Come Into My Cellar (My Love Letter to the English Language)

Come Into My Cellar (My Love Letter to the English Language) 

by Alan Loewen

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Words mean something to me. Though far from being the wordsmith I long to be, I love the magic of words and what one can do when one carefully puts them together. I gloat over words like a curmudgeonly wine connoisseur hiding in his deepest cellar lingering over his dusty bottles of rare vintages. 

Take this one for example. Uncork the bottle. It contains only one word: senescence. Let its aroma fill you. Taste it. Feel how it lingers on the lips, its repetitive sibilance pleasing to the ear. It needs such little effort for your tongue and mouth to reshape the monotone drone produced by your vocal cords. Yet its sweetness hides its true meaning. Like the snake it simulates, it conceals behind its aesthetics madness and horror. Senescence speaks of age-induced dementia when the human brain falls far from its glory into senility and oblivion. I shall put this bottle back onto the rack and treasure it for another day. Its pleasant aroma turns to the attar of the grave if played with for too long. 

So many delightful words here all bottled up, waiting for me to combine them like an alchemist of old. If done well, I can make the imbiber experience delight or desire or sorrow if, and only if, I can master the fine art of blending. 

Over here is my collection of combinations. Using the essential elements of words, I have created fusions of linguistics and grammar resulting in unique elixirs and tonics that I believe turned out rather well. 

Here is one of my favorite aromatics. Give it just a sip and let it linger on the palate of the inner ear. Tell me what you think: 

I cannot say I own Elysia House. Better to say she owns me. Laugh if you wish, but I hear the whispers. Elysia is alive—self-aware—responsive to those who breathe and move within her walls. And over the months, I have come to find a rest here as well as a calling, for Elysia has her secrets. I now plumb her endless mysteries while wandering her oak-paneled halls as a willing revenant. 

Ah, yes. Personally, I think that is a savory one. So many more here. Some are meant merely to give a moment's respite, a cheap, no-name vintage for a moment's slaking of one's thirst, but there are others here that may tarry with you for a while. 

All these beautiful words. All these lovely cordials. Mine, all mine. 

No, no! Don't touch that bottle. Yes, that one with the green label where the very glass feels slimy to the touch. Let that one be. Some are meant for my palate only, libations best kept bottled up forever. 

Here. Try this one instead. It is my favorite. Open it and let its fragrance overwhelm your senses. It is my most treasured possession. 

It starts out, 'Once upon a time ...'

Sarah Wilson’s Farm (Inktober, Monday, October 19, 2020)

For Inktober, Monday, October 19, 2020. Prompt word: “dizzy.” Tuckerization: Sarah Wilson

A reminder that volunteering for tuckerization only means a character in the story shares the participant’s name. Other than that, no other similar characteristics are implied. 

Sarah Wilson’s Farm

by Alan Loewen 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 

Sarah let her dog out for his daily early evening run of the backyard of her farm. Dusk had settled over the fields and woods, and actual nighttime was just minutes away. In the light of a fading day and a waxing moon, Sarah saw in the distance six deer running along the hedgerow that bordered the lower field.

That is if deer could run on their hind legs. 

Fortunately, Cicero was too old and blind to see them. He went about his business as Sarah impatiently tapped her foot. When the old dog finally decided to return to the house and the warmth of his bed, Sarah shut the door behind him and locked the two deadbolts. 

With a stifled yawn, Sarah made her way to the kitchen for her evening tea when through the window, a light in the field below caught her attention. She studied it for a moment and then gritted her teeth realizing it was a trespasser with a flashlight. 

Fortunately, trespassers were rare, but with the advent of the Internet, rumors about the uniqueness of Sarah Wilson’s farm had created some unpleasant encounters. In the last year, several unwanted explorers of a more metaphysical bent ignored the numerous No Trespassing signs surrounding Sarah’s 300-acre property, all to their detriment.

Fortunately, this time, there was only one flashlight. When there were three or more, Sarah’s job as caretaker always became a tad more complicated. 

Putting on her coat, Sarah unbolted the back door and walked out to the shed where she kept her ATV. It had been difficult finding one that was electric. Still, she needed something silent that would allow her to not only approach trespassers before they ran but would also allow her to travel unheard around her property without causing the other beings on her farm to notice her. Her truce with them was generational, but one did not tempt fate. 

And some of the farm’s regular inhabitants could be quite unpleasant. Especially at night. 

Sarah started the ATV and steered it in a wide circle to attempt to come behind the intruder. As she swung the ATV about, Sarah could see the silhouette of a person picking their way across the field via the use of their flashlight. 

However, as she approached, the trespasser heard the hum of the electric motor and turned, hitting Sarah in the eyes with the bright illumination of the flashlight. 

“Shine that flashlight on the ground,” Sarah yelled. In response, Sarah turned on the headlights of her ATV, illuminating her unwanted invader. Sarah sighed. “You again?” 

Sarah got off her ATV, leaving the headlights on and the electric motor running. Ignoring the trespasser’s look of disapproval, Sarah stood with her fists at her hips. “What did I tell you last time?” Sarah asked. 

Her intruder remained silent. 

“You are clearly trespassing, and you are going to turn around this very minute and leave,” Sarah said. “I told you last time, Ms. Pitzer, you are not welcome here.” 

The woman sneered. “Why don’t you call the police then? They’d be interested in your little farm here and what you have hidden on it.” She held up a cell phone. “I’ve already taken enough pictures to let the world know what you’re hiding here. I’ve got pictures of odd tracks, strange lights, and a shadowy figure that clearly isn’t human.” 

Sarah shook her head. “The Internet is filled with dubious photos. Yours will be laughed at as well.” 

“But,” the woman said, “I think I could get enough interest going to make your farm an interesting destination for adventure seekers. Now, I don’t think you want that to happen, so why don’t you let me in on your little secret here? Just between us girls?” 

Sarah crossed her arms. “Really? You truly want to know?” 

The woman smiled. “Sure.”

“Okay,” Sarah said while giving a shrug. “Why not? Okay, here’s the story in a nutshell. 

“My family has been tasked to guard this property for the last five generations when our first ancestor journeyed to the new world from the Black Forest in Germany. Since the Holy Roman Empire, my descendants received the responsibility to guard and conceal certain forces of nature from those who would use them for their own purposes. 

“These forces are meant to be hidden because they are inherently deadly. You with me so far?” 

Pitzer licked her lips and nodded, her eyes bright with fascination. 

“So I have all sorts of … I guess you could call them guests, all former residents of the Black Forest, safe and secured here on my acreage. If I were to rattle off all the different beings here, the list would make you dizzy.” 

The intruder smiled. “And what gives you the right to keep them to yourself?” she asked. 

Sarah looked nervously about. “Look, you might have just enough time to leave. Maybe. The sun has set, and the moon is waxing. The hounds will be upon us soon. I need to go lock myself in my house.” 

Sarah jumped on her ATV. “I think,” Sarah said, “you misunderstand my responsibility here.” She swung the ATV around. “I am not here to protect these creatures from you. Until Kingdom Come, I’m here to protect people like you from what is kept here.” 

Sarah made it to her house, jumped off the ATV, and almost tripping over Cicero, she bolted the door behind her. Moments later, Sarah heard screams coming from down the field, screams that faded into the forest. She hoped that the Black Dogs had found the trespasser for there were other creatures far worse. Sarah hoped her intruder would not learn that there were states of being infinitely worse than death.