“Thank you, I believe I understand what you are saying,” Brother Ezra spoke at last. “We should not close ourselves off from the immense love and joy God gives us, in any form that it may come.”
Tommaso smiled gently, and nodded. “Precisely. Now, go take your seat. We don’t want to be late for the blessing.”
Evening had fallen upon the abbey, and while most of the brothers had retired to their cells for the night, Tommaso found himself wandering down one of the lone corridors alongside the open courtyard. Though he had now spent almost half of his life here, the moments just after night mass could still fill his bones with a restlessness begging to be walked out before he was able to find ease of sleep.
The abbey was silent, only the moon above filtering in through the high arches of the corridor to accompany him on his stroll. His thoughts mulled over the evening mass, and the difference in Brother Ezra’s countenance he had witnessed. There had definitely been a new-found lightness to the way that he sang. It filled Tommaso with happiness to think he had helped him find some inner peace.
As he passed the large stone basin that held the holy water in the midst of their courtyard, a shriek of pain and terror broke the peaceful silence around him. It was enough to make him stumble in his steps and pause, his heart beating an erratic tempo in his chest. The cry did not come again, but it had sounded from somewhere near the entrance to the courtyard, and without delay, Tommaso began to run in that direction, as fast as his robes would allow him.
Chest heaving with exertion as he darted out into the courtyard and made his way in the darkness, he sent up a silent prayer that whomever had made that terrible noise was okay. His steps faltered once more as he came upon the large stone entrance. There, in the shadows beneath the arch, a body lay crumpled on the ground with another hulking presence bent over it, arms clutching the unmoving form to its chest.
“Stop! What are you doing?” Tommaso cried, the scene before him confusing, and obscene.
His shout seemed to rouse the bent form and its head lifted. A pale face was half-shielded by darkness. Its mouth was visible, lips stained with red that dripped just a little at their edges. Startled more, Tommaso stopped entirely, his eyes dropping from the ravenous beast before him to the figure that lay within its arms. The boy’s head had fallen to the side, exposing the torn flesh along the column of his throat and the sightless eyes that stared up at the sky.
“Ezra!” Tommaso gasped out, stomach turning, and body chilling at the lifeless form of his fellow brother. “What have you done!?” The scream tore from his throat. Sanity was replaced by anger and pain as he lunged for the creature
Bodies colliding, the force sent the cloaked being backwards, and Tommaso along with it. Together they rolled, Tommaso grappling for a hold of the creature’s garments to try and restrain it in some measure. However, the form was like that of stone and, in due time, had Tommaso entirely pinned beneath it.
In the closeness of their bodies, he was able to see that the being above him wore the semblance of a man: shockingly blue eyes, pale features framed by coifs of golden curls, and a face that would have been cherubic, if not for the piercing, white fangs peeking from beneath a snarling lip.
“Demon!” he gasped, breath ragged.
“And so much more,” was the returning snarl, before the beast sunk its fangs deeply into Tommaso’s throat. His scream of pain echoed out into the silence of the night sky.
Above, the moon watched. Silent. Distant.
Tommaso slowly regained consciousness—mind hazy, throat parched, and a desperate need for sustenance overtaking him. Gradually, flickers of memory returned, and his hand went frantically to his throat as his eyes opened. Darkness greeted him and yet, he could make out—in fine detail—the rocks of the cave above him. At his pulse, his fingers found no evidence of any harm done. In fact, his body felt entirely whole and unmarred.
Sitting up, Tommaso glanced around him. While still in his brown robes, which even in darkness he could tell were torn and stained, he was nowhere on the grounds of the monastery. How was he still alive? The last, most vivid thing he could remember was a white-fanged demon bearing down upon him and tearing into the flesh of his neck. Yet, as his fingers had belied, there was no wound to be found.
The stifling nature of the cave began to weigh upon him and, with an uncertain grasp, he reached to rest his hand on the stone wall, pulling himself up. His legs felt strange and unfamiliar, each step a little gangly and uncoordinated, like a new calf learning to walk for the first time. Though it wasn’t weakness making them so, but an uneasy strength that overpowered him. Despite this, he found himself at the mouth of the cave in short order, peering out on a sleeping landscape of hills and a valley dotted with cottages.
Recognition dawned on him. He knew the rolling hills with the small farm nestled between them—his home. There, in the lower fields of the valley stood a little house with a small barn, and inside rested his parents. He had lived with them, his older brother, and two younger sisters, until he was fifteen, at which point his parents had deemed him ready to join the brothers in the abbey in Monte Cassino.
“Mother,” he whispered. Even his voice sounded foreign to his ears. Too loud, too crisp, a melody of thunder in the softest of pleas.
Tommaso moved without thought, single-minded intent guiding him down the hillside toward the memories of his childhood. It had been five years since his parents had last paid a visit to the abbey, just a brief stop on their way to Rome and his brother Eduardo and family. A pang of longing filled him, driving away any doubt. At this confusing time, home was where he should be.
Despite the moonless night, Tommaso made his way over the grassy knolls quickly and without trouble, his gaze fixated on the small farm. The house itself was dark and silent, telling him that everyone was fast asleep. It was eerie, to be approaching his childhood home in the dead of the night, the world around him unresponsive to his presence.
At the front door his hand halted in midair while his mind contemplated the repercussions of waking his parents from their sleep. And yet, his underlying hunger pushed him on. Something innately instinctual was telling him if he didn’t have food soon, he may very well go mad.
Hand trembling, he rapped firmly the door, then braced himself with both hands upon the wooden frame, head hung low as he waited. Through the quiet of the night, Tommaso heard the distinct sound of his father speaking, voice muffled, but carrying to him. Eyes shut, he could picture his movements through the house, hearing each step and shift. As he neared the door, a light thumping noise captured Tommaso’s ear more intently than anything else. He felt his hunger increase, and a craving filled his gut and took over his being.
As the door opened, his head lifted, dark eyes meeting the matching set in his father’s shocked expression. At the same time as his father was comprehending the sight before him, Tommaso was hit by a scent so unbelievably delicious he thought he might go mad without it. The doorframe beneath his tightening hands creaked in protest.
“Maso? What are you do—is that blood? Are you okay!?” his father exclaimed, concern lacing each word as he reached a hand out to him.
“Father…I don’t know what’s happened,” he responded, once again his voice sounding both the same, and different to his own ears.
Setting aside the candle in his hand, his father grasped his side and pulled him forward, while his other hand began to search over his form. Tommaso realized the stains on his robe were actually dried blood, not merely dirt as he had initially presumed.
His body straining, seeking to be satiated, Tommaso inhaled deeply to calm the hunger inside of him—it had the opposite effect. As he drew in a breath, the favourable scent in the air rolled over his tongue, igniting a beast within. Shock flashed through him as two sharp points pricked at his bottom lip, and Tommaso felt every cell inside of his body focused upon a single point on his father’s throat—a pulsing rhythm dancing along with the thumping noise echoing inside his hea
d.
Before either of them registered what was happening, Tommaso was upon his father. His arms encircled his older frame and pulled him tightly against his chest. His father struggled, but his frail human form was nothing against the newfound strength inside Tommaso’s arms tightening around him with crushing force. A haze of ravenous hunger drove him forward, and as his teeth punctured the tender flesh at his father’s throat, a coppery ambrosia coursed over his tongue.
A muffled cry of pain and terror escaped his father’s lips, resonating deeply within Tommaso. Yet, the awakened beast could not be stopped, not with blood now flowing past his lips. Each drop was embodied with the taste of life, and sweet notes of fear—an addictive medley he could not cease drinking until every last, precious drop had been guzzled down.
The blood was intoxicating, painting his mind with a veil of red as he allowed the slack form in his arms to slip to the floor. In doing so, he became aware of the other presence in the room, a scream of confusion piercing through the fog enough to draw his gaze. Her fear was a heady scent upon the air, coiling about him like inviting fingers, pulling him forward. In a few, quick strides he was upon her, her wailing palms upon his chest and shoulders mere taps of annoyance. The unquenchable thirst for blood still clouding his thoughts, his hand fisted in her hair, yanking her head back to expose her throat.
Dark eyes latched upon the frantic pulse in the column of her neck and he lashed out, biting into that pulse in a desperate need to devour the very essence of the life within his stone clutch. She whimpered in agony, a sound that settled at the centre of his heart and took root there as he swallowed each mouthful of coppery delight in a gluttonous manner.
When it was over, Tommaso sunk to his knees on the floor, falling back upon his heels. In his arms his mother lay, her head nestled gently upon his chest, his fingers wound through her grey streaked locks. At her throat was the garish proof of his betrayal.
All life now decimated within the residence, the beast inside of Tommaso slackened its hold and slipped back into the recesses of his mind, taking with it the red haze of desperate hunger. In its wake, Tommaso was left with nothing but the deafening silence of his childhood home, and the pale corpses of his parents. A broken sob of horror forced itself from deep within him, and he clutched his mother’s lifeless form to his chest, burying his face in her hair to avoid the heartbroken look of despair and accusation within her eyes.
What had become of him in the depths of that cave? There was a demon residing within him, one that had full control of his entire body, mind and soul. His shoulders shook with the strength of his misery as he held on to the remainder of his beloved mother, feeling her body grow cold in his arms.
How did he get the demon out?
His parents had deserved a proper burial, but Tommaso feared the repercussions of being killed by a demon. Reciting a prayer—that he was no longer worthy to say—in hopes of speeding their souls on to God, Tommaso then threw the oil lantern to the floor and tossed his father’s discarded candle into the puddle. The blaze burned hot and angry within seconds, eager flames licking along floorboards and quickly engulfing his mother. Stepping away, Tommaso slipped back into the darkness of the moonless night, leaving behind the fire spreading through the farmhouse, and bid farewell to the happiness of his past.
Tommaso knew no other place to turn to, than back to the brothers in the abbey. If anyone would know how to exorcise the demon clutching his soul, it would be Father Cassian.
He didn’t make it back to the abbey before sunrise. As the first rays began to crest the hillside Tommaso felt searing agony raking his over his skin, the very rays of the sun dragging upon his flesh. With little choice in the matter, he ducked into the first barn he could find, hiding in the darkest depths it afforded. He was filled with fear at the thought he would do harm to the livelihood of this poor family. Or, should one of the members of this household stumble upon him the beast would take over yet again, and more would die.
However, as he concealed his form with straw, Tommaso found a much-needed sleep washing over him and, without consent, sunk into the oblivion of it.
Night had fallen when he woke at last, the rested wonder of his body a direct contrast to the torment of his thoughts. Though the memories of his own attack at the abbey were still clouded, the sight of his parents’ bloodless corpses strewn upon the floor were emblazoned upon his mind.
Concerned for the welfare of the family who lived on this land, as much as for the state of his own soul, Tommaso broke a portion of the barn board wall and snuck out behind the building, slinking into the darkness, and away. He had made it through the day without mishap, if only he could make it to the abbey without staining his hands with more death.
The hunger and thirst had returned, clawing at his throat and causing his jaw to ache, but Tommaso pushed on, forcing each step to take him closer to the abbey at Monte Cassino. Though his determination had zeroed in on the road before him, Tommaso did not realize how quickly his steps had taken him over the countryside until he was at the base of the mountain and looking up at the winding road that would take him to the woods around the monastery. The night was barely half over, and he found himself not in the least winded, or tired.
It was the throbbing hunger pulsing at his teeth and gnawing at his insides that was the true sign of his exertion. The demon within him was craving more of the divine elixir that flowed through the veins of those around him. Somehow, Tommaso would need to restrain it long enough for Father Cassian to cast it away. The last thing he wanted was a recurrence of his family home.
With trepidation and a dwindling grasp on hope, Tommaso made the journey up the mountainside, coming upon the front gates of the abbey before he was truly ready. Momentarily, he paused on the cusp of stepping through the arch, wondering if the devil’s spawn wrapped around his soul would keep him from stepping upon such hallowed ground—it did not.
The grounds were silent, the brothers having retired to their rooms for evening prayers and needed sleep. Tommaso found himself missing the simplicity of his cell, the chill of stone rooms that would settle onto his form and make it all the easier to crawl beneath the covers of his bed and sleep the night away. He longed for the hardness of the floor beneath his knees as he prayed, and the scent of the straw-filled mattress at his nose.
Where once he had felt at home in these holy walls, Tommaso now felt like a trespasser, tarnished by sin and disgrace. Entering the wing of the abbey that housed the brothers’ chambers, he felt his throat constrict with need, and the prick of sharp fangs at his bottom lip. Each door he passed echoed with the tempting sound of the lazy heartbeats of his sleeping brethren. It was only the closed doors between them that kept the beast at bay, and enabled him to make it to the third floor where Father Cassian’s rooms were.
He wanted to knock, to warn him that he was there, but something stopped his hand in the process of rising. Instead, his fingers dropped to circle around the door latch, and slowly he pushed the door open.
Inside, the room was dark. Tommaso could hear the steady breathing of Father Cassian, and the soft rhythm of his heart. Without thought, his tongue darted out to moisten his lips as he swallowed against the tide of hunger rising inside him.
“Father…” He called softly into the darkness, his eyes following the slow rise and fall of the older man’s chest beneath the heavy covers of his bed.
It took a moment for his voice to register, but gradually Father Cassian woke. Even in the darkness of the room, Tommaso was able to see him blink away his drowsiness.
“Father,” Tommaso called once more.
This time, Father Cassian sat up, startled, his heart rate increased, the tempo like drums of war to Tommaso’s ears—calling him to action. His teeth ached now, they wanted so badly to sink into the flesh at the abbot’s throat, and it took all his strength to restrain himself. If he remained perfectly still and did not inhale, perhaps the beast would not be released.
“Who’s ther
e?” The older man shifted, throwing away the bedding and resting his feet upon the wooden floorboards. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness and, when they did, he squinted, gazing at the space where Tommaso stood. “Tommaso? Is that you?”
There was confusion in the abbot’s voice, which did not surprise Tommaso, who knew what they had thought became of him. “Yes, Father, it is me.”
“Where have you been? We thought you had been lost.” Father Cassian stood to his feet, moving in his night clothes to grasp a candle, which after a quick strike of a flint, sparked to life. Picking up the holder, he stepped over to him, but stopped when Tommaso held up his hand to halt him.
“Don’t,” he gasped raggedly, the scent of the other man beginning to tease his nostrils. “Don’t come any closer.”
Father Cassian’s eyes fell over Tommaso’s form, taking in his filthy robes, and the dark stains upon the coarse wool before lifting to look at his face. His features had paled, and the abbot quickly made the sign of the cross over himself.
“May God have mercy…Tommaso… What has become of you?” Horror sounded in his voice and quivered in his eyes. He did not come any closer.
“I think I’ve been possessed, Father.” His voice quaked with barely restrained emotions. He was frightened—for himself, and of himself. “Brother Ezra was slain, and the beast that did so attacked me when I tried to stop it. Please, you have to help me be rid of this thing inside me before I hurt someone else.”
There was silence in the room as Father Cassian gazed back at him, the horror now mixing with sadness. The elderly monk began to shake his head gently. Tommaso felt his hands tighten at his sides, the hunger that had brimmed below the surface now at the boiling point, rumbling inside him and desperate to be fed. Red threatened to coat his vision once more, but he fought against it, his chest heaving with unneeded breath, which only intensified the scents surrounding him.
Something in the Shadows Page 6