Henry had not been sleeping much, and his appetite had been dwindling—which he found heartbreaking. When he closed his eyes he felt fear creeping up on him, making his toes curl and his jaw clench. He'd sit in bed for hours, body tense, sweat welding through his night shirt.
What was frustrating was that he was tired. Becoming exhausted. His eyelids were heavy, his legs weak, focus beginning to blur. He would see a shadow lingering in the corner, handprints on his kitchen counter that vanished after a few blinks or hear the static of the television vibrating in his head.
One evening, he climbed out of bed and went into the kitchen. He selected a pot from the plants on the windowsill and pulled a few silver leaves off the black stems. He began to boil some water and sat against the counter, facing his dark living room.
Movement flashed along the shadows and Henrt tensed, hand gripping the stone counter. His heart began to run heavy in his chest and he waited for something to lurk out of the shadows. His pulse was so loud in his ears that for a moment he didn't hear the whistle of the tea kettle.
Henry blinked his eyes tightly and turned his back to the living room. He poured the scalding water into a metallic cup and dropped in the leaves. They evaporated in the water, shrinking and blazing for a moment and then the water shifted a mixed green/blue color. He drank it without letting it cool, burning liquid running down his throat, his mind suddenly feeling lighter. He took a deep breath and drank the rest of the water.
Though the tea helped him relax, Henry still couldn't find sleep and eventually went to his lounge chair in the living room, completely forgetting about the shadows he saw shifting in the dark.
He was sitting in the chair with a thick cigar in his mouth while he had a newspaper on his lap. The words were beginning to blur on the paper, and Henry strained his eyes to comprehend the symbols. He puffed heavily on the cigar, filling the room with smoke.
There was a shuffling in front of him and Henry looked to see a man standing in front of him.
"Hello Henry," said the man, his voice just as scratchy in reality.
Henry's brow scrunched. "What do you want?"
"Willing to cooperate now?" he smiled. "Good."
"Just get on with it."
"I have a job for you. Something I need you to make for me."
"Me?"
The man pulled out a sheet of paper and handed it to Henry. The man skimmed the sheet to see a complex elixir called the Vong Veang Somros Elixir. It required rare ingredients such as dragonspawn heart and blood of a slain monarch, as well as an obsidian cauldron. He shivered. He had never attempted it, but he knew this recipe. It required careful hands and perfectly exact measurements.
"Can I ask questions?" Henry asked, looking up.
The man shrugged. "If you want. Can't promise I'll answer."
"What are you planning to do with this elixir?"
"You know what it's for."
"Yes but on who?"
"Why do you care Henry? It's no one you know. Don't turn empathetic now."
"You know things about me?"
"A few. Such as that you are an excellent alchemist."
"And why would I do this for you?"
"You want to die painfully?" His red eyes flushed black.
Henry sighed. "Very well. A concoction like this will take time."
"Fine with me. I'm in no rush."
The man smiled and Henry felt a chilling breeze rush through him. He looked back at the recipe, beginning to make notes as how to acquire the ingredients to make a concuction of mass death.