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It was a late night in the early days of autumn when I arrived in the town. A deep fog shrouded everything. Life was in suspense: empty streets, curtained windows, and not a single sound could be heard as I made my way to my destination. A one-story building with a green roof, I felt attracted to it. There was nothing special about the house itself; no, its inhabitant was the one of my interest.
When I approached the door, a boy opened it to me. He was a fine example of the modern youth: long blond hair, slightly squinting prominent blue eyes, his face bore an overall tired expression. He wore a shabby green cardigan, which sat tightly on the slender frame of his body. Yet there was more to his demeanor than regular tiredness.
I believe I never stated the reason for my visit. Well, Basil — that was the name of the young man — stated that he needed someone to look over the house. He said that even though he rarely left the place, it needed someone more than him to keep it from falling apart, whatever that was supposed to mean. There was also another request: he wanted me to look after him and prevent the harmful behaviors he might engage in. So in the end, I was a housekeeper or a caretaker of sorts. He never insisted on me doing the chores or any work at all; actually, he just wanted me to be there.
It may appear Basil's state was a morbid one, but I can assure that all of this was just a result of some rather unfortunate events that took place in his past, and he was getting better by the day under my oversight.
I've been by him for some over eight months, and in that time, I was a witness to the most beautiful sides of this man. Basil, in the breaks between the stories he told me en masse, created the most beautiful pieces of art; they were landscapes for the most part. I believe there was some connection between him and nature; it was more profound than that of any famous naturalist. And his stories, yes, maybe not quite of the literary genius, still conveyed the misery and cruelty of the human kind. It was obvious that he had experience in suffering, and absolutely some of the stories were of his own life.
One of the tales was about a girl who lived with her grandma in their house on the outskirts of the town. No one loved the girl, yet she lived on. All of her friends had left her years ago, and when she seldom met them on the streets, not a single glance was bestowed upon her. The story ended happily, with the girl finding a friend — a shadow from her dreams, which through girl's immense will made it into reality.
Surely all of this, but the last part, was true for Basil: an empty room in his house, which he tended to carefully nonetheless, was suited for an old person. His way of life and the way he got excited while telling me his stories clearly weren't like someone who never had friends. On the contrary, there was some kind of nostalgia in him at those moments.
Another time, Basil told me about a boy and his maid. In their castle on the high ridge they spent their time together. During his early days, the boy was exiled from the kingdom by his father. When the boy turned eighteen, his father sent knights to take away the maid. So, the boy was left alone in his castle on the high ridge. Unable to leave his home or make any contact with the outside, the boy turned to studying dark magic, demonology. He believed that by accumulating great strength, he could prove his father wrong. Unfortunately, during one of the rituals, boy went too far, summoning the demon of the endless night, who was far beyond boy's control or even comprehension. In the end, all that was left of the world was the castle on the high ridge, and there was no one to see if the boy was there.
A maid, a housekeeper to save his house from falling apart. I understood that Basil previously had someone to keep him company, but, by some turn of events, this person left the house. I suppose this was the reason he welcomed me in the first place.
Not all of the stories were so vast and bore resemblance to him. One of the topics that was present in quite a few of his tales was of some monster. This creature, commonly presented as a formless blob full of jagged teeth and with one eye, stalked the medieval villages, fictional magic towns and sometimes cities of the modern world. It was unstoppable, inescapable once it coiled around its victim. The monster fed and grew bigger; sometimes, in the stories, it engulfed planets or worlds entirely. A grim ending was always prepared for anyone who fell under its scorching gaze. As he told me: once upon a time there lived a young boy who loved to stroll through the forest near his hometown. It was a particularly foggy night, but it didn't stop the boy from going out anyway. During his walk, the creature attacked, it wasn't really big (in this story), so boy was able to get home with it around him. He struggled for his life, not letting the monster take over him. The boy fought, never giving up, and one day a miracle happened — on the day boy came of age, the crushing grasp on him lifted, the creature dissolved into shadows, leaving his house. But even though it was defeated, occasional shadows still watched boy's every move with their hellish gaze.
A brilliant mind Basil possessed; his ideas were so thorough that they, it appeared, followed him everywhere, even into his dreams. As I observed him sleep, and sleep he did a lot, there was always a disturbance on his face. He often woke up, and seeing nothing around, went back to sleep. His anxious habits vented further: he tended to look behind him while walking between the rooms of the house.
As time passed, Basil started to go out less. I noticed that he, except for the rare occasions, would come back in a rather hurried manner. Time outside clearly wasn't great for him, and he knew it too: first, he changed to evening walks, then he asked me to accompany him. And I was pleased with such confiding.
So came our first trip outside.
Basil slowly walked along the sidewalk, the evening's usual chill didn't bother him. Closely behind him, I followed. As we passed the second crossing, he briefly turned his head to the left.
Memories never were a safe topic for him, to that conclusion I came numerous times during our life together.
Basil looked away, his arm was to his head. I got closer; almost no distance were between us. We continued our way towards the park.
When we got there, Basil went through the gap in the trees.
A vast open space with the lake in the middle, a perfect place for someone who wants to clear their mind. Water reflecting the moonlight, occasional shuddering of the tree branches breaking the silence. It was a beautiful place to stay in. As for me, I find such places annoying.
Basil sat on the pier, his boots barely touching the water. I stood across from him, on the other side of the lake, watching his every move. That's my responsibility after all.
He looked at the reflection; his eyes were clear, his facial expression eased. In such moments, and only in such moments, one can understand the matter of reality. Basil's eyes trailed upwards. A moment passed. He covered his face with both hands. He saw something he didn't like.
Basil made his way home, or at least I suppose so. For at that day I had no strength to follow.
****
It was an ordinary day like any other. Basil had lived through hundreds of them, thousands even. One after another they followed, but their repetitiveness long since has stopped troubling him. Yet there was one thing that was fundamentally different.
Basil sat in a chair in his living room, like he did every day. For the longest time in his life, the past had let go of him. He was used to escaping, to hiding from what he has done. It was everywhere; it didn't matter where he went, it always was there. In the alleys, in the trees outside, even in the cracks of the pavement. Basil was used to living in fear. But now... It was just gone.
Last time he remembered seeing his something, as he called it, was a few weeks ago. Basil vaguely remembered that day: putting his jacket on and going to the hangout spot. On the way there, he didn't raise his eyes, not wishing to risk seeing something. But as he passed the place which some long time ago he adored, he slipped. One glance was enough for black tendrils to start moving, trying to surround him. That wasn't new for Basil; in fact, it happened quite often. Usually, he would just run home and wait for something to relent; that time it went differently.
He was ready to turn around, but suddenly the tendrils disappeared. It was like they were pulled away, but it happened so fast he didn't realize where they went. A sharp pain pierced Basil's head. He wanted to sit down, but his legs carried him forward.
The hangout spot was the place he could rest at. It was the only place where something never dared to go. The tranquil scenery of the lake always brought peace to his mind.
Basil remembered settling down near the water, but after, all was just a blur.
Basil felt the wrongness in all of this. He thought about this day a lot, trying to recollect the memory of those last moments. The answer was close, but Basil couldn't get a grasp on it.
Basil went to his room; it was getting dark. Then he turned around and questioned into the darkness of the doorway. "Tell me, who are you really?".
****
A figure stepped into the room.
His whole life Basil feared looking into people's faces. The look of judgment was more frightful for him then death. So he never paid attention to the overall appearance of his companion. Now he regretted it.
A drawling voice made Basil shiver. "Oh, why of course, I am your friend, whom you asked to look after yourself".
It took a while for Basil to answer. "I appreciate all you did for me...". Those words sounded unconfident. "But it has been almost a year since we first met, and I still don't know anything about you".
Immediately, a response followed. "Does it matter? You have so much to say, and it would be a crime to obstruct your beautiful voice with such meager things as my origin". There was so much flattery it these words, but they still felt so cold.
Basil was starting to get nervous. "I told you all I had. No other knows so much about me as you do now. You always listened, never judged me. You told me all the compliments of the world, you call yourself my friend". Basil took a deep breath. "I want it to stay like this, I want to believe that everything just works and leave it as it is. But... We both know... That our story together started many years ago".
"Years?". The question was asked in such a tone; this voice never before doubted anything. "You overworked yourself again? Started a new painting? I shouldn't be bothering you then".
Basil found courage in himself to prevent the figure from leaving the room. "I ran from this for long enough. I don't wish to run any longer. Your pretence was perfect, but this perfection is exactly what didn't let me fully give in. That day at the hangout spot, you never thought I would look up, genuinely, neither did I". Basil was gasping for air, breathing heavily. "I saw it all, I remember now. How you held those tendrils in your arms, how they moved around you. You looked at them like at something you have forgotten". Basil felt his strength leaving, he could collapse at any moment. "One last time I ask, who are you?!".
Basil was finally able to see its face. Warped smile of dozens irregular teeth. White eyes with small dots for pupils, they ran around: looking at the floor, at Basil, at the ceiling, then at Basil again. The figure wavered; was it a simple vision distortion, or was it something else?
Its voice jittered: jumping in pitches, periodically doubling. "I... I... A friendly shadow from your dream? An all-mighty demon? No... Am I... No!". Those last words were a word of defiance, but the truth was already out. Its face started to melt, mouth — transform into a gaping jaw. The silhouette has collapsed on itself. "Am I... The monster...". It sounded pitiful. "Am I... Your tormentor... The absolute worst nightmare?".
The transformation was complete. The being latched onto the walls of the room. It slowly crept towards Basil.
Basil remembered it well; he could probably draw it with his eyes closed. Its smell also — like the aftermath of the morning rain. But the scene was incomplete; something was missing in Basil himself. There was no fear. He was nervous, yes. But it wasn't the creature that troubled him, it was the realization that something was going to come to its end.
A voice echoed across the entire house. "Is that's what I am? Or... always was?". It sounded emotionless; this form wasn't capable of expressing any. "I suppose some things can't change. They always stay the same, though can appear different. It was foolish of me to think that you were getting better with me". It gave out a hiss; it could be interpreted as a sigh, since something didn't actually have a nose or lungs at that. "Thinking... Am I even capable of that? I can't claim that I am. After all I did to you. After ignorantly pretending to be... all of that. What's left for me? No shift is possible for me. I suppose... I'm only good at one thing". Monstrous shadows trailed the floor, they stopped at Basil's feet.
Basil didn't back down. "Then why did you stop? Finish it if you claim it to be your only purpose". Now shadows spread out to the walls, yet they still hadn't touched Basil. "Developing a consciousness, not enough of a change for you? How come that we speak now? The monster I know wouldn't hesitate". He would never run again, even if it meant dying right here.
After a short pause, a reply reached Basil's ears. "Consciousness... Just a word. No word can change what I am. That's my ugly truth. And your one? Why wouldn't you run away like always?".
Basil shook his head. "Words can't do shit, I have heard enough of them in my life: both good and bad. But actions can; one reckless move can shatter countless lives, bring fear to numerous minds. We both know that actions define everything". Basil's brows furrowed. "Then act god damn it! Torture me, kill me, whatever! But I won't budge an inch. I have already made up my mind".
Shadows moved back. Something started to shrink. "You have lost your mind. Do you even understand what is happening? This isn't a dream, this isn't a story. Your life is hanging by a thread, and that thread is in my hands".
"Then cut it... You can't. Can you?". Basil chuckled a little. "How does it feel? Not controlling your own actions. Imagine living all life like this". Basil took a step forward.
"What's all of this? What is that... sensation?". Something went back to its human-like form. "My hands... they're moving on their own. I... I can't stand firmly". Its figure trembled, trying to move back. "What have you done to me?!".
Basil reached out, grabbing the black shoulder. "You produced it so much, yet you don't know how it feels? You're afraid". Basil put his other hand against something's cheek. "Look at me. It is natural for a person to feel fear. It is one of the fundamental feelings".
Quiet words left its mouth. "Fear? Person? But... I can't. I'm just a part of you, am I not?".
"That day at the hangout spot, remember? You left behind, on your own. You can move freely around the house too. Part of me or not, you are free". Basil pressed something's cheek; he could feel tears landing on his fingers. "So you tell me, what's now?". A soft smile appeared on his face. When was the last time he genuinely smiled?
Something's back hunched; it leaned forward. "I'm free, you say. Still, you're the only one who can see me". A sob could be heard. "You're so nice to me, even after all I've done. I'm not in the position to ask, but... could I stay here... with you?".
"I've done worse. You know it. Looking at you... I see myself... years ago. I've wished that I had someone who would say something like this to me". Basil waited out a few seconds; his eyes trailed the room, than focused on something. "Throwing you into the world would be cruel. We make mistakes, that's who we are. In that, we are worth each other. You can stay... on one condition...". Basil could feel something tense up. "That you will listen to my stories... and sometimes... tell me yours".