb that gave off almost too much brightness to the tiny little room.  This was where he kept the stuff that wasn't for his usual guests; herbs, spices, his special alchemist brews, and concoctions. He pulled a thick book off a shelf and blew the dust off the cover before opening it to whatever place it wanted to open and placed it on the little work bench.

He ran his finger down the page until it stopped and reached for a big magnifying glass hung on a near by nail.  His brow squinted as he peered at the paragraph, looked up on one of the shelves and pulled down a fancy crystal container with a square lid.  He put the book back on the shelf, holding the container under his arm, went back up the stairs pulling off the light switch as he went. Once back in his sitting room he closed the hatch, rolled out the rug and put the chair back in place.

The teapot was whistling at that point,  he poured himself a cup of his favorite Twinning's English tea and sat down at the kitchen table.  Always with cream and sugar, he stirred the steaming brew and whiffed its bouquet before lifting to his lips to take a sip. "Ahhh," he said as he did almost every time, "Now let's get down to business."

A little grin appeared across his face as he raised the lid on the crystal box and examined its contents. These were some of his very special and delicate Thai P. cubensis mushrooms that were freeze dried to keep their psilocybin potency. He took out three pinches, what he considered three doses and rolled them up in a cheesecloth bundle. He then went to his bar and brought a bottle of Rhum Agricole Vieux, acquired from Neisson Distillery in Martinique, which has been distilling spirits since 1931. Rhum Agricole is a French term for cane juice rum; that he had been saving for just such an occasion.

He also brought a beautiful emerald green bottle of the green fairy, otherwise known as Absinthe. This he brewed himself from the wild wormwood that grew in the Angeles Crest.  Together he mixed these liqueurs in a small saucepan set over very low heat, below boiling and dropped in the magic mushrooms to blend and become that which will bring about the desired results.  This he watched all night and added more of the liqueurs as they wafted away.  The smell of molasses and caramel, citrus and wormwood roiled through the house with just a shade of the music of shrooms.

He ran his finger along the row of vinyl albums in his collection until it fell on one by Hawkwind, In Search of Space, which he delicately laid upon his turntable. He lightly dropped the needle and sat back in his favorite recliner.  Next to the recliner was a small table made from twisted driftwood from the Tujunga wash upon which was a lamp that shed its light on his silver smithed stash box with already rolled joints of Maui Wowie.

The night passed with visions of Sonic Attack and the sage odor of the developing dreamland concoction that would be distributed to his accomplices the following evening at Vogel Flats." Oh this was going to be a most interesting upcoming evening,

" He thought... I hope this don't end like last time.