Durval was trapped inside his neighbor Heitor’s house.
He had spent the entire day at the home of the former army captain who years ago had infiltrated a military laboratory where Botelho, a longtime friend of Durval, was experimenting on a man with horns.
According to Heitor, these beings actually existed. They were described in various cultures around the world. Some called him God Cornifer, others Cernunnos. They were depicted in Paleolithic cave paintings, and some even said they could return from the dead. The Phoenicians worshiped them in the form of Baal-Moloch, who was considered a violent god. According to the Old Testament of the Bible, in the rituals of worship to Baal, they burned children alive.
Moreover, Heitor had told Durval that these creatures could dominate the minds of humans. After all, they had dominated the Phoenicians and the Canaanites who were willing to sacrifice their own children in honor of that god.
Durval was immersed in all these images, and being trapped inside the house had only worsened his state of mind. It was already night, and he was worried about Dolores being home alone. He wanted to get out of there and return home. Where could Heitor and Melinda have gone? They had left the room looking for the cigar box and hadn’t returned. Were they playing a trick on him? Or was this game much more sordid than a bad joke played on a man over 70 years old?
He had thought about leaving through the back door of the house and hoping that the street gate wasn’t locked. But on his slow journey to the back of the house, with the cane supporting his casted leg, he ended up getting distracted by the room where Heitor had a library crammed with books. On the desk in the center of the room, right beneath the light of the English banker-style lamp, next to the open cigar box, was the skull with horns. Probably the same one Heitor had shown him moments before.
Durval had finally been able to look closely at that extraordinary skull. It was hypnotic and seemed to look back at him. Sharp teeth, prominent eye sockets. No one would look at that skull trivially. There was something there, a power that Durval couldn’t define, something far greater than a mere discomfort. It was not pleasant to stare at that thing. And the horns. Durval placed his finger right at the tip of one of them. If he pressed with any force, it would pierce his finger, so sharp was the bone.
Then Durval heard the doorbell ringing repeatedly. It rang and rang again, as if someone were desperate outside. Was the house on fire and the person trying to alert whoever was inside to get out urgently or risk burning to death?
Durval left the horned skull on the desk, took the cane, and set off back along the long and painful journey down the hallway of the house. The doorbell continued to ring irritatingly, insistently. Ding-dong! Ding-dong! Someone was desperate.
Episode LIV continues in the next edition.
JOSÉ GASPAR
Writer, trader, and collector of strange words
www.historiasdooutromundo.com
www.josegaspartrader.com