The Smell of Death

𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓢𝓲𝔁

Entering the mysterious residence, which was completely pitch-black except for the hundreds of candles that irradiated the room, forming alarming shadows that could have easily caused nightmares in one's sleep.

Startled by the absurd scenery, I stumbled around trying to find my way like a blind man, while my palms dripped with sweat and my vision blurred from the unusual lighting, I called out, "Hello? Are you still here ma'am?"

All of a sudden, she popped out like a Jack-In-The-Box as if she knew all along I was shaking there in her presence.

"Oh, there you are dear! I thought I heard you wrestling around."

"Umm...why if I may ask, are there so many candles?" I questioned squinting at the partial lit face of the petite figure. "And...is that...French vanilla?" I sniffed the air that smelt like a lady who sprayed too much perfume. It was beyond intoxicating.

"Ahh...yes it is French vanilla. I'm sensitive to the natural light, so I use candles as my source of luminosity. It also makes it feel cozier in here, considering that I'm terribly lonely."

"But why French vanilla exactly? You couldn't just use regular candles?" I covered my nose from the powerful, sweet scent.

Although I couldn't see her expression very clearly, I could feel that she was pondering her response.

"Well...I believe the smell is rather...pleasant. It helps conceal...let's just say...my guilty pleasure," her wrinkly lips formed a wicked smirk as she admired her ruby ring.

"Guilty pleasure? What was that supposed to mean?" I whispered in my confused head.

"Well, now that you're familiar with the house, how about a mug of my famous porridge and a slice of homemade rye bread?"

"Sure, that sounds delicious."

"Follow me!"

I accompanied her to the kitchen which was no bigger than a shoebox. In one corner was a wooden table for two and right in the middle of the room hung a ginormous, black cauldron with barks of unburned tree wood underneath. This clearly was no ordinary cookery.

"By the way, you can call me Lucille since we're better acquainted now," she commented as she poured me a steaming cup of her famous recipe and cut a slice from the loaf.

"My name is Henry. Henry Pickford."

She slowly waddled over to me with the mug and sat adjacent to me at the doll size table.

"Thank you. Mmm...that's quite exquisite."

I haven't had a home cooked meal in days. It was just the perfect temperature to warm my insides while the air was brisk outside, and not to mention the softness of the bread.

"So where are you heading?"

"Actually, I'm on my way home from a business trip," I slurped another bite. "You see, I'm a real estate agent and I just finished selling a house to a couple in Brookdale and I'm on my way to Boxford to marry my fiancé."

"You're very lucky Henry, and I'm assuming you're pretty wealthy too."

"I have enough to get by," I smiled casually, as I was about to put another bite into my mouth, I started to feel my eyelids get droopy.

Noticing my attentive manner to shift like a flip of a switch, Lucille asked, "Darling, are you alright?"

"Yes...I just feel extremely exhausted all of a sudden. Do you have somewhere where I can lie down?"

"Of course! There's a tiny bedroom through the kitchen here, and down the hall on the right," she eagerly gestured with her pointy, claw like fingernails.

"Everything you'll need is in there. I'll make sure to check up on you throughout the night. Just worry about getting some rest."

"Thank you so...much. Goodnight," I breathlessly got up and wandered out of the room, while my head pulsated like my heart and my muscles felt like rubber. Everything in my path now appeared in doubles. Why did I feel so ill all of a sudden?

By the time I finally fumbled into the bedroom, which from what I could tell in my condition, was fairly well furnished like it was recently occupied, but that was the last thing on my mind right now. All I wanted was to sleep off this nauseous feeling.

"Ugh!" I moaned as I rolled over on the sunken mattress, hoping this pain would find an exit soon.