He felt it eventually by the time they made it back in the castle. The foreshadowing of how his insides will churn and protest. Only a slight ache now, but he knew it would become worse.

They were in the kitchen, the first place they went upon conclusion of the hunt, and now Daniel stood on a barrel while leaning on the wall, hands clutching his sides.

Alexander was busy working on the concoction at hand, the cook present there bringing the ingredients the baron requested of her the moment they arrived.

In the small engraved silver pot he poured measured spoonfuls of a number of aromatic distilled spirits. Prune brandy, vodka, bit of gin, cognac, and strong apple cider - he heard him murmur. He let them heat and put a silver rosary in the pot, the end of the chain hanging over the edge. Alexander added a dab of vinegar and the freshly crushed garlic the cook handed to him, then a squeeze of lemon juice.

He watched as the baron stirred the contents with the chain while he muttered under his breath, before removing the silver and adding powdered charcoal into the pot, stirring some more.

Finally, Alexander poured the brew in two small cups, and handed one to Daniel.

"Zum Wohl." Alexander cheered as he lightly clinked their glasses.

Daniel thanked in return, quickly following suit as they doused the mix in one gulp.

He sputtered and breathed out heavily, unsure if he should've or shouldn't have drank it all in one go, the tonic putting hair on his tongue and setting his gullet on fire. It's as if he swallowed rubbing alcohol. His already aching stomach writhed, offended by the strong kick and nagging at him to heave, but he squashed that feeling and breathed deep.

The remaining grit of charcoal swirled under his tongue, grinding between his molars. And distantly he could feel his legs flooding with warmth.

Daniel is escorted back to his chambers. He's told the tonic will curb the worst of the food poisoning, but he will still need the rest.

And not a moment too soon, as he feels the effects rush to his head and warming up his extremities. He barely got his gown on before he collapsed into the sheets. And there he bundled up and rode out the daze with hints of nausea in his sleep.

~~~=( )=~~~

In the haze of his partially awake state he could feel a presence. Groggily, he turned in the tangle of his sheets and opened his eyes.

It was a maid carrying a tray of bread and tea. She bid him good day in that foreign tongue as she placed the tray on the nightstand. "Deutsche kamille für lhre bauch. …Für 'shtomach', sir." she carefully pronounced, the word laced with the heavy accent. He gladly thanked the service as he shifted to lean back in the headboard, taking the cup of tea she poured for him.

Right away he felt the refreshing bite of mint, and then the taste of raspberries and blackberries, all upon a basis of chamomile. The infusion was sweetened with honey.

Indeed, the tonic from earlier had done its work and he felt much better now. He relished the tea and the loaf of plain bread, knowing it will help with his remaining nausea.

By evening, all trace of illness had receded and he went about the castle as he pleased once again. Remarkable. He was in good health! And in just under a day!

This prompted him to once again ponder his host's use of sorcery. Increasingly he questioned the villagers' claims that the baron dabbled into the unholy, for he had seen evidence which proved the contrary.

He discerned no change when Alexander walks in the sunlight, his reflection appears in mirrors and with no abnormalities, he had seen him in contact with silver on a regular basis, and the nobleman even enjoys garlic in his food.

Why this one time when they strolled on the battlements of the castle, just listening to the wolves howl, the moon was completely full and the baron remained unchanged.

Plainly, he simply couldn't be some supernatural being - merely a man who has widened knowledge of the machinations of the world, and is misjudged for it.

~~~=( )=~~~

Tucked in for the night, he idly scratched his hand over Nina's ears. Star-shaped tuft of white hairs contrasting on the dark grey fur, she laid her head on the edge of the mattress, as she had done many nights before.

Out of all the hounds, Nina had become his favorite. The sweet dog was a calming presence which helped him sleep through his night anxieties, so Daniel let her stay in his room every night now. Tucked in the sheets and with his arm over the side so he could reach where she rested on the carpet, he would always smooth over the fur on her back and let her lick his hand, dispelling his lingering night terrors and eventually lulling him to slumber. Afterward she would always be the first there to greet him in the morning.

Half asleep, he aimlessly listened to Alexander how he wandered through his study in the next room while Nina kept nuzzling his hand. The baron often worked late into the night, well beyond after Daniel had snuffed the lantern at his bedside.

Listening long enough, he could hear him pacing from one end of the room to the other. Nina's cold nose rubs into his palm and he playfully gives the wet tip a pinch, to which she lightly nips his fingertips. Chuckling, he scratches her chin, to which she gladly leaned in to be petted.

The floorboards from above creaked in time with footsteps. Must've gone upstairs to get something. The footfalls went from one end to the other, and in the ungodly hours of the night they went on like that. It was getting distracting, and he had to wonder what drove him to unrest so late in the night.

The noise kept him awake. With his eyes still closed, he became aware on the very dark room, and as ever, slowly the irrepressible conjurations snaked into his psyche. Tugged at his insecurities, made his jaw strain against his teeth.

Letting out a heavy sigh, he reached for the lantern at his bedside and lit it. The wick of oil illuminated the room just as the floorboards above his bed creaked.

He flopped back in the mattress to face the canopy above him.

.

.

.

He froze.

And stared.

A sea of red.

He could not move as he gaped at the… thing.

A grotesque blend of flesh woven into the canopy. It heaved, making the wooden beams it clung to creak wickedly.

A brew of snatched bodies laced the pulsing moist tissue. A morbid allusion to perversions of the flesh, the sinew molding loving clay, squelching sickeningly together as it breathed. Visual, auditory profanities.

Front and center, a twisted body, chest split open like jaws, exposing innards and pulsing organs and protruding splintered bones and fur and glassy eyes which looked both at him and at nothing, weeping a single drop of blood.

Drip.

His entire body gave a single shudder as it struck his forehead. Slick, wet confirmation of its very real presence. His lungs sucked quick shallow breaths. He couldn't move as he fixated with widening eyes, stretched wide under the sheets, paralyzed.

Lidless eyes stood vacant.

And at their apex…

A single white tuft of fur the shape of a star.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Lick.

.

.

.

It seized him before he could recoil!

It latched onto his arm! It's pulling him in!

He screamed. He grapples onto the bed and struggles to get free, but the thing strains to pull him under. He tries to resist, but the dank, warm mesh hooked into his arm too firmly.

He screamed. His muscles screamed as he tried to fight back, flex his arm against the onslaught. No. No! Nonononono…

He screamed. It pulled his arm at an angle against the bed-frame. His bones cracked. He screamed again.

Daniel…

He couldn't. The grafting pain made him lose his grip, and it dragged him down on the floor.

He screamed as he tried to clutch at the dusty floor, brace his legs on something, dig his nails in, anything. It pulled him under the bed into the very dark, oozing, breathing inky blackness.

Daniel!

He wakes up with a start. Sweating and panting, he looks around the room. Alexander is there, looking highly concerned. He wasted no time in cutting to the source.

"Daniel! Answer me! What did you see? Was it-"

"Yes."

And that was it. He needn't say more. The baron settled back as they looked at each other in mute accord, letting the answer hang there with chilling finality. It had begun.

The Englishman still reeled at the brunt of the nightmare, the returning visage of flesh being torn and molded beyond recognition, just like the men from London-

"Where's Nina?" he ushered, cognizant fear of the presence's capacity to manifest.

"She's right here." Alexander assured as he pointed towards the carpet where the wolf-dog stood looking at Daniel, her ears laid back in concern. She let out a small whine and her tail twitched in attention when he looked back at her.

Relieved, Daniel lay back against the pillow nursing his growing headache. The blight had been absent for so long he'd almost forgotten how powerful it was. It took it a while, but now there is no uncertainty. The Shadow had finally found its way back to him.

He wiped the sweat off his brow, his hand moist and aching with phantom pains.

~~~=( )=~~~

Author's Note: Yes, the 'I can lick too' creepypasta from the Internet definitely inspired the scene here.