Naplian's Potion

Naplian's Potion Part 1: What's in It?

The craze for horror stories overpowered me. I was reading a John Saul novel right now. It was wonderful, but I wanted to read a really old book from an ancient writer, not Edgar Allan Poe as I've read all his works. 

It was Sunday morning and I really had nothing to do so I decided to visit that old bookstore off Clements Road in Charring Cross. It was a fine sunny spring day. I decided the two-mile walk to the store would do me good. I'd not visited it before, but last week when I looked through the glass panes of the shop, I could see so many old books. It piqued my interest.
When I entered the store, the musty smell almost overpowered me. An old woman greeted me. The lines on her face and her shriveled up neck made me think she must've been over ninety-five. "So dear sir, how can I help you?" she said.

"I just wanted to browse to see if there is anything I like." 

"Is there any particular genre you're looking for?" 

"I definitely want horror, preferably from an ancient writer, perhaps the nineteenth-century era, if not older." 

I was surprised when I saw her lick her lips, and when she laughed for no apparent reason. "I have just the book for you," as she led me to the back of the store and produced a dusty old book with a leather cover that was threatening to fall apart. "This is by a relatively unknown author. His name is Ragero Napalian. He is Italian but preferred to write in English. I know it's an odd name, but you'll like what he wrote," she continued. 

I was curious and quickly read the introduction to the story. There was some reference to a biblical tale about Noah's Arc and odd instructions on how to make a potion. It sounded intriguing, so I handed the price marked on the cover of two quid to her and told her I was going to buy it. She grinned, "I'm sorry sir. This isn't for sale as it's my most treasured book in this store. This is the loan price. You can borrow it for two weeks, but then you must return it. Trust me; you'll be a changed man after you read this book." 

I was curious, "What do you mean?" 

"This book holds mysteries beyond your wildest imagination. That's all I can tell you, sir." 

I smiled and humored the old girl with some talk about the nice weather and quickly exited the store.

I carried the book in my right hand as I walked back home, but it was getting heavier. By the time I unlocked the front door of my house, it must have weighed forty pounds, and my arm was aching. Odd, I thought, but I dismissed this strange phenomenon from my mind. 

I sat at the small table in my living room, drawing the curtain wide open so the sun would cast light on the printed words. The first chapter was named "The beginning." I started reading: 

"After the misdeeds of man, Noah built the Arc so the animals would be saved but these people will drown in the great flood that God will visit upon them ...," 

I thought this wasn't horror. At this point, it sounded like a biblical tale. I grabbed a can of beer from the fridge, skipped the long narrative about Noah's journey and went to another passage that sounded strange: 

"But there is one secret that I hold that no one can destroy. I will tell you about the potion and how it will enrich your life." 

I was glad I didn't have my kids with me this weekend on their access visit as they'd laugh at me if they saw the scary nervous giggle that overtook me. I continued reading: 

"Get a pigeon. It must be alive. Take it home, cut its neck and put the blood and body in a large pan and boil it." 

I thought what the hell was this? I read on: 

"After you do that, put a part of your own hair in the mixture. Tear a cat's eye out and stick it in there."

This was becoming too absurd. I couldn't resist reading on: 

"I want you to put a glass of your own blood in the pan, but keep the mixture boiling." 

My own blood! Was this Napalian fellow crazy? I continued skimming through the words in disbelief: 

"Then immerse a live spider in there. Put more water in so as to keep the mixture boiling. Then drink it and you'll be transformed." 

I was laughing now; the nonsense of it all was so damn funny. I turned the subsequent pages, and they were all blank. Did this old woman con me? Or was I going mad?