Weird Tales #352: November/December 2008

"MY TRUE LOVECRAFT GAVE TO ME / fiction by Eric Lis / Dear Mr. Kugelmacher: This letter is to inform you of my resignation. As you know, I have spent the last fifteen years of my life working in your department store, from the age of twelve when I was hired as a stock boy, to my years spent in the jewellery department, to my time in management. I have loved working here, and I am very sorry to leave, but I fear that if I remain any longer, my health and my sanity will be forfeit. Perhaps if I explain the events of the last two weeks, it will become clearer why I have to quit.

It all began some twelve days ago, when Mr. Austin, one of your regular customers, came to the store. Because I happened to be on the floor at the time, I walked over to him to say hello and ask if I could help him. Mr. Austin had something of a manic air about him, and animatedly told me that he had conceived of the perfect holiday gift. I remember smiling at him in a friendly and encouraging manner, as this sounded quite profitable, and assured him that we would almost certainly have whatever it was he was looking for. What did he ask me to show him, you may ask? The Pets Department, of all places. More bemused than perplexed, I walked there with him, where he spent some minutes examining the birds before proclaiming that we did not have the right type. We have a fine selection of birds, as one would expect from your store . . . parrots, budgies, canaries, cockatiels, finches, macaws, and even pigeons that month, but Mr. Austin insisted that only one type of bird would do: a partridge. I immediately saw my error. . . clearly, he was looking for something to serve at a meal, and not a pet, despite his initial request. Why else would someone wish to buy a pheasant at the holidays? Well, we had no pheasant in stock in our food department, but because he was a long-time and loyal customer, I arranged with Ordering that they would procure him some quails, which he seemed to feel would be sufficiently close. It would be expensive for us to order the twelve quails he says that he absolutely must have, but that is what we do as a quality shop. I later overheard that on his way out, he had stopped in gardening and purchased some twelve Pyrus communis saplings. At the time, I took the recurrence of this number to be a coincidence, but in retrospect, I see this was too much to hope for. . . ."