The Goat Man
“Know your victim before condemning them to torment.”
And that was the reason why I was still watching the human’s life.
Right before my eyes, through the Souls’ Mirror, the human was getting out of church, after she had taken the holy bread from the priest. She was walking with her mother, as her sister was bedridden.
I saw them praying in church, during the service, kissing icons, mixing germs. It was a good thing that I was eternal and not touched by mundane diseases.
Her mother walked before her, tears shining on her face. The peasant remained behind, taking one piece of bread from a napkin and eating it. It was said that the stomach needed to be empty for that bread to help your mind and body.
The woman fed a stray cat with the rest of the pieces, petting it as the animal ate.
How would a woman who gave abandoned animals food rip ten souls?
My attention was snagged by the sound of footsteps outside my chamber. I tapped once on the Souls’ Mirror, my reflection leering right at me.
I heard the peasant breathing, cutting through the silence.
“Curiosity killed the cat, peasant!”
My fingers grazed the surface of the glass, and it showed me her.
The woman was standing, glued to the wall. Stone must have breached her skin from how hard she pushed herself against it.
“If you want to ask questions, inim?, you will have to wait your turn.”
‘Inim?’. Heart. Why would I call her that?
Shaking my head, I closed my eyes.
Before and after I took her, I tried to rake my mind on how to lay this plan I had at her feet. It would not be easy to accept, especially for someone who hasn’t hurt a fly in her life.
Therefore, there was only one option: to force her into it.
When I got the idea to take her as my replacement, I searched through her life in the Souls’ Mirror. As I did then, I was doing it now.
She held her head down whenever her mother or father would chastise her. Always praying for the salvation of their souls, as if his could have any redemption. The thought of it made me snort.
On the other hand, her mother was not evil. She was just a mother who, instead of the palm, used words. Gentle words to stray her daughters from evil.
I don’t remember mine, or even if I had a mother in the first place.
Not wanting to delve into my past, I concentrated on the woman from the opposite side of the wall.
The human’s heat was palpable through the air. I watched as her cheeks turned rosy, her chest panting, and her knees shaking. My blood started boiling, and I cast a shameless thought aside.
We, eternals, never had impure sentiments about humans. We found them impractical. Filled with emotions which could not be closed in a trunk and forgotten. There was nothing simple about them when it came to grief, sadness or even love. The latter was the most dangerous of all.
Love could make one sacrifice oneself for others who do not deserve even one’s glance.
Her breathing made my jaw clench. “If you won’t start talking, you can go on your merry way!” I whispered, fully aware that she would hear me.
My voice could travel miles away, if that was my intention, a perk I gained when I became the Goat Man.
Her gasp reached my ear, my pulse thumping.
I relieved myself of my breeches and shirt, sending them onto my bed. Grabbing my robe, I turned back to the Souls’ Mirror.
It became my sanctuary, a breath of fresh air after a day filled with anguish. It was my only friend, loyal to my beliefs.
The image of the woman was still on the glass.
It seemed as though she was trying to crawl up the wall out of fear.
The sleeves of her dress, usually flowing, were dampened from the humid air.
The hair was stuck between the fabric and the stone, a few strands of it cascading around her tormented face.
At once, her head straightened. Her icy eyes turned harder, as though she was looking right into my eyes. Her full lips began to form words, and I had to shamefully admit that I had no idea what she was saying.
“There is no room for chanting or praying here, human,” I laughed, watching as her cheeks turned redder. “So, speak your mind and go away!”
I had no time to dwell on words meant for a god.
Mesmerised, I watched as her veins pulsed with sudden movements and listened to her whispered question.
“You are in my lair,” I replied with a flat voice, checking out the neatly arranged cloaks from the small dresser. I knew that the ghost had arranged my clothes as best as he could. I also knew that the kitchen was a mess.
That day was a good one. Therefore, I took out a crimson cloak and draped it over my shoulders. The velvet touched my naked skin, the softness bringing me comfort.
I heard the woman scoffing. “I gathered that, Goat Man! I meant, where are we on a map?”
Oh, the beauty has thorns.
A smirk pulled at my lips as I shouted. “And I said, in MY LAIR!” This was the second time I didn’t find myself disgusted by her looks.
What turned my stomach upside down was the prayer she was whispering. Our Father.
Containing myself from shaking her into sense, I rolled my eyes. “There’s no ‘Our Father’, and if I remember, yours is trying now to eat with his left hand!” I roared.
This was pointless.
As I admired the craft of the cloak, her voice got closer.
“I heard that! I am not deaf!”
She must’ve been just around the corner. Her sudden boldness intrigued me.
I had to tread carefully around her, so she wouldn’t slip away. If I gave too many details, I highly doubted she would register the information.
From what I had gathered in my previous studies of Lazarov’s family, Ana was smart and resilient, being schooled by the local teacher in private, on matters such as Literature and Mathematics.
Who knew peasants had access to education in this forgotten village at the edge of Romania?
“Why am I still alive?” she asked, her hand touching the stone next to the hole in my wall.
Despite all the physical labour she had to do in her life, she had the most delicate hands I had ever laid my eyes on.
And I have seen my share of hands. Some tried to strangle me, some tried to stab me, but nothing stood between my purpose and them.
Shaking my head, my dark hair wet from the humidity, I watched the grandfather clock from the opposite wall. Three hundred and sixty-four days to bring ten souls.
Taking a deep breath and inhaling the persistent smell of wax, I replied. “Meet me at dawn in the meadow. The boy will show you the way.”
I heard her hand grazing the wall, the sound mesmerising. Raspy whimpers came from her neck, her ears reddening.
“Oh, and peasant?” I said, watching my growing moustache in the mirror.
“Yes?” she breathed, her hair brushing the stones lightly.
“Bathe. You stink of cows, and I hate them.”
She stomped her feet, breaking the skin in the process, and went to her chamber.
I was proud of the final draft of my contract. If it was not respected, then her whole family would add up to my eternity.
That should convince her.
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.