Sensory Imagery

I saw something passing down the hall, and for a moment I thought it was just a play of light and shadows. There were lots of them, shadows as the sudden thunderstorm created some chaos. Electricity went off. And, yet, this place had its chaos well preserved because an outage didn’t ruin anything. It took the help about ten minutes to fill the place with candles, so many of them it seemed they weren’t prepared but expecting the dark to flood the rooms. And it surely did.  I saw something passing down the hall and at first mistook it for the curtain moving. It was a moment later that I realized I was seeing a bulky shadow of a stag, the one and only, moving with a solemn grace of the real host. I heard voices and laughter, the flutes of champagne clicking, and music, of course, light and serene, a mixture of string instruments coming from hidden speakers around the house. I had heard all of that before but now there was another sound, and it hurt because it wasn’t supposed to be here. The hooves. For he wasn’t hiding anymore, the Stag, and it was the sound of his hooves that I heard over all the sounds of the real world. The steps of the Beast sounded a lot like a heartbeat. I carried the mug to my lips. It felt solid and real, and I lowered it again, pretending that I had had a sip a moment ago. It was nothing but an excuse. The champagne flutes were nice and well, but they weren’t solid enough, and I was scared they would crumble in my fingers if I get… distracted. I smelled forest. There were lots of smells inside, the candles, the food, the mulled wine in my mug – a spur of the moment decision that made the whole party cozier and more intimate. Champagne is good for making a quick impression while it is the warmth of the mulled wine that leaves a lasting mark in your memories and stomach. He called it “Glühwein” though, and people were discussing the different variants of the drink while the unmistakable smell of the forest was dancing around me, winding like a ribbon… like a rope. The shadow smelled of forest, and all the wilderness and violence that resided inside. I followed the Stag trying not to follow in his footsteps for the reasons of prejudices rather than anything else. It wasn’t a crime scene I could contaminate if not being careful, after all. Or was it?  The crowded room was lit not only with the candles – who actually had that number of beautiful candles idly waiting around to be used? – but the fireplace was going as well. People smiled and talked, and the music wasn’t too loud or too quiet. Everything was in its place and everyone was as well. Nothing short of perfection. The ability to adapt to the situation was amazing, and nobody in this crowded room found this rather alarming than remarkable. The slap of reality was harsh, and I almost let the mug fall from my hand. There were no unaccounted shadows, no stags, no nothing. And that hurt so much! It’s easier to see things when you’re alone. It’s so much harder to see things when there are people around, smiling and talking, and… I tasted the mulled wine, and it was good. It made me warm in my mouth first, then the warmth traveled to the throat as I gulped, and it ended up in my stomach. I tasted spices, and wine, and forest, and blood. I had to take a look in my mug to make sure it wasn’t anything else but the mulled wine, and that’s when the voice came. The heat of my cheeks gave me away as if I was caught doing something inappropriate. Playing with something that should only be looked at. “I see you preferred the Glühwein to champagne, dear Will.” “I did,” I said, looking straight at his face. Those hazel eyes were dark now, almost black, the play of light and shadows. The shadows were merging in his face, and those were the shadows not the man who asked: “How do you like it?” “It tastes like spices and blood,” I said. My voice wasn’t too loud or too quiet, just strong enough to be heard by the one and only living creature who could turn into a mass of inky shadows in a blink of an eye. I witnessed the smile touching his lips, the knowing smile, the showing-your-teeth smile. And those were beautiful teeth. Those were terrible teeth that I witnessed. I touched my upper lip with the tip of my tongue, and the taste of blood was still there. Hannibal bent over to my shoulder and said in a voice that couldn’t have been anything more than a whisper: “I am glad you noticed.”