The Elixir

The most significant and infernal thing in my life would come to me by my own hand, though of that fact I had been ignorant as I ventured out from my home in search of blackberries on that fateful August day. The bramble lay on the border between tamed farmland and dense forest, forming part of a thicket that acted as a bulwark against mankind’s encroachment. As I walked through the long grass of the overgrown bridle path that went from my home to the fields the sun’s heat bore down on me whilst the buzz of crickets deafened me. Upon reaching the thicket I found it barren, plucked clean by cattle; while searching for any remaining blackberries I came upon an oval-shaped opening in the bramble, leading into the forest. Venturing into the forest I felt as though I were stepping into a new world, not only because the warmth of the desiccated grass was replaced by the cool dampness of mud. The once omnipresent heat of the Sun’s oppressive rays had disappeared and, in its place, the coolness of eventide reigned, I felt as though I had stepped from day into dusk. As I ventured further into the gloom of that sylvan realm the blackberries were scarce however, the few I did find led even deeper into the forest. They led me past the fungi covered corpses of fallen oaks and mangled trees befitting of a child’s nightmare into the depths of the forest. Eventually, I found myself stood before a rotund, earthen hovel with a thatched roof; the sod that formed its walls were ravaged by creeping ivy. Its door, which was composed of branches bound together by frayed leather strips, hung ajar. My mind reeling with ideas of who might live in such a dour home, I proceeded to approach the door before calling out hello. Having received no reply I chose to enter, my being assaulted by the scent of sulphur as I did so. As I ventured into the gloom the stench grew stronger. The wan light of the forest did not do much to illuminate my surrounding however, I could see amidst the shadows a figure slumped atop a chair. My pulse hastened as I became aware of what lay before me whilst my chest became so tight I feared the skin would tear as I saw the figure as it truly was, an emaciated corpse with blueish skin that writhed as maggots crawled out from its eye sockets. The stygian scene and acrid stench combined to cause me to be sick on the floor; I sat beside my foul discovery as I recovered. After a while, still shaken, I arose from the ground and began to search for a fireplace. Having found and proceeded to light on I saw a yellowing, vellum page laying in the centre of the table; the page was adorned with illustrations of plants including one with green leaves and yellow flowers. Had my curiosity been greater I would have lingered but instead repulsion got the better of me and so I left with the torn page. After having spread word of the poor soul festering in the forest, I retired to my home. I sat drinking as I contemplated my horrific discovery; it was only as I became overcome by the spirit that flowed from my flask that my attention turned to the yellowing vellum. By the orange glow of an oil lamp, I pored over the page; as I studied the words and came to understand that it was a recipe for some form of an elixir. It spoke little of the way in which it would affect the drinker but, it seemed to be some form of physic for the senses. The ingredients included mugwort, Fly amanita, and belladonna which had to be harvested under the pale light of the moon; so, I ventured out into the night, the gibbous moon still yet to reach its zenith and headed to the old church. The untended graveyard had, long ago, been reclaimed by nature with its crumbling gravestones held together by ivy and an abundance of wildflowers. As I made my way to the church the screams of foxes and distant howls of hounds caused my skin to turn to gooseflesh; the incandescence of my lamp was my only comfort as I pushed further into the velveteen darkness. Having reached the church, I forced open the rusty, spearheaded, iron gate as I ventured into the long-neglected churchyard. Few of the gravestones remained erect and those that had were ensnared by ivy and surrounded by weeds; some of the gravestones were pushed up against the dry-stone walls that marked the churchyards perimeter. Alongside those gravestones, Belladonna and Mugwort grew. After harvesting the plants, I turned my attention to the forsaken church and its crumbling walls within which fungi flourished. The walls had become covered by ivy whilst fungi claimed the floor; where stone was once to be found the years of decay had covered with dirt. Upon finding the red and white mushrooms growing on the bark of a tree that laid in front of the altar, having previously fallen through the stained-glass windows. Having harvested the ingredients I returned home, retiring to bed once I got there. Over the next week, I proceeded to create the elixir and one Sunday evening I finished it. The result was a litre of a viscous, chartreuse liquid that bore the scent of liquorice and burned my throat as it flowed down it. I felt no effect at first but within minutes I had grown weary whilst my vision had become hazy, finding myself in a heady state of being akin to that experienced when dreaming. I laid atop my bed, shutting my eyes as I gave into sleep willingly. However, sleep I did not instead I arose from my bed floating upwards and through the ceiling, my spirit bound no longer to my reclining body. I rose into the moonlit sky until I was equal in height to the church spire before diving back down and souring through the streets, before rising once more into the sky. Never before had I felt such glee as then when I like a witch through the night flew free. Leaving the bounds of the village I glided over the fields which in the light of day I had often walked through. As my flight took me over the thicket that grew betwixt the fields and forest I was struck by a feeling of ill will emanating from the forest. I fled in fear of this unknown presence, all joy seemed to have been sucked out of me. After returning to my body the feeling of discomfort lingered. Throughout the day I could not focus on anything other than my nocturnal escapade and the discomfort I had felt near the forest. I was resolved to have that experience once more; having waited for night to fall I once again drank the chartreuse liquid, succumbing for a second time to that heady state. As my spirit untethered itself from the binds of my body my mind grew ever more fixated on the forest and so as I rose above my house to glide once more oversleeping village towards the forest. As I tried to fly over the trees of the forest my discomfort turned to a repulsion like that of a magnet; I had to push with all my will to resist it. With great effort I came to soar over the treetops however, there came with time a strange pulling sensation. I felt as if some invisible agency were pulling me down towards it, a feeling that grew strongest as I neared the hovel. As the feeling grew my vision began to fade, going completely as the feeling grew strongest. When my vision returned I found myself on a strange island comprised of sheets of slate from which cyclopean towers of limestone rose up into a stygian sky dominated by pitch black cylindrical clouds rising from a sea of pitch that surrounded the island. This tenebrous sky had no sun and in the place of one all that could be seen was a black vortex. Moving through this land felt akin to wading through water. As I wandered through this realm tentatively the terror already brewing inside me grew as unintelligible filled the air; save for the disembodied murmurings, there were no other signs of beings other than myself, serving to cause my fear to increase even more. Venturing further into this tenebrous realm my mind began to dwell on thoughts of home causing me to lament my life as I ruminated on the hopelessness of my position. I awoke in my bed feeling as though I had fallen onto my it from a great height causing my limbs to jerk as if they were shocked like the legs of a dead frog. I spent the whole morning fleeing, when I could, from silence out of fear that I might hear the unintelligible whispers that had been omnipresent in that Tartarus through which I had, in sleep, walked. I was determined to return to that earthen hovel from whence the recipe came to investigate, believing that I would find the cause of my journey into that strange land. As I drew close to the hovel a palpable unease seemed to permeate the air as if some noxious miasma had wafted between the branches of the terrible old trees, displacing the natural air. The closer I came to the final resting place of that unknown, dried out husk of a person I became increasingly unwell, feeling as though I were soon to vomit. This ill feeling was accompanied by a persistent, increasing feeling of coldness and the sound that I had come to fear so much. Entering the hovel, I felt as though I had plunged into a quagmire, the disembodied voices grew louder as I ventured into the palpable darkness that obscured the cadaver. Once inside I became so overwhelmed I fell into unconsciousness once again finding myself in the stygian realm of slate and pitch where a symphony of screams now pervaded the air. Not only did the shrill cries of pain cause my heart to sink under the weight of terror so too did the horrific parody of life that I came to behold. A towering figure with a grotesque face covered in spider-like eyes stood before me, its head bald and resembling a hood wrought out of fat with four curved horns protruding from it. Its bottom half was like a saurian millipede with a rotund torso resembling a lump of dough rested top it, from which five arms protruded with three on the left and two on the right. As I stood in its presence I felt drained as if my blood had been let. It opened its mouth, revealing rows of jagged, yellowing teeth and twin tentacle-like tongues, letting a terrible roar out as it did so. The being crawled towards me before grasping my torso with all five of its hands. As the beast lifted me towards its gaping maw there was a blast of white light after which the beast dropped me to the ground before fleeing to one of the limestone towers, wrapping itself around it before letting out a thunderous roar. I awoke after night had fallen, feeling as tired as if I had forsaken sleep for weeks and with pain from my sides. I was so overcome by the horror of what I had just witnessed that I found myself unable to move from the floor. Before I had recovered my senses a will-o’-the-wisp appeared before me; as I gazed into the luminous orb my mind's eye was flooded with images of a young woman in the hovel and of the roaring chimaera. The final image was of the poor woman being consumed by the beast in the land of slate and pitch, the way her face was contorted was torturous to behold. After the images had ceased I arose from the dirt and ventured into the night with the terrible knowledge of what been pulling on my soul the night before. Never before had I felt such horror as I did when that realisation had come to me; the fear felt as I came to understand that I had twice been the prey of a demonic being was maddening. As I ran through the forest, terror gripping my heart, the foul face of the dread devourer was burned into my mind. Even now as I sit here writing what may be my last words, I am unable to clear my mind of its infernal visage. Fleeing through the forest I found it transfigured, the familiar trees that had, in daylight, served as landmarks had vanished. Time seemed to halt, I felt as though I had spent the night wandering lost in the forest, yet the moon remained stationary. The animalistic fear that drove me from the hovel had been displaced by a growing dread of where I was; I began to notice that the forest was entirely silent, absent of the usual cries of foxes. Thoughts of the uncanny nature of the forest dominated my mind so I sat atop a tree stump to ponder on the peculiarity of it. As I sat there growing ever less hopeful I made a grim discovery; a desiccated corpse was slumped against the back of the stump, its head tilted further back than a spine would allow. Affixed to its belt was a small notebook with an oxblood leather cover alongside a pencil. It is in this book I write of this, still sat at the tree stump, in the hopes that if I should come to share his fate someone should know of my story for as I write this sentence I can hear a distant roar.