It started six weeks ago, I was working a late night at Rubirosa on Mulberry street. We were working on a new recipe called the Mulberry St. Blue Garden, it’s a cocktail with gin, cucumber, mint, blueberry, and liqueur. We thought it’d be a real treat! Unfortunately we were out so Mr. Pappalardo sent me out to the store to pick some up. I know my way around Little Italy so that made me the expert, the guy for the job. That was when my life changed. I took an alley out by Mott streets’ very own Rio Grande Spa. It’s a nice little place but not really my style, and I knew where I was heading. But that’s where I was stopped in my tracks. I had passed a few folks out and about but nothing out of the ordinary. Here, though? A small box of blueberries had been spilled across the ground. What luck! I scooped up the box and there were still a few good ones so I took them with me. Take what you can get you know? Besides, blueberries run like seven dollars a pound out here, and I’m the kind of guy to try and save my boss a few dollars. The rest of the night was a blur. I got back and the boss was already closing up, he told me to leave the Mulberry St. Blue Garden for another day. I dropped off the berries in the walk-in and went home. That was six weeks ago, and to this day Mr. Pappalardo hasn’t mentioned the Mulberry St. Blue Garden once. The berries were thrown out after a few days. I never got my chance to pursue my dream of making that cocktail. The mint would be a perfect coupling to the blueberries, and the cucumber would just level up the freshness. I suppose I might never know now, though. Maybe one day I’ll get to see it through, but let this be a lesson for creatives: you can’t break an omelet without making a few eggs.
Yesterday was the celebration of Duncan’s third anniversary. He tragically lost his wife a year ago, but he still likes to celebrate in her memory. It’s a nice thing, and we tend to have a few drinks at Phebe’s bar and share stories. Well I must have had too much to drink, because we decided to walk back to his apartment in the cold, rather than take a taxi. The last thing I remember was an alleyway with a box of blueberries spilled across it. Duncan and I checked it out and there were some good ones inside, so we helped ourselves to a snack. This morning I woke up panting and covered in sweat. I was on Duncan’s couch. He slept in his room with the door locked, but I could hear him groaning. I stumbled into the bathroom, felt a pain in my chest, and my stomach turned. I coughed into the sink and saw crimson meet porcelain. My eyes were tearing up, and through my clouded vision I saw drops of blue in a sea of red. My palms were drenched in sweat, and slipped off the sink. I remember falling onto the tile, and hitting the ground hard. When I woke up, I heard a strange noise, which I captured a small recording of.
I did feel better, and I slowly dragged myself to my feet. The sound was coming from the sink. As I stood I peaked into the basin and saw something peaking back. The blue drop I saw before I fell stared back at me. It licked its lips and chattered at me. I couldn’t help but scream. I stumbled back into the living room and banged on Duncan’s door. He must’ve gone through the same as me. Blood and sweat from my hands streaked down the door, and just as I had given up, the knob turned. What stood before me was not Duncan, but a tall, stilted figure draped in a black hood. Chills. It stretched out a pale hand, the skin stretched thin and veins of blue blood spiderwebbed along it, as though to offer a handshake. I screamed again and collapsed, exhausted, tumbling over the couch and onto the floor. It muttered a raspy gratitude, and floated into the bathroom. The berry’s chattering ceased, and the figure glided out of the apartment. It left behind a single blue drop, that it tenderly placed on the floor. When I steadied myself, I crawled over cautiously, and inspected the drop. It was a blueberry. Just a regular blueberry. I left the apartment in a rush, leaving it behind. I haven’t seen Duncan since. I have never seen the figure again either, but I have a safehouse. I built a home for myself along the shoreline. I continue to live alone, but every time I wake up, a blueberry is there, sitting neatly on my floor.