Story title: Cerevacia

Genre: Existentialism/Psychological horror

Summary: The short story centers around the character Rudy and his extreme desire of being something higher than humane.

Fitted with symbolism, the short story emphasizes on Rudy's peculiar philosophy of human life which is adorned with rejection, ignorance and disappointment. Accompanied by a long forgotten Greek myth, the short brings in the focus of Existentialism of a desperate person.  

Chosen photo: The second one of the three pictures. 

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Esse hominem, est in maledictione reputabitur.

Abyssus erit tibi ad sumptus de cordibus vestris.

Una beatitudo,

Unum odio apud exalaret 

Unus autem de pura.  

"To be human, is to be cursed. 

You can have the abyss for the cost of hearts.

One of happiness,

one stinking with hatred

and lastly, the purest one of all."

***

Agatha took one small step into the room, only to be kissed by a variety of smell. The scents were so woven together that the possibility of identification was somewhat zero.

"Hello?" She asked but no one other than the overhead light answered with a gleam, outlining the silhouettes of shelves.

The front door to the summerhouse was open and it made her brow quirk in question since Veronica always kept it locked.

When she called the phone lines just gave a dull buzz tone of disconnection, not the familiar, warm voice of Will.

He and Agatha talked about the possibility of marriage, on their last rendezvous.

He stroked her hair, brushing her smooth neck down to her back whilst she painted the future.

Her and Will, in this summerhouse, in the middle of nowhere.

A quiet life with three kids, two daughters would be best.

A honeymoon to Paris, just the two of them. Then the married life, picnics at the beach with the kids, watching them grow up and in the end, just the two of them, Agatha and Will, growing old with love.

Will said yes, kissed her to assure and tasted the dream himself.

The doubt tried to plant itself in her head that the multicolored future might not happen.

But pure hearts, such as hers never allowed the hesitance to grow into a strong oak.

She came, longing about the desired daydreams but no shadow moved in the inky house.

She looked back once at the ivory dark summerhouse with no signs of Will or Veronica.

Will's car, the Black Pontiac stood unmoved and cold in snow carpeted gravel driveway.

She walked around, fighting the inner doubts whilst her aimless feet carried unconsciously to the farmhouse.

Her daze broke from the creak of the double wooden doors.

"Hello?" She inquired to the nothingness once again, suddenly feeling too lonely from the cold. The array of shelves stood beside her, almost as if teasing a path for her to walk towards the light.

Nearing the suicidal lantern from the beam, she saw the glass jars on the rows; bouncing off the reflective yellow light as the pitchers formed conspicuous shapes of

She would turn on her hill and step out of the farmhouse, from the mixed, convoluted scents to the cold caress of November.

But the cursive scribbling on the stone wall mesmerized her momentarily as she squinted to read the Latin and the instructions of the Ritual.

Behind her, a torso moved past the watered jars. The shape of the silhouette morphing and squeezing from the reflection of the crystal glasses' tapestry.

As if he was waiting.

Agatha's eyes were too fixed, too hypnotized to sense the shadow that soundlessly towered over her average height.

"Fascinating, isn't it?" It spoke, breathing unsuspecting warmth in the midst of the cellar.

"Oh!" She shrieked as the hypnosis broke.

"Pardon me. I'm afraid I startled you."

"Oh, n—no."

"I heard you come in. I'm sorry I didn't say hello. I thought it was Veronica. I fear she doesn't like me much."

"No, it's—it's fine—"

In the start, she took the steps too far back, finally letting the lantern shine.

Turning the silhouette into a man.

"I'm afraid you don't recognize me."

"No, I do. It's—"

"Rudy?"

She forgot Rudy existed. Honestly, it's the first time she had seen him fully as he stepped under the light, allowing spiked the rays to be over him.

Rudy.

Will said something about him, being an old friend and staying with them for the winter. But she could hardly recall the existence of a fourth soul in the house.

There were always suggestions. Like a used plate on the dining table, a jacket that was too large for Will, locked door on the upper bedrooms, muddy boot prints on the carpet, the glimpse of a face near the farmhouse.

Maybe on one occasion, she saw someone passing behind the musty glass windows but the dull figure was vague with its tall shadow and silent feet.

Now the name had a face with pale skins that didn't go bronze under the yellow light. A set of brown eyes deflected the light back, filled with a shade of control and exhaustion.

In the half-dark, his mouth frightened her the most. The white, animal teeth were of fine specimen but his lips were sucked in.

As if he knew something sinister that no one was aware of.

"Oh, Rudy. Yes."

"You must be Agatha," He paused, smirking lightly. "Will told me everything about you. You're more beautiful than his words. More—pure."

She tried to smile embarrassingly but failed. The inborn fear slithered across her spine, whispering eerie uncertainty.

"Oh. Where are my manners?"

His hand hovered across the air for a shake and before she could reciprocate, it drew back.

Rudy cautiously wiped it on the apron, almost as if he wanted her to spot the brown stains on the white cloth.

A crimson mess on his white overall looked like an artist's painting.

"Pardon me for the mess. I have been busy with work."

"You are—"

"An amateur alchemist. Just needed some cranberries."

He stepped past her, eying the jar as he stopped across the table.

His fingertip disappeared into his mouth, pursed lips tended to the wound. Licking the red.

"I like cranberry. The one behind the house had too many thorns, unfortunately."

He stood looking at her straight and in the overthrown light his eyes disappeared and left pits in its place.

She found herself guilty when she thought of running away.

'He's just a little strange. He's no harm.'

"Is the electricity—"

"I'm afraid it is. That's why the lovely house sits sleeping tonight."

"Is it serious?"

"Nothing to worry about. One of the power lines' pole fell." He paused for the spectral mouth to smile. "Must have been an accident."

"Oh. Is Wi—"

"Does it not intrigue you?"

"What?"

"The writings on the wall. You can read it, can't you? Will told me that you are a scholar."

"He exaggerated. I just—"

She stepped back, for the words to align again. In the etched wall, only a few words were decipherable for her.

"To—to be human, is to be—"

She gave up the trial with a polite smile, only to find a wide grin on Rudy's face. For the first time, it made him look humane.

"What?" She blushed.

"It's—it's so wonderful to finally find someone who understands it. Someone who speaks the words."

The friendly fervor in his tone closed the distance.

"Oh, it's nothing. I can't even read the whole thing."

"You won't have to. I'll explain. It won't be difficult for you to understand, unlike the others."

Her inner fear was comatose, replaced by interest.

Transparent vials were stuffed close with corks, the labels were too small to read in the dark. A patch of lavender, ceremonial roses were tidied into one corner. Tin boxes rested with some of their mouths open, filled with nameless dusts.

A pestle and mortal were holding a thick goo.

In the middle, a book was set with its title written in italics on the cover.

'Cerevacia'

"Like everything great, it begins with the Gods."

She watched her lean over the table, his hands fidgeting to flip through the pages.

Momentarily, Agatha forgot about Will.

"The man was called Cerevacia. But he was different. He was ignored, misunderstood, unloved. He—he tried to earn the respect, the affection from his peers, his friends, maybe even a romantic interest but failed.

Her eyes were locked with his and his brown pupils glowed, filled with unspoken pain that was finally allowed to be uttered.

"But, no one understood him. No one recognized him in his own skin. They didn't shun him, they just acted like he didn't exist. And, Cerevacia—filled with sadness, out of love of every kind, went to the tip of the Olympia to throw himself. But you see, he was a coward."

"He didn't do it?"

"He wanted to but he couldn't. The Gods watch over Olympia and they found him in his pitiful state. So tired of being human and worthless."

"What did they do?" In the book, the sketch of a kneeling, defeated man rested.

"They took pity on him. They offered Cerevacia something. To not be human anymore, to be free of emotions, of self-doubt, free from the shackles of acceptance and approval of others. Free from the sadness of failure."

"He didn't say yes?"

"Cerevacia was a coward. He thought about his home and his pathetic life. Yet, humane emotions conquered. He rushed back, offending the Gods."

His sucked in lips breathed out, like an angry huff.

"Nothing special happened. Poor Cerevacia went home and realized nothing changed. He was still worthless, unloved, invisible to everyone."

Rudy's voice seeped regret, the words dripped with upset.

The chill from the open door bit Agatha back to reality. She was standing in a farmhouse, surrounded by the grotesque scent of chemicals.

Standing in front of her was a man she didn't know, was a man who was barely talked about; almost as if he was Cerevacia.

Unloved, ignored, under-appreciated by everyone.

Almost invisible.

The thought of Will came rushing in like a broken dam.

"Do you know where Will is?"

"You want to know what he did later? Cerevacia climbed all the way back to Olympia. He begged the Gods to take him in. And the offended Gods demanded compensation. You want to know what they wanted?"

Fear finally conquered her mind.

The pits of Rudy's eyes darkened and the lips were stuck in a vile, manic grin.

"They wanted—Oh. Did you ask for Will?"

Agatha was ready to leave. But the name Will stopped her in place.

"Yes, is—"

"Oh, Will went for a walk. In the meadow. Behind the house."

In the pause, her pure heart packed away the worry.

"I'm sorry. I must have scared you. Again."

"No, Rudy."

"It's just—there's no one to talk to about my work, you see? Veronica doesn't like me much, Will is busy with you so—when I find someone who understands, I can't help myself."

"No, I apologize. I am just foolishly worried."

"Please, the least I can offer you is a drink. Why don't you wait? He'll be back soon. He helped me with my work. Well—he really put his heart into it."

Agatha threw one last look at the summerhouse. The sound of bottle popping drew her back in.

"Cheers. To you and Will."

"Cheers. To Cerevacia too."

The drink tasted nothing like port, or brandy. Champagne didn't match with the taste either.

But she didn't complain as she sat in the chair and huffed in the scent of lemongrass. Suddenly, feeling exhausted.

In a blink, Rudy disappeared behind a pillar of shadow and reemerged, wearing a completely clean and new overall.

She was eying the etched words on the wall when the silence became too loud.

"Why would someone not want to be human?" She asked.

Rudy awakened from his slouched posture as the tinkering of vials and measuring cups halted.

"Why not? It's so difficult being human, isn't it? Such flaws in being human. Trying just to fail again. Submitting just to be rejected. Loving just to be hated. Hoping just to have it shattered."

"But that's life. Isn't it?"

"If that's life, then I don't want it. It's not pure, not worthy of the creation and destruction, of trial and error. How everyone says life is so miraculous and beautiful, they are just spitting lies."

"I won't be able to live if I believed in that philosophy."

"Just because you don't believe in it, doesn't make it false now, does it?"

"Would you rather not live?" She mumbled.

"What if I told you, there is another way? A better place?"

The haziness swum up to her head.

She could only think of Will as she stared at the scribbled latin on the wall.

The etchings were finally deciphered when her trembled voice asked, "What—what did the Gods want?"

"The Gods?"

"Yes."

"They demanded the most extraordinary thing. They demanded hearts."

"Hearts?" Agatha's voice fluttered.

"Precisely. Valuable, extraordinary hearts. They asked Cerevacia to bring the heart of a solely happy man. You know, like—like Will, strangely."

Her spooked mind screamed but the body sat paralyzed.

"The heart of a happy man, who has everything. Money, love, looks, purpose, respect. Then, the second heart must of a person who hated Cerevacia the most. For example, if I were him, the second heart would belong to—to Veronica."

She was frozen in place.

Rudy walked along the stone slab, the pits in his eyes darkened with malice.

"Lastly, they demanded the purest of hearts. Honest and fair. The kind which believes in the goodness of a stranger. Such as yours, Agatha."

The lit candle illuminated on the two jars where the lumps of beating flesh rested.

The empty, third one stared back at her.

"See, I have tried this experiment before. But it didn't work. Authentic hatred is everywhere, genuine happiness is limited. The purest heart is the rarest."

"Please, don't—do this!"

"Cerevacia failed. I will not!"

Only the November air was aware of the piercing scream but in the middle of nowhere, none was the wiser.

The three hearts were laid upon the stone slab. The sacrifices were made and Cerevacia knelt down to fulfill the demands of the Gods.

To be free from the shackles of being human.  

To the abyss. 

DAS ENDE.