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  October Perfume Oil

  Ay, thou art welcome, heaven’s delicious breath!
  When woods begin to wear the crimson leaf,
  And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief
  And the year smiles as it draws near its death.
  Wind of the sunny south! oh, still delay
  In the gay woods and in the golden air,
  Like to a good old age released from care,
  Journeying, in long serenity, away.
  In such a bright, late quiet, would that I
  Might wear out life like thee, ‘mid bowers and brooks
  And dearer yet, the sunshine of kind looks,
  And music of kind voices ever nigh;
  And when my last sand twinkled in the glass,
  Pass silently from men, as thou dost pass.
  – William Cullen Bryant

  Dry, cold autumn wind. A rustle of red leaves, a touch of smoke and sap in the air.

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  Wulric, The Wolfman Perfume Oil

  A lively tune is being played nearby; it is syncopated, a disjointed song, but perky and upbeat. As you turn to the next stage, you see the broad back and shaggy hair of the next performer. He is seated on a stool in front of a battered upright piano. Wire pokes out from holes in the back of the decrepit beechwood, and broken pinblocks are scattered on the floor. A bowl of glistening viscera has been plopped on a small end table next to the pianist. You can see that the ivory keys of the piano are smeared with blood. He pounds and tinkles the keys merrily, and laughs to himself. The man turns to the audience, and his unkempt russet hair, feral yellow eyes, wild balbo, and chin curtain beard betray his lycanthropic nature. He smiles widely, innocently, and waves his red-stained, black-clawed paw in a genial welcome. He bellows cheerfully, “Hi there! Make yourself comfortable! Don’t you look absolutely necrolishious! HA! HAHA! I just made that word up!” He laughs again, turns, and resumes playing the piano. The rambling tune picks up pace, and he plays with a showman’s flourish. The song slows as he chats with the audience from over his shoulder. “You know, my ex-girlfriend was a real handful, but really… I’ve never known a woman that was as tender as she was. She was all gushy, and well… to be honest, she just fell to pieces for me. Eventually, things ran their course… three courses, really… and, as they say, nothing lasts forever. But I’ll always have a piece of her, here… close to my heart.” He chuckles, and pats the chest of his patchwork overcoat.

  In the distance, possibly from Meskhenet’s stage, you hear one of the phantom musicians give Wulric a gratuitous rim shot.

  Friendly, charming, and cuddly, but possessing one hell of a mean streak: cocoa absolute, French vanilla, birch tar, lavender, bourbon vetiver, wild musk, cardamom husk, clary sage, and cistus.

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  Bone Apple Teeth Perfume Oil

  Saying “bone apple teeth” instead of “bon appétit” seems to take on a special meaning in the context of Halloween treats. Here’s a scent commemorating the allure of everything our dentist would have us avoid: a luscious red apple rendered nigh impenetrable by armored plates of toffee and caramel, sprinkled with bone-dry cinnamon-glazed almonds and hard bits of popcorn.

  Label artwork by Drew Rausch

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  Pallid Bat Perfume Oil

  I want my rooftop filled with Pallid Bats. Not only are they cute as hell, but their favored meal is the Arizona bark scorpion, whose sting is the most venomous to be found in North America.

  Bats > Scorpions
  (Sorry, Scorpios!)

  Tea leaf, bourbon, a sting of white ginger, and Italian bergamot swirled in amber incense smoke.

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