Page 69 of Souls We Rip

Thinking about it, I have not heard from the Goat Man for a while.

From the moment I returned, stained by the two people’s blood, we have not uttered a word to each other. The silence between us was slicing my skin. But there was no way God would allow me to cross the Gates of Heaven when I was still talking about the Goat Man.

Even though I was more affected by him than when I was human with a beating heart.

Odd sensation to not have a heart. And somehow, the feelings remained, crawling the walls of my own skull, trying to break loose.

My fingers drifted over the walls, the stone not hurting me anymore. It was either that I got used to the feeling or my skin was thicker than before. The candles burned low, wax weeping onto the stone.

I held my breath as I got out of the cave, my pulse quickening. My naked feet touched the smooth grass. Blinking, I adjusted to the pool of light from outside, eyes shifting to my family’s house.

Until then, I didn’t notice how clear it could be seen from the cave.

The stallion came to me, nuzzling my hair, as if it knew where I wanted to go. Its dark coat shone in the sunrays, its fangs ready to slash.

“Hello, boy,” I said, touching its coat. “This I must face alone. I promise, we will ride in the morning, but I need to see them.”

I gulped the humid air and took a step towards my family.

The green needle-covered ground was hard underneath my feet, a path forming in front of me. The neighing of the stallion sounded as a warning, but my ears did not want to register its cry.

My eyes darted left to right, the thought that I should not go further circling in my head.

Ignoring it, I advanced, the tall weeds tickling my fingertips.

And then I pushed off my legs towards my family, the sensation of my blood rushing through my veins exhilarating.

Not minding the song of the birds or the howls of the wolves, I reached the middle of the forest. I looked behind, but no one stood at the entrance of the cave. Hope raised in my heart that I could see my family once more. That I could feel the embrace of my mum and see the loving smile of Angelica. Maybe I could see her as a bride.

The pure veil, covering her cherub face, her doe eyes shining from the tears and the cream-pale dress hugging her lean figure.

My hand rested on a trunk, my breath calming as joyful birds flew to the clearing of the deep forest. Like them, I wanted to fly, but my arms and legs stayed put.

Again, I looked behind me. It felt as if I betrayed them.

But that couldn’t be right. I grew fond of Andrei and the stallion. It was easier with them. With them, my pulse didn’t threaten to break my veins. From them, my thoughts weren’t clouded.

Making up my mind, I stepped forward.

From my ears, blood streamed over my cheeks and down my jaw. I followed with my eyes the drip-drip of the thick, crimson liquid, as it created a puddle around my feet.

The excruciating pain hit afterwards.

Burning ache started from my insides, flaming my entrails.

My scream splintered the trees, cracking branches like bone, wood floating by my face. My eyes closed, instinct kicking in.

My hands felt numb, as if all the blood from my body had travelled there. My feet swished around, taking a single step. But my mind slowly shut. The last image I had was of my sister running on a green hill, followed by Gavril and one other man. A man with the scent of old books and wax.

“Ana.” The man was calling my name. “Please let me hear your harsh words again. Please.” His voice broke on the last word, as if I were his anchor in this life.

My eyes opened to blue swirls. The Goat Man stood over me, a look of concern passing through his eyes.

“What happened?” I muttered, my voice a raw whisper from the pain. My senses slowly came back as he carried me to his lair.

The last thing I remembered before closing my eyes again was the sunrays between the fir’s needles.

Later, I tried standing up; however, there were too many blankets made of wool on my body. They scratched my skin to the point of bleeding. With my mind, I hurled them away, trying to control the urge to put my fingers to the wounds.