5.3.18 edit

Part 1 of 2 I really appreciate your reviews. These vignettes are the hardest, most gut-wrenching to write, but somehow they're always my favorites. I enjoy imagining what a young Erik experienced, both good and bad, as along with his suffering he eventually finds peace.

Chapter 5

For weeks I left home in the middle of the night and found my solace in the graveyard, just as The Shadow had bade me. That was how I thought of him, this nameless man with merely a finger and a thumb.

I saw him three more times in the month after he gave me his violin. The first time it was with a full moon overhead. I hid from him; wriggled into a crypt and pressed my back to the wall so he couldn't see me as I feared the amount of pale light cast down by the moon in a clear sky would reveal far more than I desired for him to see. He would regret his kindness if he saw what I truly looked like, how vile and undeserving I was of his charity.

Within my parents' home there was no hiding as I was confined to the cellar. When I was perhaps five years of age I had attempted to conceal myself beneath a discarded work table lodged in the back of the dirt-floor room, but my father had dragged me out by the ankles and lifted me by my legs only to slam me to the ground. I never attempted to hide from him again.

I thought of that moment as I sat with my spine pressed to the cold stone crypt, of how I had attempted to dig my nails into the dirt to escape my own sire. My skin prickled at the thought, my breaths labored as terror consumed me. If this stranger found me, he would be angry at me for hiding from him. Perhaps he would ask for the violin back and I would be left with nothing once more.

"Kimmer's son," The Shadow called as he tapped his cane on the ground. "Have no fear, my child. I mean you no harm."

Like a frightened dog I glanced out and met his eye. He didn't appear surprised when he saw my masked face. He merely smiled, his face thin and wrinkled. He looked as I had anticipated: Watery, dark eyes, thin, gray hair. He looked perhaps older than I had guessed from the sound of his voice, like a man who was weathered by life. There was a wildness to his appearance, but at the same time he appeared calm and reserved.

I emerged from the crypt and stood before him, the violin behind my back and my chest heaving.

"Erik," he acknowledged. He squinted at me briefly as our eyes met. "A mask of wood?" he questioned.

Ashamed, I offered no explanation. I lowered my eyes and stared at his knees.

"Does it hurt?" he questioned.

Still, I refused to speak. So much of me hurt, ached and stung from a combination of words meant to shame me and a hand that threatened to break my bones. Yes, I wanted to tell him, yes it hurts very much. This face, this heavy mask with its splinters, it hurts more than you will ever know. The pain runs so deep I do not know if I exist at all. Perhaps I am nothing but agony, my soul driven out long ago.

"You're very quiet tonight. Have the ghosts gone away?" he questioned.

I looked at him then and saw the devious smile on his face. "I broke one of the strings," I confessed without intending to tell him. Immediately I stiffened and braced myself, fully expecting to be struck down for ruining the violin so quickly. The expectation of violence made me almost light-headed.

"Ah," he said. He extended his hand and I flinched. If he noticed my reaction, he certainly didn't say a word. With a nod, he placed his hand on my shoulder. "Sit with me. I'll show you how to repair it. Then, when it happens again, you will be able to fix it yourself."

Music was the only love I had known. I looked at The Shadow and nodded, my mind made up. I would trust him not only because he'd given me this violin but because he'd seen me three times and not once attempted to harm me, never humiliated me with cruel words. I trusted him. And when we sat in the graveyard, I wished like hell that he had been my father.

"Here, Kimmer's son," he said as he eased onto the damp grass. In his hand he held an apple, which I snatched from his grasp and bit into without a word of gratitude for his generosity.

I'd never tasted fresh fruit before, as my food was always stale or bruised. I groaned as the juices slipped between my mask and skin. With the back of my hand I wiped my mouth and saw The Shadow watching me in silence. He seemed amused by my display, and I turned away, embarrassed by my behavior. Horses had more manners than I possessed.

The Shadow laughed. "Do you know what I hear, my son? I hear the sound of appreciation," he said. "I have more food if you are hungry."

I started to shake my head, but my belly growled and he chuckled again as he placed a small leather bag between us. "There is plenty of food to share. Do not deny yourself, my son. If you are hungry, you shall eat. It will keep you strong."

My hesitation was in vain as my empty stomach growled again. While The Shadow looked on, I rummaged through the pack and found another apple, a piece of bread, and a chunk of cheese the size of my fist.

We sat in silence for a moment before he showed me how to fix the string. I sat close and leaned toward him as I watched him work and hung on his every word. He explained what he did and I nodded, attempting to commit his instructions to memory. With an easy smile, he looked up at me and nodded, then proceeded to remove all of the strings and made me do it myself. He told me there were differences in strings, and promised he would bring several for me to keep the instrument in good repair.

"Pull the peg toward you," he instructed when I nervously sat and stared at the instrument resting on my crossed legs. Despite him showing me precisely what to do, I still felt unsure of how to remove the string. More than anything, I was terrified I would break the violin with one wrong move.

"You are nervous," he commented.

I nodded. Nervous did not begin to explain how I felt.

"You must change the strings every six months, unless one breaks on you sooner," he said. "Will you do this?"

"Yes," I said eagerly as I threaded my string through and wound it, pushing on the peg as I tightened it.

"Is it on the grove, my child?" The Shadow questioned. "On the bridge?"

"Yes, yes it is," I said. "Do you see it?"

I glanced at him and he smiled, nodding in approval. "Very well done, my son. Very well done."

His hand rested on my shoulder, and a surge of elation thrummed through me as I looked over my work. I smiled back at him, grateful for his company as well as his guidance. With my confidence building, I restrung the violin on my own and held it out for The Shadow's approval.

I enjoyed the challenge, the opportunity to test my mind and stretch my thoughts. No one had ever told me that I could do good, but there I sat beside a man whom I barely knew and yet who had treated me with kindness and respect.

He was undoubtedly the true angel of music.

We sat for a while. He played the violin briefly, offering guidance on how he held the instrument before handing it back to me. Once I played for him, he nodded and closed his eyes as he smiled in appreciation.

"Let me play you another song that you might wish to practice," he said.

I relaxed in his quiet company, my shoulders dropping, my balled hands spread out in the cool grass and legs stretched as my bare toes pointed down. The night was cool and clear, the rest of the world distant. Hours passed, and not once did I think of what awaited me when I returned home. The moment was mine to enjoy and I intended to savor each second.

"Wood is too heavy," he said as he lowered the violin, leaned to the side and reached into the pack. He placed another apple in my hand and regarded me for a long moment. "Does it give you headaches?"

I shrugged and took a bite of the apple. The Shadow moved to hand me the violin, but all I saw was his hand shoot out. Swift as I could, I pushed myself back and scrambled away from him. My heart raced, my legs curled up to my chest in a moment of unwarranted fear. I sucked in a wild breath and turned from him, afraid and ashamed. Seconds passed and I glanced over my shoulder, partially expecting to see him standing over me.

The Shadow didn't move. His eyes lowered and he sighed heavily. "Ah, Erik," he said as he shook his head. "My apologies, my son, if you thought I would harm you. My hand does not fly easily, I assure you. I am not... I am not that type of man."

It did not matter what type of man he was; my father represented all men to me. The Shadow and his gentle, quiet nature was foreign, the opposite of what I had known and come to expect from others.

Slowly The Shadow motioned me toward him. With a bit of hesitation I turned and faced him, my chest still heaving and goose flesh covering my arms. As much as I wanted to flee from the graveyard, I could not seem to get my legs beneath me.

The Shadow nodded as I remained where I sat. "You have come to expect punishment from him, have you not?" he asked. "From Kimmer?"

I looked away from him, feeling the rush of unbidden tears prick the backs of my eyes. I wanted to ask how he knew of my father, but at the same time I did not want to know if they were friends. I could not imagine my father in the company of someone so docile, not could I see The Shadow befriending someone as cruel as my father.

"You do not need to say a word," The Shadow said softly. His movements were slow and deliberate as he scooted closer and handed me the violin. He waited until I placed the violin in the case and climbed to my feet before he rose. We stood for a moment and stared at each other. It was time for me to return home, but I didn't want to leave. I wasn't sure if I longed for the quiet of the graveyard or the nonthreatening company of my acquaintance. More than ever, I dreaded my father's looming shadow cast down upon the cellar stairs. My stomach twisted in agony, but like an animal awaiting slaughter, I went to the butcher, as there was no other choice.

"Have you only one mask, my son?" he questioned, keeping me with him a moment longer.

I shook my head. "There is another one."

"Are they all made of wood?"

I nodded.

"Cloth would be more comfortable," he said as he surveyed my mask. "Or, perhaps leather."

"I've neither," I said. My voice broke when I replied. I felt my throat tighten, as I feared he was about to shame me for my appearance. I glanced at my dirty bare feet and pant legs that were far too short as well as tight despite my thin frame. I was truly an animal, filthy and uncouth.

The Shadow placed his hand on my shoulder. "I've both, my child. Go before you are in trouble. I will see you again soon, I hope."

With that I took off running back toward my parents house where Three weeks passed before I saw him again. My father made certain I was in no condition to leave any sooner.

-o-

Weeks passed and I remained suspended beneath my parents' home, afraid to plan another escape. It was late in the evening when my mother was unusually talkative and told my father she was fearful that the demon would consume her. The demon, I realized, was me. They spoke at length regarding what they should do in order to free themselves at last, and the only word that rang loud and clear through the crack in the cellar door was asylum. I had no idea what it meant, but merely by the tone of their voices, I knew my parents had found a way to rid their home of the child they had not wanted.

Somehow, I had to escape. For good. Perhaps I should have left long before I did, but I couldn't. Despite the beatings that awaited, I always returned to their home. Their shelter was better than none at all, their scraps of food better than rummaging in the alleys. At a very young age I realized that I would not survive beyond my childhood, but I made no attempt to rectify my lot in life. It was my fate as a monster. It was the only life I knew, and I came to accept that this was as much as I deserved.

My parents left for the evening, which was not uncommon. Without them able to hear me, I sneaked up the cellar stairs, picked the lock, and stole into their home. I had no desire to look through their belongings or sit within their home. My heart was heavy, and I walked to the cemetery that night, briefly searched for the Shadow, and at last curled up against a tombstone. Overwhelmed and afraid of what was in store for me, I cried until I could barely breathe. It was rare that I cried, and I don't know why I allowed myself to break down this time. Perhaps it was because I understood that the end was near and I feared the unknown.

An apple rolled across the grass and landed by my foot. I sucked in a breath and forced myself to hold it for as long as possible. With tears still in my eyes, I glanced up and saw The Shadow towering over me.

"I thought you'd abandoned your audience for good, Kimmer's son," he said as he tipped his hat at me.

I stared at the apple, my stomach growling for sustenance. It had been three days since the door had opened, but with starvation came peace and a moment for bruises to heal

"Here, my son," The Shadow said as he placed a cloth sack at my feet.

He appeared thinner than the last time I had seen him, but his smile was warm and inviting. With a grunt, he sat down beside me and stretched out his legs.

"A beautiful night," he said. "The kind of night the spirits like best." He clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth and scratched his chin. "Still not one for words, eh, my boy?"

He nudged the sack and nodded for me to open it.

More food. Slices of ham, another chunk of cheese, and half a loaf of bread. Real, edible, food. For me. I glanced up at The Shadow and wondered what the consequences would be of his actions, the punishment that accompanied the gift. My mouth watered nonetheless.

"I won't look," he said quietly. "If you wish to eat without the mask. Have no fear, my child. You may do as you please."

I turned away, pulled my mask up, and devoured the ham first, then the bread and cheese. The salt in the food made my bottom lip sting as it had been split open for days. I ignored the pain, and in my haste I nearly made myself sick, but it was well worth it. If only for a moment, I felt like a prince, for once more human than animal.

"You've not listened to the music in quite some time, Erik. I have looked for you every night."

"No," I replied. A full belly loosened my tongue. I found I was also more willing to reply when he used my given name. I did not like when he called me Kimmer's son, but I did not want to offend him and say as much.

The Shadow smiled. "They've not played well since you heard them," he said with a chuckle. "Perhaps you should inspire them with your talent."

I bowed my head, embarrassed for a completely different reason than I had grown accustomed to in my youth. I had not practiced in weeks as I had left the violin in its case, covered it with a tarp to keep it dry, and hidden it beneath thorny bushes far behind my parents' home where no one would find it.

"How old are you, my child?"

"Thirteen?" I guessed. I had no idea. The birth date on my grave stone had long been covered with weeds.

"Thirteen is a good age," he said. "At least I think it is. It's been…centuries since I was your age," he said with a wink.

We sat in comfortable silence for a while until my eyes grew heavy and my chin touched my chest. I felt myself slipping into sleep but made no attempt to sit up straighter or rouse my exhausted body. The cool night breeze and the smell of summer relaxed me, and the only thing that woke me was The Shadow when he coughed into the crook of his arm.

"I've a new mask for you, my son," he said. His voice was hoarse, and I wondered if he'd also fallen asleep while we sat in silence.

Sitting upright, I stared wide-eyed at his outstretched hand. Pinched between his forefinger finger and thumb was a sturdy mask made of cloth. It looked beige in color, though by moonlight I couldn't tell for certain.

Breath held, I hesitated. "What must I do…for this?" I questioned.

The Shadow nodded. "Continue to play," he said. "Practice as often as possible, and if you desire an audience, you have one."

"I will not be able to play long," I said sullenly.

"And why is that?" he asked.

"Do they allow music in the asylum?" I asked.

I had no idea why I asked such a question, but I gasped as though I could draw the words back in.

"The asylum?" he questioned.

The way in which he repeated my question mortified me and I bowed my head. I had no idea what I had confessed, nor whom I had confessed to, but I realized at last that I didn't regret telling him. He'd given me an instrument, the first true gift I'd been given. He offered food, and all I returned to him was awkward conversation. As much as any, this man was my friend, my companion of shadows and moonlight.

"Oh, Kimmer's son," he sighed. "Is that what your father has in store for you?"

I looked up at him, at this nameless man who had shown me more compassion in my thirteen years than I'd ever received from my father. I wished he would become my father, that somehow he would stand up and reveal that he was in fact my sire and that he would whisk me away.

But he was not my father, no matter how many times he called me his son. I was but a ghost and he but a shadow. In daylight, I wonder if he disappeared just as I did. It saddened me greatly to think of him disappearing as the dawn approached.

"What's an asylum?" I questioned.

Without an answer, The Shadow wept for me.