Apothecary Discord

Ernest Oswald adjusted the slide under the microscope as he peered at the contents of the glass. Absently his thumb nail grated at the golf pencil clenched in his fingers, shavings and graphite dust fall to the pad below. Setting the writing instrument down, Ernest clicked the worn red button on a pocket recorder.

His voice over clinical as always, "Sample sixteen, from vial seven, two, eight. Subject Dravonis, five hundred one years of age. Subject Dravonis's blood fails to coagulate regardless of human nourishment applied. The subject's blood is entering final decomposition at a superior rate than noted in previous tests. Analysis, subject Dravonis will terminate in four decades unless a treatment can be discovered."

Snapping the device off Ernest lurches to his feet, running a gnarled hand over his face in frustration. "There is no cure. We would have found it by now." Quickly glancing over his shoulder to make sure none of his brood mates were lurking by and possibly overhear him. Seeing no one else in the lab, Ernest let his gaze trail over the other work stations. Glass tubes, bubbling liquids piping through them into beakers filtered by colanders. The gray tiles on the walls wore a brown tinge as dust had accumulated over the years. Charts of necrotic anatomy lay spread upon a nearby table, pins and markers dotting them like an over traveled road map.

Adjusting his lab coat Ernest, opened a drawer of the table and frowned harshly. Rifling through the drawer in growing anger, pulling out hay stuffing, tossing it to the floor, Ernest growled. "Empty! Someone has eaten my last rat!" Slamming the drawer shut, he could feel hungry starting from his heart and expanding through his limbs and finally settling on his gritted teeth. Fine! He would go out and...eat.

Ernest gathered a backpack like bundle he leaned against the wall adjusting the leather belts he lashed the object to his right leg. Titling a featureless porcelain mask from the bundle into view he positioned the mask until it appeared to be gazing up at him from his leg. "Time to go home, Jesse."

The walk home was enough to bring a rhythmic calm to Ernest, the reassuring artificial limp set the pace. Dabbing at his chin with a handkerchief cleaned the last of the crimson smear from his lips. Half talking to himself Ernest said airily. "Not my cleanest kill, but she can always get another seeing eye dog."

People on the street ignored his presence, steering out of the way without even looking up from their phones. Ernest always admired how easy it was to fog the human mind into overlooking him and his actions. Limping down a set of stairs next to an apartment building, he worked a key into the three locks. Throwing the door open Ernest was assaulted with the scents of old books twined with stale mildew. Stepping up into the doorway, he shut the door behind him. The ceiling was less than a foot above his head, as he drug overly long fingers along it for comfort. The floor had been raised with cinder blocks that covered the entire bottom of the abode, giving the large basement apartment a cramped yet comforting feel.

Undoing the straps to the bundle Ernest set it down near his lounge chair. Slumping into the seat he relished in the leather creak emanating from the spine of the tome in his hands. Flitting through the pages Ernest grumbled. "Wrong volume."
Tilting his head back, he spoke loudly. "Jesse! Bring me a copy of Heinrich's formulae volume seven! That's the German, Heinrich, not the Swedish one!"

Moments pass as Ernest drums his fingers impatiently. Snapping the book shut, he rose from his chair. Catching movement out of the corner of his eye he whirled to face it. "Did you not hear me? What are you doing just...just sitting...there?"
The taste of ash filled his mouth as any further lecture died in his throat. Ernest stared at the bundle, composed of a fifty-pound bag of solid cement, a black hooded sweater thrown over it. Spilling from the sleeves were the leather belts he used to cinch the bundle to his leg. The bundle was capped with a porcelain mask. It gazed up at the ceiling, lifeless and unfeeling. Ernest crossed his arms uncomfortably looking away from the object he had labeled 'his thinking Jesse'.

If Ernest needed to breathe he would be hyperventilating as he crept down the hall stopping at a plain wooden door. "Jesse's room." Ernest reminded himself. Pushing the portal open, he brushed the light switch, which illuminated the room from various sources. Christmas tree lights twinkled to life, lava lanterns began to heat up. The room was crowded with tinker toys, arranged in a manner only a child genius could understand. Roller coasters, drop slides, windmills, made of metal and wood, and bound with wonder and imagination. A simple maple coffin that was Jesse's bed had been flipped over and turned into a improvised desk.

Ernest smiled sadly, making his way to the desk. The entirety of the coffin back was littered with photographs. Most of people on the pictures were blurred or twisted. 'A side effect of the evolution', Ernest had always told Jesse. Memories flooded back to Ernest, as one photo failed to leave his hand.

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Ernie brushed the snow from his lab coat, "So tell me again why we are building snow men for people to run into them with their vehicles?"

Jesse crossed its arms, dark eyes glinting behind the porcelain mask. "I told you. We are testing the human tendencies to capitalize on something helpless."

"I see. Why did we also place the human remains we borrowed from the university into the snow men?"

Jesse merely shrugged, slipping its arms around Ernie's thigh, its face watching the road. "Sometimes the humans need to know the world isn't as helpless as it looks."

"That is not very scientific, but continue."

The blizzard intensified as the two waited. Finally, they were rewarded by a pair of head lights in the distance. By the height of the headlamps it was a raised pickup truck. Jesse tensed, gripping tighter. Its voice grew giddy, "Oh, it's one of them! In my wildest calculations I could not have expected this!"

The pickup slowed, bringing the trio of snowmen into view. The vehicle stopped, and lurched backwards for an obvious running start. With a triumphant roar the truck launched forward. The front end of the rig smashed into the snowmen, scattering snow and bloody contents in a almost envious arc.

Tires swerve sharply as the driver discovers it was more than just snow he struck with his vehicle. Gravity comes into play when the angle of the turn is greater than the raised center of the truck. The truck capsizes painfully, its exposed under belly catching on a wooden power pole. Snapping the worn wood and bringing it down on the ruins of the truck with a shower of sparks.

Jesse poked Ernie in the side, giggling. "You laughed."

"I did not."

"Did too!"

"I snorted, there is a difference."

"I love you, Uncle."

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Swallowing hard Ernest placed the picture back on the desk, his words dancing with a whisper of life. "You are my favorite experiment." Wiping at his eye, Ernest wiped the black residue on his lab coat.