Continued from Big Tripping in Little China (part one).
Mr. Hsu sat cross legged on an opulent pillow. His head was bald and covered with liver spots. He wore a shiny, silk robe. The owner of the Opal Trading House took a slow drag from an ivory pipe.
He narrowed his eyes in my direction and exhaled slowly, "Would you care for some tea?"
The air in the small room was choked with heavy incense and tobacco smoke.
"No, thank you." I primarily wanted to find a suitable gift, whatever this shriveled man suggested, and get going.
"Please? I insist. It's very good tea," a claw-like hand, all dead skin and curled fingernails, passed me a teacup of bitter smelling, steaming liquid. The hand then darted back within the folds of his robe. I didn't want any tea, but if I've learned anything by Kristakos' example, it's that social graces can carry you far in this midnight version of Manhattan.
I sipped the tea and we began to talk of gifts appropriate for Sam Hain, the master of Halloween.
I stretched my jaw muscles and mouthed out each syllable, "Halloween. HAAAAlloween. HallOOOOween. HallowEEEEEEEEEn. I really like the sound of that one the best. Halloweeeeeeeeeen. So, anyways, what was I saying? Oh yeah. When Laurie decides to take on Michael Myers, she totally sets a major slasher film precedent about standing the fuck up to your Jasons and your Freddies and... wait..."
Suddenly I was very confused.
How long had I been sitting there? Had I really been talking to Mr. Hsu about Jamie Lee Curtis and how her portrayal of Laurie Strode paved the way for the modern, assertive scream-queen found in the contemporary horror genre?
Oh yeah. I certainly had been. It felt like I had been doing so for hours.
Mr. Hsu quietly regarded me and took another long drag from his pipe. I was sweating. I took another sip of tea. It blistered my tongue. He smiled at me. His teeth were jagged and sharp. The fucker had snake eyes! Keep it together. I was totally trying to tell myself, like... wow it was suddenly really hot in that little room. Or was it me? I drank more tea to cool down.
"So... your store is nice. What you got around in here. For weddings for... It's a nice store by the way. Much nicer than..." I was whispering.
Then I clumsily spilled my tea. And duh. The tea! Fucking tea. Fucking Chinese snake shaman dosed me with his magic mushroom tea.
Mr. Hsu watched me from atop an emerald mushroom. His tiny head sat on the bloated body of a sapphire colored caterpillar. I stared upwards to his perch where he slowly smoked his pipe. I was knee deep in a field of daisies, and a lazy cloud of twirling, exhaled smoke took the form of a Chinese dragon. Above us twinkled a glistening diamond sky. And a manicured hand reached down and shook the serene scene.
The daisy field
flew with fury
far above before
fluttering back
as...
dainty...
deflowered...
flurries...
I returned the snow globe to the shelf with the others, each one a showcase of a joyous memory or a moment to forget. In one, a very young bride, swathed in burgundy and black, danced with her arranged groom on their Gothic wedding night. Her perfume smelled like lavender. In another, a father received a folded flag from two soldiers in dress uniform. Sparkling tears rolled down his cheeks. His sobbing now echoed from three rows behind me. It was a loathsome sound, emotion cut directly from the man's soul, forever destroyed. The wailing intensified as I crept closer.
There he stood in his own dress uniform. His son's flag was clinched beneath his arm, the barrel of a handgun in his mouth. His bloodshot eyes met mine. He pulled the trigger. The image vanished. Floating in its place remained a small crystal object, a perfume bottle. It shined like a diamond.
I'd found my gift.
Then it fell to the concrete. I dove to catch it, but not fast enough. The splendid bottle broke. Lavender perfume stung my eyes and overwhelmed my sense of smell. I wiped away protective tears and examined where it had landed. There were easily a hundred exact replicas. I panicked. The perfume had shattered in to itself. I panicked. Which one was the original? I began examining each bottle. They were all the same! I continued digging through the pile of bottles.
Suddenly my hands were covered with filth. Warm water flowed around me. My panic became terror as more liquid, stinking of raw sewage, flooded into the room. It covered my shoes, then suddenly my thighs. I lost balance. I screamed like a little bitch! I was caught in a torrential flush of water. Off balance and completely submerged I tried swimming. Perfume bottles floated around me. I grabbed as many as possible, shoving them into my pockets and kicking against what felt like glass. Through the splotchy surface I saw stacks of jars with screaming human heads in them. I looked down for my body, but it was gone.
I was nothing more but a decapitated head in a pickle jar myself. I screamed even louder.
The NYPD officers who found me said they were responding to reports of a crazy man in an alley way. And, yep, they were. When I came to my senses, I was soaked to the bone and rolling in trash hollering about my body. A few yards away, a sewer lid had been forced open. Considering everything I'd been through, I was surprisingly lucid. The officers threatened to issue a citation, but I played the gay mania card, sobbing that my boyfriend dumped me and that I was freaked out. They found that shit more distasteful than the actual shit on my trousers and opted to move along.
Mr. Hsu's home brew had left me in a bit of lurch. Following a hot shower and some nuzzling from Artemis Kitty, I began detailing the hallucinogenic imagery I experienced. It was then I remembered the perfume bottles. I ran to the trash bag where I stashed my stinking garments and began emptying my pockets. Wrapped in a bit of soggy newspaper, I found a delicate bottle of perfume. Upon the sparkling surface there was gilded lettering which read "Eau de Toilette."
The supernatural world is not without a sense of humor.
