The Tale of Doctor Vellichor

The bell tinkled. For a moment, frigid city air battled with the warm, sweet musty smell of old books. It lost.

The girl struggled through the door with a takeaway cup of hot chocolate in each hand.

"Back again?" The old man twinkled at her, as he might to a daughter. Lean, dignified, white-haired and blue-eyed, he wore spectacles and a grey waistcoat (possibly even while asleep).

"Hi Mr. Vellichor! I can't seem to stay away, can I?" the girl handed him one of the cups. "I just love these places. So much more character than Waterstones!" She cupped her hands round her own drink, and gazed round with a happy nose-wrinkle and a little shoulder-scrunch, as if she were hugging the shop to her.

"I shouldn't let you bring drinks in here, you know," he mock-scolded, settling into his battered leather chair and sipping.

"You really shouldn't," she said, flinty eyes spearing him through a curtain of blue-black hair.

He shook his head. Blinked. Tried to to stand, fell back, and dropped the cup. Alarm fought to stay on his face.

Her steps were light. Her voice too.

"Why do you work in a bookshop, Doctor Vellichor? With a CV like yours?"

"I'm- I'm-"

"You're going to help me, Doctor."

He came to in a brightly-lit basement. She was hugging her knees, watching him.

"All you need to do," she said, "is help me. Then I'll let you go."

His words sound thick and groggy.

"What d'you want?"

She handed him a picture. "Make him immortal."

"That's im-"

"Don't say it! You can do it. I know you can. My family's wealthy, I can get you anything you need. Help me, and I'll let you go."

He fixed her with a gentle gaze, his voice calmer than it had any right to. "I'm not a scientist anymore."

Her eyes harden.

"If he dies, you die."

He looked at the picture: a dog with chocolate eyes and the beginnings of grey around the muzzle. He sighed. "This is what I'll need..."

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Word count: 366

Submitted EARLY on 15th January at 22.46PM. So, one hour and 14 minutes early. This is my story for 16th, if it matters.

*Author's Note*

Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment so I can reciprocate. If you enjoyed it, the best compliment you can give me is to read another, or share it!

The story behind the story: I'm writing a story every day this year. This one makes a 16 day streak. I am into week three, with no sign of stopping!

The Pledge: Right, that's it, NO MORE DOG STORIES THIS MONTH. Unless it's, like, a completely irresistible idea, and it's for a Challenge, and the Challenge is closing.

The Prompt: I was first inspired by Rachel Deeming's story, The Strange Wistfulness of Used Bookstores. The word vellichor conjured this gentleman in my head.

Google says:

Vellichor. Definition: the strange wistfulness of used bookstores.

I included an extra little nod and a wink to Rachel's story with a jibe at Waterstones (I do love Waterstones really!)

You know the old trope of a tough, jaded hard-ass (thief, assassin, whatever), coming out of retirement to do one last job? I liked the idea of doing this with this "one last job" thing, but with a neatly-dressed, self-effacing older gentleman.

What sealed this one, was seeing this in my Facebook newsfeed:

Please leave me a link in the comments if you:

• are joining me on this story every day adventure
• write a story with the word vellichor
• write a story using the above image/idea as a prompt