by Miha Mazzini
*
Aco saw a light between the trees and stopped. He could see himself that night, years ago, as he had walked towards the green light in the cellar window. How terrified he had been! And when he had not been able to tear his eyes away from what he saw, his fear had grown even stronger.
He should have come before. But he did not have the courage and that was his sin.
He stood there, looking. The light filled him with hope that nothing had happened and that his expedition would end as a simple night stroll.
Everything was quiet and peaceful, just like at the campsite. But there the tourists were asleep, and here some young boys were supposed to be having a party and parties are never quiet. He took a few more steps but had to stop again to clear his mind of the images, just as he had been doing all his life.
The images from the cellar.
It took him a long time to get to the edge of the woods, positioning himself behind the last tree before the clearing. On the other side, he caught a glimpse of somebody walking into the woods. He was carrying something, but that was all Aco could distinguish in the silvery light. He waited. Whoever it was did not come back.
Then he saw another figure, creeping slowly out of the front door, looking left and right, unable to decide whether to go any further.
Undoubtedly one of the boys.
And Aco was sure. Something had happened.
*
Max was squatting on the landing, waiting. He dared not move. Once, he could not control himself however much he squeezed his lips together. Vomit came out through his nostrils, running down onto his knees. He did not move to wipe it away.
Only after a long time, when there were no more sounds to be heard inside the house and the screams coming from somewhere outside, far behind the house, had died down and everything went completely quiet, he tried to straighten up. His legs had gone to sleep and he could not feel them at all. He scrambled up by the wall and waited for the pain to stop. He did not dare make a sound.
When he was finally able to try taking a few steps, he started thinking what to do. More precisely, where to escape to. He was too frightened to walk to the village, an hour's walk through the woods. There was no way of knowing where that crazy Alfonz had got to. Murderer. Judging by the screaming he must have slaughtered somebody. Probably Raf, clumsy enough to be a victim. Samo, where was Samo? Only he could overpower Alfonz.
He had to hide somewhere. It was probably better to stay inside. There he would at least hear anybody walking up the stairs. And then what? He had to find a weapon.
He slid his soles slowly along the floor, still leaning on the wall. He sort of fell from one side of the corridor to the other rather then crossed it. Luckily, the moonlight was bright enough to enable him to distinguish a door. The nursery, if he remembered rightly. Had he not noticed a baseball racket in the corner?
What a weapon! Whoever came up the stairs and was hit with it on the head would be a goner, however crazy he might be.
He opened the door slowly and the complete darkness surprised him. He stopped and waited.
Suddenly he heard steps downstairs. Somebody was coming. He ducked into the nursery, closed the door behind him and leant on it.
Were the steps getting nearer or further away? Whoever it was must have heard the door slamming and hidden.
Silence. Silence. Silence.
Darkness.
His father... NO! NO! That was not happening now, that was in the past. He must not succumb to the memories.
Not a trace of light. Had the moon gone behind a cloud? He remembered the tightly closed shutters. Where was the baseball bat? In the right corner behind the wardrobe or the left corner behind the bed?
Try to remember! Try to remember!
He could not. The only thing he could remember from the tour of the house that afternoon was turning on the lights and looking at the Indian woman. Would it matter if he turned on the light and got the bat?
The shutters were closed and if the light could not get in, it could not get out either. He would be very quick. Grab the bat - he remembered it now, it was small, for children, but hard enough for a weapon - and switch off the light. Wait till his eyes got used to the darkness again and return to the landing. And then...
He had to last till the morning. And the bat would help him.
*
Raf waited but he could not hear any more noises from upstairs. Maybe it was Max upstairs? He was too afraid to go and see.
He crept towards the door and looked around. He could not see anyone. Where should he go? What should he do?
The woods looked dark and Alfonz could be hiding behind any tree.
What had happened to Samo? The screams from the shed were not very promising. Raf took a deep breath, flexed his diaphragm and made a decision. He would go and have a look.
*
Max was trying to remember where the light switch was. Somewhere on the right, he was sure. Leaning on the door he slowly started feeling towards the wall.
He could feel the dried-out wood under his fingers, from time to time a tiny splinter would bend under the pressure of his skin.
The doorframe. The tips of his fingers slid into a crack, he pulled them out and started sliding them again across the solid wood. Over a slight curve on the edge of the frame towards the wall.
He was overcome by a desire to hit the wall haphazardly until he found the switch and turned on the light. But he controlled himself, he could not afford to make a noise.
He had to continue over the centimetre deep edge of the frame and onto the wall. The rough plaster stuck to his fingers.
He stopped. Could he hear something? Breathing?
He held his breath as long as he could. There was nobody there. But he still tried to breathe slowly without making an audible noise.
He moved his hand again and he could feel every tiny lump in the plaster. His hand began to slip down and slowly he directed it up again.
Another noise. This time a recognisable one. Somebody was opening the front door, the creaking could not have been anything else. He stopped breathing as well as moving.
After a long spell of silence, he continued to move his hand up the wall. He had to be very near.
A feeling that he was not alone in the room came suddenly and very clearly.
Again, he failed to hear any breathing. Just once he thought he could hear something but it sounded like a rustle, the origin of which he could not establish.
It was all too much for his nerves. He would turn on the light and have a look.
He swiftly slid his palm up along the wall, found the switch, put his hand on it and...
... paused for a moment.
Will I?
I will, he said to himself, taking the switch between his thumb and index finger.
I'll turn it now.
A gentle palm lay on his hand.
Max felt his urine trickling down his thighs. He did not move, just pushed his head low between his shoulders.
Waiting for a blow. It did not come.
That gentle hand resting on his. He could hardly feel it, there was no pressure, he was sure it could not stop him moving his hand away. Again, he tried to make out somebody else's breathing.
The waiting went on and on. The hand did not move. Max's two fingers on the switch started to hurt.
He only had to turn them and he would see everything.
Was that what he really wanted? Or should he try to remove his hand and run for it? Very slowly, he started to move his fingers but the hand increased the pressure accordingly. It was still very gentle.
He did not dare go on.
"I give in," he whispered but even that sounded piercingly loud.
"Please, please!"
There was no reply.
Do I really want to see, he asked himself. Do I?
I'll turn on the light and what happens happens. He remembered Alfonz's grinning face and changed his mind. He could not take that.
&n
bsp; How much longer could he stand there, motionless?
What would his father do? He would grab that hand without a body, without a face, push it away, turn on the light and give whoever was there three good punches. Max bitterly and clearly realised for the first time that he was not his father. He did not have a book of prescriptions, a catalogue of solutions for every conceivable situation, which decision to take in every dilemma - you just turn the pages until you find the appropriate advice, clear and short so that you can read it in a hurry.
Would such a book describe the situation Max was in? You are standing in impenetrable darkness, holding the light switch with somebody else's hand resting on yours. Gently and patiently.
He started crying without moving. He pleaded and begged.
Nothing happened. No ruin, no salvation. The urine had cooled down and his thighs began to feel cold.
He pulled himself together slowly, stopped crying and tried to make out as much as he could about that hand. It was small and papery. Yes, that was the right expression. It was not damp with sweat or smooth. He remembered from school - where was Raf? - that the pores in the skin excrete grease or something like that to make the skin smoother. That hand was not like that.
It was inevitable. He knew that sooner or later he would find out whose hand it was. It had to happen. It was just like going to a dentist, a visit he always delayed beyond the first aches right to the swelling and the puss. In the end he always gave in. Dentists were inevitable, just like this thing waiting for him in the darkness.
It was better to do it now than torturing himself endlessly.
He screamed and turned the switch.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!
Everything was red. Why was that?
It only took a split second before he realised that his eyes were closed and that they had probably been closed in the darkness, too. And then he thought that all the waiting and agonising would have to happen all over again before he opened his eyes. He overtook his thoughts: he had to ride on the wave of decisiveness, he could not afford to repeat all the suffering he had just been through.
He looked.
Another split second, a new wave of thoughts, events and observations.
In front of him stood a brat, a strangely funny brat who held his hand on Max's with his eyes closed. Was he asleep standing up or what? He was wearing a black suit which looked shiny as if it had been waxed or something. And a bow tie! That was the last straw for Max. A bow tie!
That terrible creature because of which he had pissed himself was a brat with a bow tie!
The whole thing seemed terribly funny to Max. He laughed with relief. In the moment between his opening his mouth and the sound of his laughter actually coming out he caught the word uttered by the little boy:
"Mama?"
He sounded very disappointed as he was opening his eyes. Did he only just realise some terrible mistake?
Max was not just laughing, he was screaming. He was banging his forehead against the door, roaring. He noticed the boy's large black eyes and that he did not open his mouth as he spoke, but it was all too funny and Max could not stop himself.
Laughing, he told the boy his name and when the boy thanked him politely
- without opening his mouth, HA!HAHAHAHAHA! -
Max bent double with laughter.
6
Ana made a decision. She would disobey her uncle and go to the village earlier. Straight away? She looked at the open drawer - yes, this was another thing she had started doing, rummaging through somebody else's things. She was looking for an explanation but she found nothing. Maybe it was in the middle part of the cupboard, which was locked. There in the drawer lay only the reminders of her uncle's life, which was filled with a single hobby: medal collecting. He had filled a whole box with them and they came from all parts of the world.
OK, so what did that tell her? Nothing. Nothing. She felt that this was one of those decisions she had to carry out without a mistake. Should she go straight away, or wait for the hour her uncle had stated in his letter? The more she hesitated, the nearer that time would be and soon no decision would be necessary. She wanted to do what was best and therefore she turned to God. She started to pray but could not finish the prayer. God told her to wait. Or was it just his representatives, those who spoke about respecting one's elders and obeying orders? This was too much for her and she wished God had given her less free will.
To do nothing was doing something too and that was why she left without turning back.
*
The hand without a middle finger or a body, which was still holding the door handle on the inside of the shed, swayed gently.
*
Raf approached the shed and put his ear on the door. Silence. He began to open it very slowly and cautiously, just for an inch to begin with, just enough to have a look inside and then a bit more. There was nobody there. He noticed the collapsed back wall and the branches that had been trampled on.
He started to imagine Samo taking refuge in there and then noticing the back wall. The screams he had heard confirmed his theory but there was no body, which filled Raf with the hope that Samo had managed to escape.
Let's hope so, he said to himself and closed the door.
A strong hand covered his mouth, another held his arm. They pressed him against the body behind him. Raf tried to scream and free himself from the embrace but he could not.
"Don't scream, don't scream, I won't hurt you!" somebody hissed in his ear.
Slowly Raf calmed down. What else could he do?
"Are you calm?" continued the voice, "Don't shout, we've got to talk. You won't shout?"
Raf tried to nod.
The hands gripping him relaxed a bit in order to test him. Raf took some deep breaths and waited. The hands loosened their grip but did not move away.
A man who seemed familiar to Raf stepped in front of him. White hair sticking up rather funnily. This was the man who had met the girl who would not speak to him on the ferry.
"I won't harm you," the man said. "Let's hide by the side of the shed. We've got to talk."
Raf followed him without hesitation. The feeling that he was no longer alone in the middle of that night was incredibly pleasant. He would do anything to keep that feeling for as long as he could.
Thick tufts of dry grass from the year before grew along the wooden boards and the old man with white hair sat down and motioned to Raf to do the same.
"It's best if we're not very visible."
Raf leant on the wood with his back and slid down slowly right next to the old man.
"I'm Aco," he said.
"Raf."
They nodded to each other without shaking hands.
"What happened?"
Raf answered with a question:
"What are you doing here?"
"That's not important, just tell me what happened."
The man may have been old but he was undoubtedly strong, radiating a decisiveness which Raf could not ignore. It felt so good to let somebody else do all the thinking and agonizing. Maybe Max had worked that one out four years ago and that was why he had spent all his school life copying from Raf.
He quickly gave Aco a resume of what had happened: they were having a party when Alfonz suddenly went crazy and mutilated himself and then went on to attack the others.
Aco did not want to believe that that was all. He prodded and prodded until Raf managed to tell him all he could remember about Alfonz's visits to the cellar and his strange talk about a child who had asked him his name.
Raf was surprised to see the old man cover his eyes with his hands and start to tremble. Slowly and only just visibly at first and then the shaking got stronger and stronger. Even his hair stood up more and seemed to move.
Raf did not know what to do. Should he touch the old man, comfort him? He sat there silently and waited, constantly observing Aco.
Loud laughter came from the house. Perversely joyful and r
elaxed, a real contrast to the atmosphere of that night. Max, without a doubt. Letting them know in his own way that he was still alive.
Aco raised his head.
"What's that? Is there anybody left in the house?"
"Yes, I did think earlier that there was somebody on the first floor. That must be Max."
"There were four of you on the ferry: you're Raf, Alfonz has gone crazy, Max is laughing, what about the fourth one?"
"Samo. I don't know where he is. Alfonz was trying to get him, I could hear screams, I fear..."
The laughter stopped for just a second and then continued with renewed strength.
Aco looked towards the villa with trepidation.
"Let's go and see," he said.
"I'm sure it's Max."
"Yes, I'm sure it is. But he's not the one we're looking for. We're looking for the fifth person."
"The fifth? You yourself had said that there were four of us..."
"On the ferry! In the house there were five of you."
"Five?"
"There was that thing, whatever it is."
Raf moved away, looking at Aco with expectation.
"That thing?"
"The former child, I'll explain later. Let's go!"
Aco's impatience grew and he kept looking towards the source of the laughter, which would not subside.
Aco jumped up without leaning on anything. Raf tried to imitate him, but when the wood behind his back, which he tried to use for support, started creaking he decided to lean on the stone next to his left thigh, which he had noticed earlier.
He got up and went after Aco, who had already set off for the house. He wiped his left hand on his T-shirt. The stone must have been wet.
In the middle of the dry grass?
He looked at his palm and the dark stain on it.
Suddenly he did not want to go back and see what the stone next to him really was.
But he had to do it. With one long movement he leapt back, moved the tall tuft of grass and looked at the empty head which used to sit two rows behind him. He started choking, ran into the bushes to throw up and stepped into two piles of something he did not really want to recognise, but the moonlight winked back at him from the gouged-out eyes lying on a heap of flesh. He turned back, running up and down, vomiting.