Chapter 4. Nothing Is Truly Free
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"El, are you there?"
*Knock, knock, knock*
"Hey, are you there?"
*Knock, knock, knock*
"Hello… are you there?"
*Knock, knock, knock*
The knock and the call periodically resonated. El stayed in his spot, keeping his mouth shut while slowing down his breath. It was a hushed conundrum that left after.
That was, until…
*Knock, knock, knock*
"You there, aren't you?"
*Knock, knock, knock*
"Why don't you call me back?"
This time, there was a hint of impatient behind the tone. The knocks―the calls slowly went faster. And even faster.
*Knock, knock, knock*
"Why???"
*Knock, knock, knock*
"Why, why, why, why, why, why?
*Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, knock*
"ACCCCCCCKKKKKKKK!" The man's hurried voice changed into that of a shriek.
A shrill sound penetrated the door, filling the room with ear-splitting noise. So loud that El's eardrum rang and his head spun, compelling him to tightly cover his ears.
A moment later, stillness ensued. Quiet and tense, that seemed to swallow the air itself, made it heavy and hard to breathe. El's heart raced in his chest.
Then, out of nowhere, the same voice from outside the door was heard right next to El's ear, as if someone were sitting beside him on the bed, whispering directly beside his ear. He could even feel a bizarre cold mixed with hot air blowing against his cheek, accompanied by the stench of a rotting corpse.
"Why?" This time, the malice and hatred behind the words were clear, threatening to strike him at any moment. His heart felt like it was going to burst from his chest.
"Arrrgghhhhh…" El screamed, his eyes wide open as he jolted awake from the nightmare. Instinctively, he forced himself to sit, even though his sense of reality was still hazy.
El gasped for air, his chest heaving as he examined himself, still shuddering in horror from the experience. 'Was it… a dream?' The thought echoed in his mind, but the lingering fear in his body made him doubt it.
He pressed his palms against his forehead, one hand inadvertently covering an eye. A long sigh escaped him, heavy with unease.
The stress gnawed at him, but it wasn't long before his senses picked up something unusual—an unfamiliar presence beneath him.
Without hesitation, he jumped off the bed, landing with a loud thud on the cold floor. His wide eyes fixed on the spot where he'd been lying moments ago.
At first, the bed seemed untouched, the dim light revealing nothing out of the ordinary.
But then, as he stared longer, a shadow began to take shape—an ominous silhouette that morphed and shifted until it resembled a head rising up from the soft bedding, as though emerging from a murky, bottomless swamp.
The bald dome of the figure glistened, pale and damp, its surface grotesquely stitched in jagged lines.
Slowly, its sinister form pushed through, disturbing the bedding as it climbed upward. Finally, two glowing red eyes pierced the darkness, burning with a seething animosity so potent it sent a shiver down El's spine.
El jolted awake with a gasp, his body snapping upright as he escaped the nightmare.
His heart thundered in his chest, sweat plastering his shirt to his skin.
In a frantic panic, he leapt from the bed and nervously turned to face it. The spot where the horrific figure had emerged lay undisturbed this time, as if mocking him with its mundane stillness.
Holding his breath, El stood frozen, his senses heightened, sharp and alert to any trace of movement. His nerves tingled with the possibility of another terrifying encounter.
Seconds stretched unbearably into minutes—one, then two, then three.
Just when the tension finally began to dissolve, and El was about to exhale a relieved sigh, three knocks on the door made him jump on the spot.
*Knock. Knock. Knock.*
El jumped, the sound slicing through the fragile calm. His heart slammed against his ribs. He clutched his chest. "Bloody hell…" he muttered under his breath, the curse trailing into a shaky exhale.
"Boy, are you there? What's happened?" The voice on the other side of the door carried concern.
"Ah…" El's body stiffened as he recognized the familiar tone and sensation that came from it. it was… humane…
Its plainness came as a strange comfort for him.
Steeling himself, he rose to his feet and approached the door cautiously. Gripping the handle with trembling fingers, he mustered the courage to respond, "Is that you, sir?"
"Yes. What's happened? I heard noises coming from your room."
*Cklek.*
The door swung open, revealing the man standing in the hallway.
"What's happened, boy? You look like someone who's seen a ghost for the first time," the man said in a jest, his eyes flicking past El to scan the room's interior, though he remained oddly outside.
"Nothing, sir. Just a bad dream… Two, I guess," still trying to catch onto his uneven breaths, El shook his head. His face was pale. And sweat was soaking through his shirt.
"I see." The man nodded slowly. "Let me in, then. There's something I wanted to tell you…"
"… Alright…"
El stepped aside to let him enter.
The man crossed the threshold, and his eyes darted to the messy bedding before inexplicably drifting upward. His gaze fixed on the ceiling, unblinking, as he stood motionless for more than a minute.
"What's wrong, sir?" El's voice broke the silence, his own gaze following the man's.
The answer came not in words, but in revelation. El's eyes widened in shock as he spotted it—a massive claw mark gouged into the ceiling.
The jagged, sinister scar hadn't been there when he first woke up or earlier when he was about to fall asleep.
His stomach churned as he stared, unable to fathom what sort of animal could have left such a mark there. One thing was certain: whatever it was, it meant he was lucky to be alive.
A thought flickered through El's mind: if he were an ordinary human, he shouldn't have been able to see that. The dim glow of a single candle barely lit a fraction of the room, leaving everything else shrouded in shadows.
Yet, as he observed the man across from him, it became clear that he, too, could see it.
Though El's guard remained high—his instincts on edge from being so close to the man—he couldn't deny the fragile thread of trust that had begun to form. Spending just a day together had softened his initial wariness, though his rational mind refused to let its vigilance waver.
He still knew nothing of the man's true identity or origins, nor could he fathom why this stranger was willing to take care of an unknown boy like him.
More unsettling was how the man seemed to know about his memory loss—a secret shared by only a handful of villagers from his past home. The puzzle gnawed at him, and every unanswered question stacked higher and higher; a sharp reminder to tread carefully.
If this man were a danger, El would need to be ready—to fight, to flee, to survive. And if needed be, he would have to kill. To kill… someone like him.
Living in the village, all the caring adults had taught El and the other children the harsh truth from an early age: nothing in this world came without a price. They had no choice but to live their lives this way, as it was an ill fate that had brought them into the world during those disastrous times.
It was a bitter lesson, but in their desolate reality, it had saved lives. The knowledge had given him and another boy just enough caution to scrape through the relentless grip of starvation and conflict, surviving longer than anyone thought possible.
El took a steadying breath, resolving to keep this lesson close. Whatever the man had seen, whatever it might mean, El decided it was safer to play ignorant.
* * *
Feigning concern, El inquired, "What is the matter, sir? Is something wrong in there?"
"...Nothing," the man replied, his expression barely visible under the dim light of the candle. This was usually the case—if El had been a normal kid. But he wasn't. He could clearly see the man's grim eyes.
"I'm here to tell you something, kid. I'm leaving…"
"What? Leaving? Where?" El asked, feeling flustered. He never realized how much the man's presence could affect him in just a single day.
"I have some trouble at my job. I'll be leaving first thing in the morning."
El couldn't discern any other emotion from his tone, and the feeling he gave didn't make much sense to him. It was as if the man was in a hurry about something. 'Hurry for what exactly?' he didn't know.
"I see. Alright. Is it far?" El asked, concerned that the man had changed his mind after noticing the claw mark on the ceiling. It was a huge mark with three distinct lines, scratching the surface of the wood. El wondered if it had something to do with the man's sudden departure.
"Not really. I'll be away for maybe a day or two. The longest will be three days." As he spoke, the man reached into his pants pocket, which had a noticeable bulge. "Here is some money for you. It'll be enough for three days, even if you choose to splurge."
The man handed El a small pouch filled with silver coins―the basic monetary unit used throughout the Eschaton Empire. The coins, known as 'Riel,' were named after a plant called rye, also referred to as black wheat. El recognized the name from a few books he had read back in the village. It had a deep history within it.
"Remember this carefully, boy! Do not ever open the door, no matter who you hear from, except if it is from me. Hold on a second; we might need a code or password that only we know. Follow me!"
Taking the burning candle from a small white ceramic plate on the table, the man walked outside.
El stayed close behind him, perhaps a bit too close, as the man raised an eyebrow in confusion at El's proximity.
'I'm not scared. Just… a bit wary if something weird happens again,' El reasoned to himself, refusing to admit that he was scared.
They arrived in a small, dusty kitchen that seemed to have never been used for years. Drawing closer to one of the kitchen tables, the man approached a peculiar drawer. Its handle, oddly reminiscent of a bag lock, was oval-shaped, akin to an egg.
He twisted the handle nine times, the mechanism clicking softly with each rotation. With a deft motion, he pushed left twice and right four times until a satisfying click signaled that the handle had disengaged from the drawer's surface.
The man opened it by grasping the dent on top of the drawer. Leaning in, the candle flickered in the dim light, casting shadows that danced across the walls.
The man rummaged through the drawer, his fingers brushing past various objects until his hand finally stilled.
He withdrew a peculiar glass vial, its triangular shape catching the candlelight in sharp, angular reflections.
A small black wooden cork sealed its mouth. Within it, a viscous liquid swirled—a shade so dark it teetered between black and the deepest crimson. El squinted, unsure if it was the light playing tricks on his eyes or if the substance itself defied easy description.
The man held the vial up close, his gaze narrowing as he studied it with an intensity that bordered on pensive and dreary.
Then, with a sudden, almost careless motion, he gave the vial a few brisk shakes that were anything but gentle.
The liquid sloshed against the glass. And El's heart jumped into his throat, unease settling in as he sensed the danger of what the man had done.
A satisfied grin tugged at the corners of the man's lips. "Ah, this will do nicely," he murmured, his tone laced with quiet triumph and melancholy. Moreover, his manner of speaking was distinct from how he had talked before.
"What is it, sir?" El asked, curiosity piqued despite his apprehension.
"This is something that witches created to expel 'Creatures of the Darkness.' How is it? Are you curious?" the man playfully said, causing El's interest to grow beyond his comfort zone. The man's tone reverted to how he used to speak.
"Witches? So, they are real… I thought they were just fairytales passed around to scare children," El replied, feeling a mix of surrealism and mystification.
He recalled hearing about witches from the man who had kidnapped him, as well as from various books he had read. He had always thought the term 'witch' was just a metaphor used to describe someone behind their back.
"Oh, it's surprising for you to think like that. Anyway, let's get back to your bedroom!"
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