Even the cockatoo was quiet and respectful of the eloquence with which Heitor recounted how the horned man had entered his mind on that fateful day in the Army’s secret laboratory. Durval swallowed hard. If what Heitor had said was true, then the horned creature that Botelho kept captive had the power to control human beings. But if it truly had the power to dominate people’s minds just by looking at them, then why hadn’t it controlled its captors? Why was it still trapped in a cage? Couldn’t it make the soldiers free it?
Heitor lit a cigar and released a long puff of smoke toward the ceiling of the room. The cockatoo made a dry cough sound and shook its head up and down. It seemed to dislike cigars.
— I tell you, my old Durval — said Heitor. — That day was the most terrifying of my life. I’m sure you’ve never had a monster inside your mind. In Wicca, he is called the Horned God. The Celts call him Cernunnos. He is even depicted in Paleolithic cave paintings found in French caves, where he is referred to as “Le Sorcière,” which means “The Sorcerer.” He is considered the guardian god of the entrance to Magic, of the woods, of the oak, and of the holly. He is the lord of the forests. They say he dies and returns from death.
— But if he is so powerful — said Durval, — and can dominate people’s thoughts, why the hell didn’t he force the soldiers to free him? Why didn’t he make someone simply open the cage?
— I don’t know. I’ve asked myself that several times. Maybe it has to do with those syringes with tranquilizer darts they injected into him. Maybe he couldn’t fully control people when he was drugged like that. Or maybe the soldiers dealing with the creature were forced to take some drug that made their minds not vulnerable. Maybe I was the only one defenseless against the creature’s mental attack. I really don’t know. But something happened after the beast entered my mind. Something even more terrifying.
Durval straightened up in the armchair.
— Right after he invaded my thoughts and dominated my soul, I began to glimpse his thoughts, Durval. It was as if I were inside that demon’s mind. I started to think what he was thinking. And more, I began to feel what he felt.
— And what did he feel and think?
— It’s hard to put into words, to describe, and I still can’t fully understand what I saw inside the beast that day. But there was one thing… — What kind of thing? Speak up, man!
— There was something… good inside him. I know it sounds incoherent, totally absurd. Maybe he was deceiving me, tricking me as only demons can do. But I felt that there was something good inside the monster.
Episode XLVII continues in the next edition.
JOSÉ GASPAR
Filmmaker and writer
www.historiasdooutromundo.com