The recipe

This story contains sensitive material, including stalking, manipulation, minor harm to animals, and descriptions of human biological material (menstrual blood).

I got the recipe off the Darkweb. The whole process was insane, I won’t lie. But it will be worth every minute if it works. When I think about her, my hands get clammy and my pulse rises to unknown heights. She’s beautiful, but not in a conventional, social media sort of way; she’s got some grey strands in her hair, which I know smells of that rosemary shampoo she uses - I saw it in her shower once, and I smelled it on her that time I sat behind her at the movies. She very briefly turned around and smiled at me… that smile… soon, soon I will be able to look at it whenever I want to, there will be no more sneaking around, no need to hide…

The user who posted the recipe went by “HeXE”. I assume it was a woman - it seemed like it was. Her post advertised “the real thing”, which, of course, anyone can claim on the internet - so I sent her a message and asked: “Can you prove that it works?”

“Of course I can’t,” she replied, “I’m discreet, what do you want me to do, post pictures of my clients and their targets? You’ve got to take my word for it. But if you have doubts, you shouldn’t do it anyway. I only hand out the recipe to those who know for sure this is what they want.”

I may be naive, but somehow, this convinced me - she sure sounded like the real deal. Besides, I felt I had no other choice. I needed to try this; any other approach - “accidentally” bumping into her on the subway, pretending to see her for the first time at the coffee shop, it all bears too many risks. I can’t risk her rejecting me - I don’t know what I would do if she did, it’s unthinkable. No, this is the only way. So I sent HeXE a hundred bucks to some obscure Paypal account, and soon, there was an email in my inbox.

I opened the attachment and spat my coffee back into my mug. It was a recipe alright, but the ingredients … could she be serious? I realized that this would take an awful lot of time and planning, much more so than I had hoped - in fact, I had envisioned her moving in with me by Christmas this year… But, at the same time: when someone’s worth the wait, it’s what you do, right? Of course, it was going to be work. I would have to make an effort - it’s how these things usually go. Plus, I’d invested the 100 already, so I figured I might as well try…

I spent the next few weeks gathering everything on the list. First, I visited my aunt Tammy, who opened the door in floral pajamas and invited me in for coffee. Her cat Felicia kept hissing at me as though she knew what I was about to do; I looked at aunt Tammy, who smiled and handed me a bowl full of biscuits. For a split second, I wondered if she’d find out - but then, I pushed the thought aside. In the end, once she sees us together, she’ll understand why I had to do it - anyone would.

As soon as aunt Tammy left for the bathroom for a longer session (thanks to the powerful laxatives I added to her coffee), I snatched a pair of scissors from my bag and clipped off several whiskers. I got a paw full of claws in my face for that - stupid cat. The scratches stayed swollen for several weeks, but again - all worth it if it works in the end, all worth it for her. I already have a Christmas gift picked out for her as well: a little necklace with a calla lily pendant. I’ve never liked roses much; calla lilies are much more elegant. They remind me of my mother’s funeral.

Next, I paid a visit to the pet store. I pretended I was interested in buying the rat, and asked the nerdy store clerk in the blue overalls to let me hold the rat for a bit - it was harder than I thought, the slippery little guy went straight up my sleeve. I had the toenail clippers ready in my pocket, but I just couldn’t get the thing to hold still, let alone bust out the clippers while the store clerk was watching - so now I’ve got a rat named Mucus. I know she loves animals, so once she’s here with me, she’ll be delighted that I’ve got a pet. I ended up clipping the tips of Mucus’ claws while he was sleeping, and he was none the wiser.

The next bit was trickier because this was illegal. I still can’t believe I actually went through with it. I had to wait until the next full moon, so that gave me some time to plan the whole thing. I staked out the cemetery for days, so that I knew exactly when and where the guard made his round. There were no cameras; it’s an old cemetery, which is good, because according to the recipe, the older the grave, the stronger the effect of the ingredient. I went on a Tuesday night, clutching a shovel under my coat. I had picked out a grave from a few years back; according to my online research, there should still be some bone left.

Everyone knows digging up a grave is much harder than they make it out to be in the movies - and it takes a very long time; I assume it is normally done with a backhoe these days, not by hand, but I could hardly steal an excavator. So I dug and dug, with some breaks in between, until around 3 a.m., I finally found something.

I believe what I took was a finger bone, but I can’t be entirely sure. I ground it down in the blender, then scraped out the dust into the bowl where I had already collected the whiskers and the claw. I gave the blender a quick rinse and made my morning protein shake - gotta stay in shape for her, I know she likes a guy with abs, judging by the one she’s dating right now. Well, he’ll be forgotten soon enough, and with my plan, abs won’t be necessary - but of course, they’re a nice addition, and I want her to have something pleasant to look at once she’s mine.

The final ingredient was by far the trickiest to obtain. Of course, I could’ve just snuck into a women’s restroom and gone through the trash, but there’d be no guarantee that the blood was really a virgin’s. I thought about going to a middle school to increase my chances, but I didn’t want to mess with any of that - way too much risk, and I don’t want that sort of thing on my record once she’s by my side. Of course, at that point, she wouldn’t mind, wouldn’t care about my past, but still - I wanted to keep a clean reputation for her. So I kept my eyes and ears open for several weeks, until finally I overheard a conversation at work that confirmed my suspicions about Lisa, one of our accountants, who identifies as “ace/aro” and vehemently proclaimed she has never once had sex. I don’t care about Lisa and her lack of romance and horniness; all I care about is her and making her mine.

I followed Lisa for several weeks, hiding in the bathroom stall next to her whenever possible; finally, one day, I heard what I believed to be the ripping of a tampon pack. As soon as she was gone, I slipped into her stall and pulled the still-warm, toilet-paper-wrapped tampon from the trash. The blood was brown and smeary. I reminded myself that this was all for her, and that this was the last ingredient - soon she’d be mine, mine alone…

The mixture had to sit for a full moon cycle. In the meantime, I stopped by MoonCrystal, a local esoteric shop that’s crammed to the brim with scented candles, tarot decks, crystals, incense, and little charms and knickknacks. When I asked the clerk, a tall hippie woman in a linen dress with slightly bulging eyes, for an athame (a ritual dagger, if HeXe’s information is accurate), she presented me with a collection of what looked like adorned letter openers. All of them were blunt (“They are supposed to be symbolic!” the hippie woman sounded a little alarmed). I purchased the most expensive one - only the best for her, I thought - and sharpened it with a whet stone at home. Then, I had to wait. It was awful, being unable to do anything. When the day had finally arrived, I read the words HeXe had provided while piercing the tip of my finger with the athame and letting a bit of my own blood drip over the ingredients.

Slipping her the thing was the easiest part. Of course, I knew her exact gym times, and that she always left her bottle standing behind the rowing machine while she sat on it. I picked it up as though it were mine and walked to the bathroom. In the stall, I carefully inserted the ingredients. Then, I walked right up to her - my heart hammering in my chest at our first interaction - and said: “Excuse me, is this your bottle? I have a similar one, so I accidentally picked it up…” She thanked me with her lovely smile and immediately took a sip. This, according to HeXe, was all it would take - this, and another week or two of waiting…

I now went to the gym more frequently and greeted her openly; we had, after all, finally met. She was friendly and polite, but over the next week, something else crept into her eyes when she saw me: a gleam of desire. One day, I walked into the gym and, as soon as she saw me, her eyes lit up and she waved. Had it finally worked?

*

We’ve been together for almost a year now. It’s been wonderful seeing her every day, being able to smell her skin and touch her hair. She is as happy as a young woman in love can be; she’s also a decent cook and her cleaning is passable, but what matters is the devotion when she looks at me, especially in moments of intimacy. Only sometimes - very occasionally - I think I see something else in her eyes; as though, beneath that lovely, meek smile lies some kind of unspeakable terror.

But we’re working on that.