Page 27 of Souls We Rip

I sealed the paper made of linen rags, gifted to me by my master. They were said to be the most durable papers on Earth. And I needed the best for this.

For years, I’ve been dreaming of living the life of a human again. To breathe the fresh air of the fields and the salty air of the sea. To walk without being punished or wearing a goat skull that had the stench of death.

To have a life of my own without wearing my punishment on my face.

To be the man I once was.

My pulse quickened at the memory of my siblings, lying dead at my feet, their blood painting my skin. I only remembered my sister’s face, her young body contorted and disfigured, a gruesome image. I will keep it in my mind forever, a haunting picture to be my companion.

My mum and father were long forgotten. Sometimes, I thought that my siblings and I grew out of thin air and dirt. There were no moments of loving hands embracing me when I would fall or smiles which could warm one’s heart.

The sole memory which impacted me the most was that of me, with a scythe in hand, standing in the middle of a porch with my siblings, bleeding to death.

I was evil. Evil was me.

The red wax from the stamp, moulded with my crest, the powerful goat horns. A symbol which was my definition.

Although I was not eaten by the wolves.

I was devouring them.

I placed the paper precisely on my black cloak, which lay on my bed, so I would not forget it for our early meeting.

The longcase clock let me know I only had two hours until my fate would be in the hands of a young peasant.

Taking the skull mask I always wore when deeds were due, I glanced at my white eyes.

Someday, they would be filled with colours other than blue again. Someday, I might laugh again. Perhaps, even enjoy the sun as it should be enjoyed.

And someday, I might even love again.

Ana

I turned and turned on my cold bed, missing the warmth and love from my home.

I wished for my mum’s warm embrace, Angelica’s voice and laughter, the way both made my heart feel full between the walls of our house.

I longed for my mum’s food, fried eggs in pig’s fat, with fresh homemade bread and the juiciest fruits that we grew ourselves. And her cakes… The sweet taste of buttercream and whipped cream made from sour cream brought back childhood memories.

Tears flowed down my cheeks, the thought of burdening my family with misfortune never leaving my mind.

The church had always been my sanctuary, a place where myrrh and silence drowned out my father’s fury. I missed the walls that illustrated the twelve Apostles, their vibrant garments deep-rooted in my mind, with their golden halo mirroring a crown.

Every Saturday, after finishing our daily tasks, Angelica and I would attend evensong, where the dead would be mentioned. It was a short sermon, but it acted as an Unction service. We would bring our wicker baskets, filled with oil, bread and old clothes. The priest would dangle his thurible, filled with incense, its scent clinging to all our garments.

“Come, human, the overlord awaits you,” the ghost said from the threshold of my room, extinguishing the candles one by one. His shaky voice drove away my thoughts.

He took a tentative step inside the room, taking a candle from its holder, which was floating rather than being held.

“How did you come to serve the Goat Man?” I asked, standing up from the bed.

“Why do you care?” His figure bobbed, his translucent eyes roaming over the room. “You’re a means to an end anyway.”

“What?” I said, coming next to him.

“You’ll find out pretty soon.” His voice was enigmatic, as if he held the secrets to this world. Sniffing, he turned away. “You need to bathe! You reek, woman!”

I forgot about his master’s order, bathing not being one of my priorities. I wanted to stay and cry for eternity if possible.