The Heir Of Sargas

HALLOWEEN-2

The shouts and noises that previously came from the streets had now ceased completely and the cemetery was immersed in an unreal, almost palpable silence. The darkness had become, if possible, even more impenetrable. It seemed that the light of the streetlamps struggled to enter through the barriers of the fence, as if it had foreseen a terrible danger lurking and wanted to keep away from it.

Willy reached out a hand to his side in search of Derek, but only grabbed the void. With his heart in his throat, he looked at the empty place where his friend had been sitting before. He made a complete turn on himself, sharpening his sight, as far as the black that surrounded him allowed, in all directions. Nothing to do, Derek was nowhere to be found. He’d ditched him, alone in a dark graveyard.

Suddenly a cold, sweaty hand gripped Willy's shoulder. Gathering all his courage, the boy found the strength to turn and face his assailant.

A face as pale as a ghost with long fangs dripping blood looked at him with fierce and ravenous eyes.

"Aaahhh!" The cry came out of his mouth without being able to restrain himself, as he fell backwards and painfully hit his head against a tombstone.

An amused chuckle burst from the monster's mouth. But come, monsters don't laugh like that. And in fact, ...

"Derek!" exclaimed Willy in a rage but could not hide his relief.

"Do you like my mask?" he asked, putting it in his face and continuing to sneer with gusto.

Willy stood up and as he did, so he tightened the laces of his shoes to hide the blush that had spread to his cheeks and neck.

"You had to see your face," laughed Derek. "You were really terrified."

“I didn't get scared,” Willy lied, feeling more and more stupid. That mask was the same one that Derek wore in the crowded streets; how could he not notice it?

As Derek continued to tease him, a blue and white fire appeared a few gravestones below. Willy's face suddenly faded, but in the midst of all that darkness Derek didn't notice.

Willy pointed a trembling index finger over his friend's shoulders. "Derek..." Whispered. "Turn around."

Derek didn’t take it seriously. "You’re a good actor," granted, "but I’m not falling for it. I know you want to get your revenge back."

"No, Derek, turn around..." Willy insisted.

Derek finally decided to turn around and the mocking smile he had printed on his face vanished to be replaced by a grimace of horror. In front of them, suspended a few spans from the ground, with the diaphanous blue and white body, there was...

"The cemetery dog!" shouted Derek in a choked voice.

Forcing his unsteady legs, Willy ran behind Derek, down the hill, over the expanse of gravestones and... His foot got stuck in a root protruding from the ground and fell into the pit he had seen before.

In pain, with scraped knees and his hands and face soiled with dirt, he propped himself up on his elbows and found himself looking past an opening dug into the earth, where a long tunnel went deep into the meanders of the hill. At that sight, Willy felt a flame light up in his chest and give him strength and confidence. That was his only hope of escaping the ghost, he would never have time to get out of the grave and out of the graveyard before the dog got him. So, without thinking that he was desecrating a tomb, almost holding his breath for fear of being discovered, he crawled on all fours to the mouth. He let himself slip inside and still trembling he pulled himself to his feet.

A series of lanterns with dim bluish light hung on both smooth, well-polished walls. The low ceiling was supported by large, chipped wooden beams, so rotten and moldy because of the humidity that reigned supreme there, that Willy feared that everything could collapse at any moment. He took a few steps forward and discovered that the tunnel, after a first sharp bend to the right, descended gently and then curved again and changed direction. An icy wind accompanied by a slight whisper came from that side and Willy felt the hair stand on end on the back of his neck, impossible to tell whether from the cold or from fear of what might be hidden there.

For a few moments he stood where he was, watching as if hypnotized as his own shadow tossed and wriggled as if trying to free itself from the body to which it was bound. Finally, he decided; Better to go outside and face the ghost than to go into that unknown place. So, he turned around, but before he could do anything else, a loud crack! It resounded on the bare walls and a ceiling beam broke.

Willy jumped back just in time. In his haste to retreat he stumbled and fell, his eyes glued to the scene in front of him. Once the cloud of dust cleared, he found himself staring in horror at the mass of wood, rocks and earth that blocked the entrance to the tomb.

With his mind emptied of any thought but a dull rejection of the sad and inescapable reality, with his heart still throbbing with fright, aware that only by mere luck he had escaped a terrible danger, he sat watching what would never have happened if he had not had the audacity to go inside.

Stupid, a small voice whispered in his head. What came to your mind? Why did you enter?

It's useless to cry over spilled milk, by now what's done is done.

With this last sentence, Willy stood up and resolutely turned his back on the collapsed entrance. Now his only hope was that this tunnel would lead him out, or else…otherwise he would be buried alive. At this thought, his skin crawled.

He clenched his fists hard to instill courage and ventured into the gloomy, icy depths of the Earth. As he went along, at each turn the tunnel narrowed and took him lower and lower. The cold, if possible, intensified and penetrated his bones like so many sharp splinters. Fifty steps, a hundred... When he got to two hundred, he got confused and lost count.

How much longer would he go down? Would he ever make it out of that grave alive?

The silence was so intense that it pressed him from all sides. The air was suffocating though frozen; his breath caught in his throat, and he struggled to get out. His head was spinning, and cold sweats were running down his forehead. He couldn't tell how far he walked. It could have been just a few minutes, but it seemed like an eternity to him. He continued with folded arms to build up heat and grainy, thin threads of condensation came out of his mouth that shone pearly in the dim light of the lanterns.

Finally, to top it all off, fear clouded his mind: he was alone, alone underground, in a tomb, from which perhaps he would never have come out. No one knew where he was, and no one would go looking for him.

It was in this state of mind that he reached the end of the tunnel, a cave so immense it could contain an entire city. Amazed, he looked at the beach, all pebbles and mud, lapped by the still and black waters of a lake that was lost in the distance in a dark mist, unable of the light to illuminate it. A rowboat was moored nearby, its immaculate, polished wood gleaming with a pearly halo.

Inexplicably, Willy felt drawn to the boat, as if he had found a long-lost friend. He wanted to get closer and examine it, touch it, climb it and sail into the unknown. His legs automatically moved forward, guided by an alien will. He almost did not notice the icy water in contact with his knees as he bent down and gently touched the edge of the boat, hard to the touch like steel and at the same time soft and sinuous as water. For a moment he lingered. Strong was the desire to set sail and explore that unknown lake full of mysteries, but just as strong was a little voice that screamed in fear in his head. And while he was there, torn between staying and taking risks, a strong light came to his aid. It came from a side cave to his left. Then he walked away from the boat and headed in that direction with a strange feeling of oppression and at the same time relief. He crossed the stone arch where figures and symbols eroded by time were engraved. Only two words were clearly legible: Memento Mori. Willy`s lips mutely spelled the translation of those words:” Remember to die.” Feeling a bitter mouth, he entered a relatively large room, with a round table in the center. Next to the walls, on five marble pedestals, five pumpkin heads scrutinized him menacingly. A flame burned behind their roughly carved eyes and mouths, as the usual Halloween usage. Around the table were arranged seven chairs with a high and rigid back and on all were carved names and dates. Willy shuddered: they looked like tombstones. On a silver throne sat a young boy, in his twenties, his face pale and proud, lit by the light of his eyes of an intense blue-ice. Soft, soft golden curls fell apart on his forehead and shoulders covered by a heavy black tunic.

” And so, you decided not to continue. You have shown remarkable courage.” He spoke in a calm, detached voice. He didn't seem intent on hurting him, yet Willy couldn`t stop himself from feeling fear.” Who are you? What is this place?” he asked. The boy pierced him with his clear eyes and so intense was his gaze that it penetrated his soul, probing his heart and mind. Willy remained stationary on the spot, unable to speak, let alone escape. Finally, after long moments of silence, the mysterious boy said:'' The tunnel you have walked is the road that sooner or later everyone will have to take. No one knows what is on the other side of the lake, because of all those who left not one has returned.” So that boat would take me to the Realm of the Dead?” asked Willy in a small voice.” Yes. Not everyone has your courage, not everyone pulls back.” I`m not dead,'' Willy protested.” This is a transition zone, here you are neither alive nor dead. If you choose to die, go ahead, but if you choose to stay you will only be partially alive.” What do you mean?” The other did not seem to pay attention to his words and changed the subject:'' I was a prince once. Well, before I was covered with mounds of earth and my name fell into oblivion. I ruled over a vast territory, but I wanted my power, my superiority, to be recognized by everyone. There was only one solution to that problem, kill everyone and be the only survivor.``

"If you kill everyone, no one will be able to recognize you as an absolute master, right?" reasoned Willy, shrewdly.

The boy's stiff face stretched out in a cold smile. "I had thought about this too. So it was that on the night of the thirty-first of October about seven hundred years ago I held a great banquet. The room was set up as you see now, and the guests of honor were the prefects of the seven provinces of my realm.

“Dinner was not served right away. We talked for a long time about death and as we went on with this subject my guests became more taciturn and restless. I found myself alone speaking, while they, unable to get up and run away, listened to me with increasing anguish.