Page 64 of Souls We Rip

He was the devil himself, and I was subjected to him. I should have let him hide behind that cloak of his. I should have stayed with my God and nothing else.

A knock on the rock startled me. The Goat Man’s head peeked over the rocks. “You haven’t eaten today, Ana.”

Over the course of the past weeks, following my first ripped soul, he switched his behaviour towards me and the ghost.

He was calmer, he did not belittle me anymore, and he even apologised to Andrei once. But he had a motive.

To keep myself on the line for the nine souls left.

He strutted into the room with a tray filled to the brim with dough, sprinkled with sugar and filled with jam. The smell of the sweet powder invaded all my senses. The strawberry aroma woke my stomach.

I did not even have time to get used to these powers of mine.

The only thing I got to understand was that my emotions were higher than ever. Every unhappy moment became sorrowful; every happy memory was enhanced to being jubilant. And I couldn’t handle any of it.

“Goat Man?” I started, my nostrils flaring at the smell of the gogoși.

He raised his dark eyebrows at me, his blue swirls swimming in the abyss. The Goat Man placed the tray in front of me, shuffling his handcuffs. He was dressed as a noble gentleman, in a white cotton shirt, black breeches and boots. In a way, I was glad he loosened that cloak.

“Who were you before becoming the Goat Man?”

He passed his hand through his midnight hair, leaving it tousled. “To be honest, I don’t know,” he sighed.

“How come you do not know?” I took a gogoașă, the sugar, sticking to my fingers. The strawberry jam exploded in my mouth as I took a bite.

He sat on his bed, which I had occupied for the past weeks, the earthy smell of his skin hinting at the way he carried me out of the Souls’ Pool.

“I…,” he began, his mouth twisting.

“You don’t have to tell me, if you do not want to,” I assured him, one of my hands touching his. The contact between our skins was something new for me. My fingers twitched. My eyes widened as I had another thought that could bring me damnation.

“I don’t remember. I know that I used a scythe to mow the hay. I remember all my siblings lying in their own blood. I cannot recall anything before that. And also, I don’t know how the Elk appeared and asked me to become the Goat Man.”

All kinds of thoughts were mixing in my head. “You killed your own siblings?” My voice rattled the ground, making me push the tray aside. I squeezed his hand hard.

It was not the murder that surprised me. I expected that of him. What scared me was who fell under his wrath.

I watched him become smaller. Pain spread across his face as a single tear fell down his cheek. I felt his hand starting to shake in mine.

“What about your parents?” I asked, worrying that the man who cared for me in the past few days, slaughtered his whole family.

“I either did not have any, or I do not own any memory of them,” he said flatly, shrugging.

I shook my head. “No… that cannot be true.” The realisation that I was still holding his hand dawned on me, so I released him, the touch lingering on my skin.

“In my case, it is,” he sighed. He had resigned; he was not curious anymore about his past.

“Tell me about your siblings,” I demanded, rising from the bed.

“I have nothing to tell you as I do not understand it myself.” His eyes bored into mine, and I knew he was sincere.

“What?”

“I do not remember, woman! How many times should I say that my rotten brain and soul cannot recall how my siblings died at my hand?”

His voice became louder, rattling even my bones.

My words lashed out. “I knew you were a murderer and that you turned me into one. But to kill your own family is beyond any evil I have encountered. You deserve nothing good that may come your way, Goat Man!”