Whiteout Rewrite (Little Shop of Horrors)

10. Little Shop of Horrors

     After what felt like miles of winding through shops, alleyways, and tightly packed streets, they arrived at a shop, nestled in one of the market’s corners. While the rest of the black market’s shops were well-lit to attract customers, this shop was not. A solitary oil lamp lit the unstable-looking porch, barely illuminating the entrance. The shop itself was more of a crooked shack that had begun to list to one side. The boards looked like they had been pieced together from several other projects that were never completed. The door in was nearly diagonal, and the shutters that covered the front windows were broken and hanging by threads. Nick got the impression that it was not often visited.

     Lopsang stood, looking at the shop for a minute with hesitancy. “Are you sure we want to?”

     “Yes,” said Nick, clearly. “If we want to live through this expedition, then we’re going to need all the help we can get.”

     Lopsang sighed and walked up to the front porch. There was a dull tinkling as Nick brushed by a windchime made of creatures jarred in formaldehyde. A faded wooden sign read “Jim’s Oddities, Curiosities, and Necessities.” Underneath it, a wooden plaque had been nailed up reading: “Thieves leave empty-handed.” It had a small painted severed hand beneath it that made Nick grimace.

     Together they stepped through the creaking wooden door, and entered the shop. Dense smoke hung in the air making it nearly impossible to see anything. It gave the small space the illusion of being much larger. Around them were shelves lined with various amulets, trophies, and weapons. In one of the corners, Nick could barely make out what appeared to be a mummy in a glass case, still clutching the sacrificial dagger it had been buried with in brittle hands.

At the back of the shop stood an elderly man behind a long, black counter, smoking from a long-stemmed pipe. The smoke he exhaled, was a dull, acrid, red color. He was dressed in a tattered robe that had been adorned with circular gold discs that shone in the dim shop light.

     “Jim I presume?” Nick asked Lopsang.

He said nothing, and motioned silently for Nick to move to the counter.

     The man said nothing, and did nothing to acknowledge their presence.

     Nick looked around for something to strike up a conversation about, and settled on a row of heads that had been mounted above the counter. They were the remains of brutal creatures, with spiked horns that curled out in front of them. Each was wearing a snarl more fearsome than the last. “You kill these yourself?”

     The man straightened his newspaper and continued reading as if Nick were nothing more than an irksome fly. Nick looked to Lopsang for help, but he just shrugged and mouthed ‘I told you so.’

     Boring conversation anyway, thought Nick. “We’re here about the yeti.”

     In one swift motion, the man put down the newspaper, picked up a menacing sword from behind the counter, extinguished his pipe, and leapt over the counter. Before Nick could blink, cold steel was pressed to his throat. Up close, Nick could see the old man’s face clearly. It was far more wrinkled than it had looked at a distance, and reminded him of an ancient temple. His beard was long and white, hanging almost to his waist. Scars crisscrossed his face, intersecting each other at odd angles, making it impossible to tell where one ended and another began. The man stared at Nick through mean eyes, beneath bushy, white eyebrows.

     “If I offended you,” Nick’s words were cut off by the blade being pressed closer to his throat until a tiny bead of blood dribbled down his Neck. Should have sent James to do this, thought Nick.

     The old man sniffed at Nick like a dog, assessing him, and then took the sword off his throat. Nick relaxed for a moment, but then the man brought back the sword in a wide arc, and swung at Nick’s neck, aiming for a killing blow.

     Lopsang jumped in front of it at the last second, and the blade stopped inches from him. He began babbling in a language that Nick did not understand, clearly trying to explain why they should not be killed. The man’s blade lowered with every word that Lopsang spoke.

     The man said something gruffly, and then pointed at Nick. Lopsang turned to look at him, and then both men started laughing, and pointing to Nick in areas he wished they wouldn’t have.

     “What’s he saying?” asked Nick, growing angry.

     “That you talk too much and lack respect,” said Lopsang matter-of-factly.

     “I know a few significant others that might agree with him,” muttered Nick.

     “Don’t worry, I’m working on him.” Lopsang turned back to the man who quickly ushered him into a back room.

     The old man glanced back at Nick with dangerous eyes and said, “Don’t touch anything.” Then they disappeared behind a curtain, leaving Nick alone.

     He waited for what felt like the better part of an hour. Occasionally, he would hear laughter from the back of the shop, and see plumes of smoke passing out from behind the curtain. Not wanting to see the man’s sword again, Nick did as he was told and touched nothing.

     Instead, he wandered through the aisles of the shop, looking at the wares the man was selling. As it turned out, not touching anything was turning out to be a difficult task. Buried beneath layers of dust, and hidden behind assorted shrunken animal parts, Nick occasionally caught glimpses of gold, or the glitter of diamonds.

     Looking at one such object, he could almost immediately tell it was cursed. It was a solid gold amulet, bearing carved Aztec symbols. In the middle, was a blood red gem that stuck out like a sore thumb. Rubies were very difficult to obtain for the Aztecs, and if they put them in an object, it usually denoted something of great importance, or great danger. Either way, Nick could not help staring at it. He jumped when Lopsang and the man reappeared in a haze of smoke, laughing like a couple of teenagers who’d discovered their first joint. For a moment, they just stood there, whispering to each other.

     “Well? Is he going to help us?” asked Nick, growing annoyed.

     “Yes, I will,” said the old man, flexing his hand uncomfortably close to the sword at his side.

     “Fantastic,” said Nick, making no effort to hide his sarcasm.

     “But know,” said the man, his voice growing grave, “that what you are setting out to do, is a fool’s errand. That valley contains nothing but suffering and death. You will all surely perish on the mountain, and there will be nothing left to hear your heroic tale but rock and stone.” The shop was unnervingly quiet after he spoke.

     Nick almost reconsidered the journey in the absolute silence, but as always, his overconfidence carried him through. “We’re alright with long odds,” he said, giving Lopsang a friendly smile. “Now, can you help us kill it?”

     The man stiffened, as if he had been expecting to scare Nick away. “That is no easy task.”

     “Oh come on, you’ve already told me it wasn’t going to be easy.”

     The man’s hand shot out, faster than lightning, and slapped Nick’s mouth shut. “You are very disrespectful,” he said quietly.

     “So I’ve been told,” said Nick, rubbing his jaw. T

“Right now, I wager that I’m the only person who can help you. I’d suggest finding some humility if there is any left within you.”

Lopsang remained off to the side, silent, but looking at Nick with disapproval.

Nick sighed. “I’m sorry. We’re just running out of time. There’s another team moving up the mountain as we speak, and they will be in grave danger if we do not find a way to help them.” The false worry rolled off his tongue like silk. Nick was even impressed with his own ability to feign amity with Manchester.

The thought of others in danger changed the old man’s tune. “If your heart is set on this, I will help you, but know that I do not encourage it. You will die on that mountain. Maybe with my knowledge you’ll be able to last a few hours longer, but there are reasons why no one has ever come back. If the creature could simply be killed, he would be on my wall.” The man was speaking painfully slow, as if the contents of his pipe had just started to kick in.

“We just need to know how to kill it.” Nick tried to remain respectful, but he knew with every passing second, Manchester was getting closer to claiming his prize.

“Of course, the simple question.” The old man rolled his eyes, eventually settling them back on Nick. “There is only one way to kill a yeti.”

Of course there is. Throughout Nick’s travels, he had found that most mythical creatures have one severe deficit. It was as if the gods had sat around after the battle of Troy and thought: ‘You know, I think that Achilles fellow was really on to something.’ The occasions where just shooting a monster would kill it were few and far between.

     Nick had tried this approach a few times before realizing it was folly. For example, when Nick had blown apart the King of Resurrection with his shotgun, the man had come back into two equally powerful kings (who luckily quarreled over power long enough for Nick to escape). The lesson was essentially that research was key before embarking on a job. Unfortunately, when looking in the large tome written by his master, Nick found nothing about yetis other than a long list of obituaries for those who had gone after them.

     “The yeti is a solitary creature, and the apex predator of these mountains. It hunts everything and is hunted by nothing. Luckily for you, this makes it less cautious. The moment you set foot on the mountain, it will begin stalking you with extreme prejudice, but will never perceive you as a threat.”

     “Good, so it’s going to come to us.”

     “Yes, you can use this to your advantage. The only way to kill it is going to be to get up close. It’s hide is thick, and not easy to pierce.” The man was growing excited, as if the prospect of hunting the creature would be great fun.

     Get to the point, thought Nick, bored with legends, and wanting to retire to somewhere where he could find a stiff drink. Through many years of experience with mythical beasts, Nick could have surmised most of what the man was saying through guesswork. Creatures in the mountains were generally very tough, as they needed to be to survive, and made formidable opponents. Even a yak might give me a run for my money, if it had something to live for. Nick didn’t like yaks, as he felt that they were far too strong for their own good, and might possess more intelligence than they let on about.

     “You will need a blade dipped in water that has been infused with Shangri La Lilies,” continued the man, either unphased or unaware of the tired look on Nick’s face. “It will slow blood coagulation, reducing the creature’s unnatural healing rate.”

     “Will the lily slow the creature at all?” asked Nick, hopefully.

     “No, but it will aggravate it.” The man was smiling, and enjoying the dismay creeping into Nick’s features.

     “Great,” said Nick, giving Lopsang an angry look. So far, their detour had been about as useful as holy water in a mummy’s tomb. “So, where’s the weak spot? There’s always a weak spot, right?”

     “Not one weak spot,” said the old man, wringing his hands together. “Three spots in total that you’ll have to cut.” As he said it, he thrust three bony fingers into Nick’s face. He felt disgusted by their papery texture. “One cut to the neck,” he said making a motion across Nick’s jugular, “and one cut to the back of its knees.”

     Nick had to back away to avoid getting knocked over with the man’s sword as he gestured.

     “I’d suggest doing the knees first. Makes it easier to reach the neck.” The man leaned back against the shop counter, pleased with himself.

      “I don’t suppose you have any of these lilies on hand?” asked Nick, once more hopeful.

     The man stared vacantly into space for a moment before responding “Yes.” Quickly, he hopped away from the counter, and ran through the shelves that lined his shop, grazing his fingers over jars and bottles as he went. Loose items went flying, and one shattered, sending a foul-smelling liquid cascading onto the floor. The man paid it no mind and continued searching.

     “Why doesn’t he wear a mask?” Nick asked Lopsang quietly.

     Lopsang did not have time to respond as the old man yelled from between the shelves: “Because no one is stupid enough to try and come after me.” He laughed maniacally and tipped over a large pile of old books. The shop was chaos, and he thrived in it. “The one man who tried never got the chance to do so again. His thieving hand made a lovely ornament to light my counter.”

     Nick looked at the counter and saw a blackened hand, haphazardly tacked to a wood board, fingers clasped around a wax candle. The preservation process seemed to have shrunk it some (or the man had been very small), but it got the point across. No one was going to be stealing from that shop. Nick admired the man’s ingenuity for keeping the criminals at bay.

     “Got it,” shouted the old man, and came hobbling back toward them with three vials of bright, purple liquid. “These should be enough to get the creature to bleed, if you can get close enough that is.” The man was laughing again, and Nick annoyance grew stronger.

     “How much?” he asked, hoping that Lopsang’s gold was enough.

     The man continued to laugh and asked: “How much you got?”