Naplian's Potion

Naplian's Potion Part 3: The Brew

I've not done this before. Sure, I killed flies but who didn't. Killing a pigeon and a cat was a different matter. The obsession to make that potion lingered within me and at times bubbled out of me with such violence that I screamed in despair. I kept convincing myself that I was normal, and I would let the cat go; the pigeon would simply flap its wings and fly away.

I'd been drinking heavily that evening, hoping that the alcohol would send me into a deep sleep. By nine at night, I was in a semi-drunken state, and the intense conflict within me between saving the cat and pigeon as opposed to making that potion was driving me almost insane. Finally, it dawned on me--the attraction of this mysterious brew outweighed all other factors. It just simply had to be made.

Holding a sharp butcher's knife in my hand, I approached the pigeon. I reached out for it, and I think the bugger knew death was imminent as it squawked loudly and bit one of my fingers. I persisted and with my hand around its neck, I slit its throat with a smooth slice. The heavy pot was on the table, and as I held the pigeon over the edge of it; the blood trickled into the container. The flow of blood eventually stopped.

Now it was time for the cat. Did I have some humanity and compassion left? It seems there was a faint trace of that from what I did. I grabbed the cat while it was in the cage. Like the pigeon, it trembled, knowing the lurking menace to its well-being. It snarled staring at me, but there was desolation in its eyes. I suppose it thought the end was near. I used the same knife and wrenched out one of the eyes. It wasn't a clean job as the violent movements of the animal caused the blade to slip a few times cutting other parts of its body. Anyway, I wasn't a sadistic perfectionist like Jack the Ripper as thoughts of that gruesome killer popped in my senseless mind. I then opened the porch doors and saw the screaming, bleeding cat quickly make its escape into my garden. I thought that a good neighbor would attend to the needs of the now one-eyed cat.

I dropped the eye into the pot. I placed the pot on the stove on low heat, adding water and stirring the mixture until it came to a boil. I took the spider out of the jar and placed the creature into the strange mixture. The fluid frothed. The smell of blood and flesh was nauseating, but I kept stirring.

Thoughts were coming to the surface of my lonely life since my wife left me. I'd become a hermit and apart from the bits of time I spent with my teenage son and daughter, I really had no company or friends. The fellow teachers at the school where I taught were snobs and stuffy. I really had no time for any of them, and I rushed home as soon as school finished. This was my life and now I was becoming mad with this weird compulsion to invoke the mystical magic of the Napalian potion.

I peered at the mixture. It had a reddish-brown hue and looked innocent enough. But deep down, I knew it held a magic beyond human comprehension. Then a slow rhythmic drumming sound came from the pot, almost like the patter of rain on a window pane. The sound suddenly stopped. I chuckled nervously, thinking it was just my imagination playing tricks in my mind.

Would I be able to drink this vile liquid? I had some doubts about that.