Time let me play and be

Grimly

Grimly

Arnold Grimly was at the laboratory window again, staring out at the moor receding into the distance. The cloud had lowered itself down upon the heath, threatening, but not quite delivering, rain. It was a familiar sight to Grimly and echoed the misery of his thoughts.

How typical it was of the company to build its headquarters in so lonely and desolate a spot. Other corporations chose bright, green, and modern sites that reflected their ambitious and adventurous spirits. But not Grandma’s Famous Remedies Inc.. No, their image of a solid dependence on tradition demanded they work in such serious, Gothic surroundings as Cragley Moor, that they live up to their motto of “Medicines that kept Granny healthy.”

What puzzled Grimly was that the company’s approach seemed to be so successful with the public. Customers were most impressed with the claims of the tried and true and still bought the old remedies, rather than trusting the claims of newer pharmaceuticals. People were so gullible. Much of Grimly’s job involved research into new and more effective cures, so he knew the company’s adverts were nonsense.

He turned away from the window and made his way back to the large cauldron where he produced his concoctions. Sticking to such outdated methods was just one of the irritations that beset him. Grimly stared down into the steaming sludge that represented his latest combination of unlikely constituents.

Laboratory assistant, he thought. That’s all I am, a laboratory assistant. Sure, they can give us fancy titles like “Apothecary,” but we’re really just laboratory assistants. Even my boss, Mannerton, he’s just another lab assistant. No wonder he’s given up and does nothing more than drink himself into oblivion in his office these days. Probably how I’ll end up if…

Let’s not think about that. If this latest batch behaves as it’s intended, I won’t have to worry about anything like that. And this company will pay the price for what they’ve done to me.

He picked up the giant ladle that graced the table by the cauldron and began to stir the disgusting mixture. A familiar rhyme echoed through his mind, as it always did at this point.

Double, double toil and trouble; fire burn and cauldron bubble.

There was a pause before he thought, Correction. Make that “lab assistant witch.”

Grimly had a plan. It had grown alongside his increasingly dark thoughts as he pondered on the way the company had mistreated him. Not content with enticing him into its employ with false promises and gross exaggerations, they had ground him down slowly by leaving him isolated out here on the moor, far beyond the reach of job offers from competitors, and on a pay scale that ensured he would never be able to afford a bid for freedom.

But now he had a plan. His hopes lay in this very batch of Granny’s Patent Elixir (good for indigestion pains, flatulence, stomach ache, nervous disorders) that he was currently working on. It had taken him a long time to come up with the perfect “extra” ingredient to transform the mix from a fairly effective laxative into something much more interesting. And at last he was certain that he had succeeded in his quest.

It would be a subtle change, nothing lethal or harmful, but its effect would be to make the patient happier than ever before. They would become so happy that their largely imagined illnesses would recede into the background and be forgotten. And happy customers don’t need medicine for imaginary ailments. Grandma’s sales would plummet as a result, with the inevitable outcome of staff “rationalisation.”

As the sole producer of Grandma’s most popular and yet suddenly immovable product, Grimly would be the first to go. It would be freedom at last!

The thought brought a smile to Grimly’s face as he stirred and stirred, the fumes from the syrupy elixir wafting up into his face and perhaps adding to his euphoria. And then, with the thought of telling the other cauldron stirrers the secret before he left, filling him with enthusiasm, he threw his head back and laughed out loud, a terrible, screeching sound that could only be described as a witch’s cackle.


Word count: 700
For “13,” 10.23.24
Prompt: "Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn and caldron bubble." – From Shakespeare's Macbeth.