Read The man at the edge of the woods :: Chapter five

Samuel woke up the next morning, the storm still raging. ‘Damn, my head’ it felt lighter, in fact, and It was spinning. He calmly tried to piece together his memories of the previous night: the demonic figure that had appeared in his room and made its way towards him, the aberrant proposal of that absurd pact and, to his own amazement, his response. Everything that had happened after that was confused and jumbled in his mind: he remembered Silas, with a triumphant grin, grabbing his arm and leg with claws (which Samuel could swear had sprouted at that moment) and holding him still. And then what had happened? Silas reciting a series of words unknown to him in a chilling voice, he remembered that viscous, dark substance beginning to drip from the ceiling, onto the walls, he remembered it on him, passing from Silas's body to his, sliding and advancing on Silas's hand and claws. He remembered the excruciating pain he had felt, with every millimeter that substance conquered on his skin, it was as if a small, sharp knife was sinking into his flesh and reaching such a depth that his whole body was overcome with pain. Then emptiness; he was convinced there had been something else, he knew it, but he couldn't remember what. His mind was working, trying to retrieve fragments from the deepest recesses of his unconscious and bring them to the surface of his consciousness, but it failed miserably. ‘Oh fuck,’ and the more he realized what he had done, the more panic rose within him, starting at his knees, making them weak and malleable, continuing its path to his stomach, the second stage. Samuel felt like vomiting, even though he had no food in him; the last thing he remembered were those monstrous eyes, clotted with blood, closing with difficulty, letting the excess blood flow copiously to his cheeks, then reopening with effort, and instead of that dark red, there was now that absorbent, nullifying black substance. The blackness dripped from his eyelids, small droplets detaching from the main mass and spreading through the air in the room. Samuel thought he preferred the blood, because although terrifying, it had something human about it, whereas this did not. The blackness seemed to almost glue his eyelids shut, even though his eyes were wide open. This was the last thing he remembered, and the memory brought his panic to its third stage: it gripped his throat, he couldn't breathe, the air around him seemed unable to enter his mouth and go down his throat, he felt tears burning and blurring his vision, even more than it already was without his glasses.

“I told you that a good lunch would make you feel better.” Fortunately, Nora had found him on the sofa and stayed by his side for as long as necessary, trying to help as best she could. “Yeah, that's true... then tell me how much I owe you,” said Samuel as he took the last slice of pizza with chips from the box. “What are you talking about, obviously it's on me babe” “Aaaaa, you're so kind.” There was a moment of silence before the girl slowly tried to ask the long-awaited question. “So... was it like a nightmare? Or did..." She thought for a moment and decided that not mentioning any names was the best choice. "... someone call you?“ Samuel swallowed the last bite with a sip of water before answering, ”A nightmare, nobody called me.“ ”Okay, okay, I understand. Sorry, I didn't mean to make you think about it.“ ”I'm not thinking about it,“ but the answer had come a little too quickly. ”okay, do you want to go out? The stormo has stopped and there are the Thursday stalls!“ ”I can't wait to see what junk the kids have decided to sell,“ replied the boy ironically, throwing himself on the sofa, but Nora had already made up her mind. ”Come on, let's have some fun,“ she took his arms and started pulling him. ”Come on, move your ass.“ ”Okay, okay, I get it."

The stalls weren't so bad, lots of children bustling arout, parents chatting, and a pleasant atmosphere in general, but Samuel's mind was elsewhere. He was terrified of looking up and accidentally meeting those ‘eyes’, and what would he do then? What would he do? What would he have done if that monster had called him? He knew he couldn't refuse, but he had no idea what would happen if he did refuse, nor did he know what the demon's demands might be. What if he asked him to hurt someone? To kill them? He had been so naive and reckless the night before, but he couldn't shake the tension he had felt between them, his hand on his jaw, their closeness, and, as much as he hated to admit it, those claws digging into his flesh. 'They were sinking into my body, a piece of him had forced its way inside me...‘ and he immediately shuddered 'wake up Sam, what the fuck are you thinking' because even though he knew that thought should disgust him, the only thing it was really causing him was 'arousal’, a voice whispered in his head; this time, however, his inhibitions were working properly: ‘NO, not that, it was terrible and disturbing, period.’ But before he could even finish the thought, "Sammy, are you listening to me or not?" Nora snapped at him. "Mm? Yes, yes, of course, sorry."

In the end, he had survived the markets, dinner out, and even the night at the disco. All the boy wanted to do now was jump in the shower and then jump into bed. “Good night, frieeeend,” the girl called from the room. “Good night to you, frieeend,” he replied, imitating her tone. As he entered the bathroom, he turned on the shower. He wanted it piping hot. "God, I'm exhausted,” he muttered as he took off his clothes and finally his round glasses. As the hot water needles began to hit his shoulders, Samuel let out a sigh of pleasure, “Damn, I needed that,” and the rest of the shower continued in a tranquility that the boy desperately needed. But as we all know, good things come to an end sooner or later. After turning off the water and stepping out of the shower, Samuel first wrapped himself in a long bathrobe that he tied around his waist. “I really needed that,” he thought, reaching out and picking up his glasses. Now, for the first time, he looked clearly in the mirror: his body stiffened and his breath caught when he saw Silas leaning against the sink cabinet. And the very first question to ask in moments like these is, ‘Did he see me naked?’, and immediately his cheeks flushed, the heat accumulated from the shower obviously not helping. “Hi Sammy, I thought I'd drop by. What do you think, you like the surprise?” And in that small bathroom, when Silas leaned forward, he came very close to Samuel. Hearing that voice again sent shivers of pleasure mixed with fear running through his whole body, even where he didn't want them to. His glasses, now fogged up with steam, were saving him; sure, from the outside he looked stupid, but at least they prevented him from seeing who was in front of him. Unfortunately, this luck was short-lived. “Look at yourself. How can you see me properly like that my darling?” And he spoke in this gentle, almost sweet tone, as if to say, “Poor little thing, don't worry, I'll take care of you,” which gave Samuel goose bumps. The boy tried to back away, to raise his hand to keep them on, but the other had elegantly raised it before him, and now, with a fluid, continuous gesture, he was gently removing them from his face, depriving him of a vital sense. All Samuel could see was severely blurred, he could only guess that Silas was cleaning them, and now he was also cursing himself for taking such a hot shower, because the temperature was sky-high, and on top of that, his still-wet hair was sticking to his forehead and starting to annoy him. But as he move to fix them, his movements were beaten to the punch once again: “There, that should be better,” as he carefully placed them back on his nose, and in one swift motion, he ran his hand over the boy's forehead, removing the wet hair and slowly drying it.

Samuel swallowed hard, now he could see him. He saw his eyes, normal this time, staring at him, he felt his hand remain on his forehead and almost, Samuel must have been crazy to believe it, caress it. He also saw his hair white again, although longer than last time, and the sly smile on his pale lips. And suddenly he remembered that he was naked, ‘FUCKING NAKED’. He quickly lowered his eyes, wrapped the towel tighter around himself and desperately tried to avoid feeling those fingers brush his forehead, then his wet hair and finally move down to his cheek. 'What's going on?‘ Silas’ body moved closer to his, hot and covered only by a thin bathrobe. His skin was burning and his heart was in his throat; he was sure he could spit it out if he coughed. Then the horror: Silas' delicate fingers slid down to his cheek and ended up under his chin, lifting his head slightly and tilting his own to one side so that he could look the boy directly in the eyes. Samuel expected a comment about his shyness, a dig at his body, but instead there was nothing, only silence. And Silas, who was looking at him now, ‘almost tenderly’, Samuel thought, was so different from the one the night before, who had torn his thigh and arm with his claws while laughing.

At this point, however, the second most important question came to his mind, namely, ‘what is he doing here?’.