Cyril was leaning listlessly on the counter of the apothecary trying to actually read the assigned readings for history class, when he heard the bells that hung on the door chime to indicate that someone had entered the store. Almost relieved to have an excuse to ignore his homework, Cyril looked up only to see nobody at all.
Huh? I swear I heard the door bells ringing.
An uneasy feeling came over him and he looked side to side, hoping that he had missed a customer. But no luck, the store remained empty.
Oh great. It's not another ghost is it? The non-visible customers are the worst to deal with... Should I look on the floor for ectoplasm?
Cyril cautiously began to lean over the counter. Right when he had almost reached the edge, a mass of black came hurtling towards his face. Cyril let out a startled yelp, leaning back to avoid the projectile. He stumbled a few steps away from the counter, heart beating a mile a minute.
There on the counter rested a black cat with piercing green eyes, staring intensely at Cyril. A shiver ran down his spine as a feeling of being observed too closely clung to him. Why did it feel like this cat could peer into his mind?
The cat tilted its head to the side, giving off an air of curiosity. Its whiskers twitched.
"That's because I can, boy." A deep and gentlemanly voice came from the cat.
Cyril gasped and his mouth fell open in disbelief.
What the?! A talking cat?
The cat narrowed his eyes, "Telepathic. Not talking."
A telepathic cat?! That's even more amazing, though?! Cyril's mind was suddenly filled with various thoughts, most of which circled around the unbelievability of a telepathic cat.
The cat shook his head and rubbed a paw over his ear. "Alright, that's enough of that. You're quite the chatty one, aren't you? The cat declared, even though Cyril had yet to speak a word throughout this whole exchange.
"Um," Cyril spoke up, remembering suddenly that he was at work right now. "So, what can I do for you?"
"I'm here for my prescription. Didn't your master inform you of my arrival? I come by every two months for a hairball remedy."
"Ah, I'm so sorry." Cyril apologized sheepishly and put on his best customer service voice. "The master didn't say anything about a regular coming by. If I could have the name the prescription is under and I can get it for you right away."
"Hmm. Tricky thing that master of yours is. He does love his little pranks. The name for the prescription will be Fleamont."
Little pranks? More like he just enjoys tormenting me and relishes in my suffering, the damn psychopath. Cyril thought bitterly as he went to search through the shelf in the back for premade prescriptions.
Fleamont's soft chuckles tickled the inside of Cyril's mind. "Perhaps he indeed does. Better not let him catch you thinking such thoughts, boy, or you'll be in a heap of trouble."
A trickle or dread ran through Cyril as he headed back to the counter. "He can't read minds, right?"
"Heavens no. Though, I'm sure he wishes he could!"
Cyril entered Fleamont's prescription costs according to the receipt attached to the dull paper bag. The keys of the ancient mechanical register let out high pitched squeaks as he typed. Cyril made a mental note to ask Bonny where he put the oil so he could take care of the annoying noises later.
"Alright, that will be two silva."
Fleamont padded closer to the register. As he came closer, Cyril realised that he wasn't carrying any bags and he wondered how Fleamont was going to pay for the prescription.
"Like this." Fleamont opened his mouth, but it didn't stop where a normal cat's jaw would. It kept going and then the upper and bottom jaws split to make room for the jaws to open even further. Fleamont heaved and a worn brown drawstring pouch emerged from his gut. Cyril watched on in silent horror as a long tongue followed the bag. The end of the tongue split into five smaller stands and opened the bag, pulling out two flat mostly round silver coins. Cyril felt a bit disguised as the tongue crept closer to him.
"That's a bit rude don't you think. What would your master say if I told him you were calling your customers disgusting?"
"Ah, sorry!" Cyril snapped out of his stupor and despite the feeling that this cat also happened to like pranks, he pushed the thoughts of disgust and discomfort from his mind as he reached out for the coins.
Fleamont's slick tongue brushed against the skin of Cyril's hand as he deposited the money in Cyril's palm. Cyril tried to force himself to think about literally anything else than about how gross the slimy coins in his palms were or about how disturbing the cat was as Fleamont grabbed his drawstring pouch and the paper bag with his prescription and dragged them back into the apparent abyss that was his stomach and retracted his jaw.
Fleamont looked Cyril up and down in an amused and measured way. "Well, you did better than most of his errand boys. See you in two months, boy. Oh and you might want to wash off your hands quickly, my saliva can be a bit paralytic."
With that final farewell, Fleamont jumped off the counter and flounced out of the apothecary. Cyril sprinted off to the bathroom, coins still in hand and hurriedly turning on the water, thoroughly rinsing off his hand and the silva. While desperately scrubbing his hands, Cyril cursed his master out in his head. Why wasn't he warned ahead of time about this apparent regular? Was a little heads up from Master or Bonbon too much to ask?! Cyril was beginning to think that they had colluded together for him to have a shift alone to make him freak out when Fleamont inevitably showed up. Cyril really wanted to give both of them a piece of his mind. Well, not his master. He wasn't stupid. But, definitely Bonbon. As soon as he came back from doing 'errands' Cyril was going to let him have it.
When Cyril had finished washing his hands, they were red from the hard scrubbing they had endured. He sighed as he picked up the silva and headed back to the counter. Cyril dropped the coins in the right half of the register drawer that housed coins of a variety of sizes and were bronze, silver, and gold in color. He forcefully shut the register drawer and it closed with a satisfying slam.
Cyril leaned his body on the counter and rested his head in his hands. How had his life become like this? Where he could encounter such horrifying things on a regular basis and had to act like everything was normal. His shoulders sagged as he slumped further onto the counter, letting his head rest against the cool surface of the wood. He wished he hadn't found this damned apothecary in the first place. Better yet, he wished they hadn't moved to this town in the first place. It was clearly cursed. But, what could he do about it now? Absolutely nothing, that's what. He could do absolutely nothing.
This sucks.
Cyril thought back to earlier that summer. It felt like a lifetime ago now. But really it was only a couple months ago. Back to when this whole mess started. If Cyril was able to go back in time, he'd slap his past self and tell him not to go into strange and creepy old buildings. But it was too late now. What's done is done.