he commanded, swallowing convulsively.
Stella obeyed. She wiped at the blood with napkins. The aroma did not go away, even though it did disperse a bit.
“Drink another,” he said.
Stella was once again looking at him with dull eyes. The sobriety that had returned for a short while again retreated. Stella obediently filled the glass up to the rim and tossed it back in one draught. This time she did it without spilling a drop.
“Bottoms up,” Stella mumbled inarticulately, and then she belched lustily. She was once again drunk.
Then, staggering, she turned around and lay down without a single sound, covering herself up to her chin with a sheet. At roughly the same moment he detected a growing agitation beyond the door. Naturally, Jan had felt the argument and now he longed to find out if something had happened to his beloved mama.
But Stella had already disappeared into a tumultuous dream, as evidenced by her closed, slightly twitching eyelids.
“Good night, dear,” he said and he left the bedroom.
Jan was standing beneath the arch that connected the spacious foyer with the dining room. A large frying pan was in the boy’s hands, and there was a substance of inexplicable origin stuck to the bottom of the pan. It was obviously burnt, judging by the sharp, unpleasant smell.
“What do you want?” he, scowling.
“Blintzes with meat,” replied the boy, nodding towards the pan. “I brought them for mama. She hasn’t eaten anything all day.”
“You know very well that your mama is ill,” he said, trying not to raise his voice. “And right now she isn’t interested in your blintzes.”
“You’re lying,” Jan claimed stubbornly.
“I’m lying?” he said, sneering. “Ah well, come here.”
Jan did not move a muscle.
“Come, come,” he called. “I will show you your mama.”
“You hit her.” Jan was barely holding back tears.
And then it became clear to him why the boy was carrying a frying pan. Jan was dead set on attacking him.
“You are a rat,” continued Jan, squeezing the handle of the frying pan more tightly. “If you hit mama one more time I will kill you.”
A very real, animalistic rage burned in boy’s eyes. This little creature loyally and obsessively loved the human woman that was its mother. In all its twelve years it had walked on two legs, slept at night and not once in its life had it killed. But now it stood there and looked at him with his own savage, burning eyes, in which there was nothing except a single passionate desire – to kill.
He laughed softly. This creature was his son. Everything was as it should be.
“I understand you,” he began, but then he suddenly felt a powerful, interior jolt. The time had come.
“Go to sleep,” he ordered. He knew that his voice would begin to change in a few seconds. “But we will return to this conversation.”
Jan began blinking fearfully. His eyes were once again the eyes of a normal twelve year old child. Turning, Jan swiftly ran up the stairs to the second floor, still holding the frying pan with its burnt blintzes. Soon the boy disappeared from sight.
That’s it, he did not want to, could not delay any longer. Right there in the foyer he ripped the clothes from his body and sprinted from the house into the coolness of the night.
Outside there was not a single light burning – all his orders were followed to the letter, and he had expressly ordered every single light on the entire grounds of his mansion to be turned off at night. The servants, of course, considered this just a strange caprice of a wealthy master. But he was assured that no outsiders would be able to discern his true form in the impenetrable darkness. There were precedents, but those who saw him so would never again have the ability to tell of it.
The prohibition against turning on lights was not the only precautionary measure of his residence. He also had a Sentinel with whom he had reached an agreement. The essence of the agreement boiled down
Stella obeyed. She wiped at the blood with napkins. The aroma did not go away, even though it did disperse a bit.
“Drink another,” he said.
Stella was once again looking at him with dull eyes. The sobriety that had returned for a short while again retreated. Stella obediently filled the glass up to the rim and tossed it back in one draught. This time she did it without spilling a drop.
“Bottoms up,” Stella mumbled inarticulately, and then she belched lustily. She was once again drunk.
Then, staggering, she turned around and lay down without a single sound, covering herself up to her chin with a sheet. At roughly the same moment he detected a growing agitation beyond the door. Naturally, Jan had felt the argument and now he longed to find out if something had happened to his beloved mama.
But Stella had already disappeared into a tumultuous dream, as evidenced by her closed, slightly twitching eyelids.
“Good night, dear,” he said and he left the bedroom.
Jan was standing beneath the arch that connected the spacious foyer with the dining room. A large frying pan was in the boy’s hands, and there was a substance of inexplicable origin stuck to the bottom of the pan. It was obviously burnt, judging by the sharp, unpleasant smell.
“What do you want?” he, scowling.
“Blintzes with meat,” replied the boy, nodding towards the pan. “I brought them for mama. She hasn’t eaten anything all day.”
“You know very well that your mama is ill,” he said, trying not to raise his voice. “And right now she isn’t interested in your blintzes.”
“You’re lying,” Jan claimed stubbornly.
“I’m lying?” he said, sneering. “Ah well, come here.”
Jan did not move a muscle.
“Come, come,” he called. “I will show you your mama.”
“You hit her.” Jan was barely holding back tears.
And then it became clear to him why the boy was carrying a frying pan. Jan was dead set on attacking him.
“You are a rat,” continued Jan, squeezing the handle of the frying pan more tightly. “If you hit mama one more time I will kill you.”
A very real, animalistic rage burned in boy’s eyes. This little creature loyally and obsessively loved the human woman that was its mother. In all its twelve years it had walked on two legs, slept at night and not once in its life had it killed. But now it stood there and looked at him with his own savage, burning eyes, in which there was nothing except a single passionate desire – to kill.
He laughed softly. This creature was his son. Everything was as it should be.
“I understand you,” he began, but then he suddenly felt a powerful, interior jolt. The time had come.
“Go to sleep,” he ordered. He knew that his voice would begin to change in a few seconds. “But we will return to this conversation.”
Jan began blinking fearfully. His eyes were once again the eyes of a normal twelve year old child. Turning, Jan swiftly ran up the stairs to the second floor, still holding the frying pan with its burnt blintzes. Soon the boy disappeared from sight.
That’s it, he did not want to, could not delay any longer. Right there in the foyer he ripped the clothes from his body and sprinted from the house into the coolness of the night.
Outside there was not a single light burning – all his orders were followed to the letter, and he had expressly ordered every single light on the entire grounds of his mansion to be turned off at night. The servants, of course, considered this just a strange caprice of a wealthy master. But he was assured that no outsiders would be able to discern his true form in the impenetrable darkness. There were precedents, but those who saw him so would never again have the ability to tell of it.
The prohibition against turning on lights was not the only precautionary measure of his residence. He also had a Sentinel with whom he had reached an agreement. The essence of the agreement boiled down
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