Their conversations make no sense.
Purple belly interrupts the discussion around the table about who has the best butter recipe to declare in a much louder voice than usual.
-I don't know how far I can go but I know I can fall so low.
The others follow up naturally while Dust remains perplexed.
One, alive and well opens his eyes wide even though he only has eye sockets left.
-Me too! Very looooowwwwww!
he drew out the end of his sentence, his voice distorting until it sound like a bleat from beyond the grave.
The others nod. The boy continues by asking a question.
-But how low can you fall?
Those around the table chatter like children repeating their teacher's words.
-How low can you fall?
-How low can you fall?
Pony chews a lettuce with her mouth open, she also repeats with two voids eye sockets. The dim light create shadow on her face who in turn darken her features.
-Yes, Low? Lower? very low?
Dust realizes that she actually has no teeth.
Purple belly smiles his lips parting showing him that the woman was not alone in being toothless
-Down. at the bottom and even lower. Low to the point of making a deal with the devil.
All together as if by common accord they laugh.
Dust is the only one who doesn't laugh.
Pony spits her salad onto the plate to speak.
-And what did you ask?
the candle behind Purple belly's wine glass reflects the purple color of the liquid on the man's already very purple lips.
His eyes are just black holes and it's hard to know what he's looking at. although his head is turned towards the young woman, Dust has the impression that he is looking at him.
-Who knows? Not me!
He laughs again, and a burst of laughter still runs through the group.
Eyes is next to Dust, his laughter is like a jerky screech.
he holds a knife in one hand and the other hold his fork who scrape the wooden table.
His whole body trembles in mirth, his back is lowered, covering his food partly with his body.
He participates in the discussion, still half slumped over his dinner.
Dust doesn't dare to look at his expression.
-And this devil, tell us, did they grant your wish or that too you don't know?
His voice sounds like that of a witch. Sharp, rough and brittle.
Purpe belly makes the silence last, like a host making the suspense last.
His hand carefully dabs his lips with his white cloth.
- I have already heard humans complain that God does not answer their prayers...
As he speaks, the tissue on his lips turns red like fresh blood.
-...but tell me, have you ever heard a mortal say the same about the Devil?
The shadows of those seated at the table lengthen abnormally on the wall of the dining room. The room loses a little more of its brightness, the candles fade into a frail flame
Dust barely dares to breathe.
Suspicious is there at the other end of the table.
Sitting upright, motionless, his skin a blue-gray color typical of a corpse.
Eye sockets just as empty as the others, his gaze weighs on Dust's forehead.
His red hair contrasts with his morbid complexion in a more than unhealthy way.
-That doesn't answer the question.
The voice is like an ice peak. Frigid and scathing, it comes out of Suspicious like a supernatural voice. He opens his mouth like a puppet manipulated by a ventriloquist. His stoic gaze staring at Dust instead of turning his head to look at the person he's speaking to.
Dust wants to get up, leave this place. But he is paralyzed in his chair.
Behind him he hears what he thinks are cracking noises.
Comparable to the old steps that creak on a winter evening, to the branches of leafless trees scratching against the windows and to the muffled noises that are heard only when you are alone.
-You're right.
The middle-aged man responds, grabbing the wine after leaving the napkin.
He drinks the bottle from the neck, the burgundy liquid flowing between his lips overflowing at the gap and soiling his white shirt. when he finishes he turns his body twisting like a rag to face the windows.
Behind the glass we only see opaque black.
Despite everything, the boy still has the impression that the man is watching him out of the corner of his eye.
Something moves behind him.
Eyes is lying full length and still stretching while everyone doesn't care if we exclude Dust.
It looks like he's trying to cover the whole table.
His cheek is firmly pressed against the white tablecloth until his facial features are distorted, he meets Dust's gaze.
-Say, am I dead?
The boy doesn't know what to answer.
The question echoes in his mortified skull.
Is Eyes dead?
is Eyes dead?
This whole situation makes no sense.
A few candles go out enough that you can't see who is at the other end of the table.
But Dust recognizes One's horrible bleating.
He asks the same question as Eyes.
His voice growing louder and louder as if in the dark his body was transforming to become bigger and bigger.
-Am I DEaaaAdddDdD?
Eyes insists in turn, His knife sinking into the soft wood of the table.
He cranes his neck to have a better look at Dust's horrified expression.
- Dust, Am I dead?
Dust doesn't say anything, terrified he can only observe the scene.
The group of people in front of him are no longer humans. They lie down and twist. Their necks like long pipes, their hands swelling like bear paws, their nails like black blades.
Eyes his open mouth like that of a python while swallowing the last candle, insist, press the boy to answer:
-Tell me, tell me.
When everything is plunged into darkness Dust hears Eyes whispering in his ear:
-Dust? Where am I? I see nothing.
Slowly Dust comes back to reality.
He is not around a table discussing with others. He's not in total darkness with someone over his shoulder hissing macabre questions to him.
No. It was just a nightmare.
He wakes up a bit lost.
his gaze staring at the vegetation who covers them.
Then his eyes fall on the head of the dead teenager.
Before sliding along Suspicious's fingers rising then to the muscular forearms and then ending their path to the icy irises which pierce him.
Suspiscious no ,Red is also awake.
The latter rarely concerned about his companion's state of mind asks:
-Are you OK?
Dust takes a deep breath, not sure how to respond at this point.
Inhaling, moreover, causes a coughing fit which ends once his nose begins to flow a river of snot.
Once his nostrils are unblocked the situation seems even worse. If that's not possible.
The blood.
in normal time it is hard to realize it, but blood has a powerful odor which, once confined in an enclosed space, come in your throat like some kind of viscous matter.
With his senses returning the biting pain above his collarbone catch him off guard.
Perhaps to change the subject, perhaps to relieve his discomfort, he chooses to not answer the question. Instead he declares in a nonchalant manner:
-I didn't sleep well. I had some sort of nightmare.
The boy tries to avoid the two gazes turned towards him. One from the dead and the other from the man. Why does he speak about it? He doesn't really know. In fact he isn't even sure why he is here. Why is he there with this guy and this head of a dead boy in the middle of a forest? Why instead of panicking is he talking?
His companion does not seem destabilized.
Lying on the ground, his shoulder also touches the boy, the decapited head resting against his abdomen, the dried blood forming crusts on the cut throat and blackening his clothes, he chuckles.
-The opposite would be surprising.
When Red answers him, Dust gathers his courage in both hands to turn his head and meet the eyes of the red-haired man.
His friend's eyes are still penetrating but Dust is starting to get used to it. They are so close that their noses are inches away from touching.
In a whisper he shares his dream with the other.
-I was... No, we were all around a table, you too. But the conversation was so strange...
Exhaling a little too hard causes one of Suspicious's red locks to lift with his breath.
-There was this boy that I carried into the mine, the one who died.
For once Suspicious seems understanding, almost patient. Like a pendulum he wavers between two moods, one sociable the other frigid and Dust reacts to him like a spinning top adapting his attitude at every mood swing.
Red's impassiveness, the fact that he is holding the remains of a corpse, of a person he killed so calmly, frightens him, but the fact that he listens so patiently also reassures him.
So he continues:
-This place is driving me crazy.
Somehow the moment seems to make the two mens talk more than usual as strange as it is because Suspicious does not let the silence settle:
-I also had nightmares.
Dust prefers to talk rather than stay with his thoughts. he sniffles, his arms tightening to keep some warmth close to his body. He wonders what kind of dreams can scare a guy like Suspicious. So he questions the man while shifting his gaze to the branches that protect them from the wind and hide them from the outside.
-What about them?
Since he is no longer looking at the red-haired man he does not see the blue eyes move down the curve of his nose to stop on his moving lips.
-The last one I had I was alone in an empty city. There was only me.
Dust wipes his nose as best he can while Suspicious shifts a little, appearing to think about how to summarize the rest.
-A city that seemed empty.In there I'm trying to find someone, anyone. Often in the corner of my vision I think that I have seen a shadow moves and from time to time I hear whispers and laughters in the distance.In this dream I search everywhere but I can't find anyone.
The man's voice grew fainter and fainter in the semi-darkness, ending in a barely audible whisper.
The boy swallows, not hearing what happens next, he pulls on the fabric of his top which comes loose from his wound.
-And that's all?
Suspicipus sighs again, his lips lifting in an arc that could be a smile.
His eyebrows move and reveal an ironic, almost mocking expression, at least that's what Dust thinks when he glances at him briefly.
-Yes and no.
The boy listens to him and notes that for once his companion in misfortune did not need more prompting to explain himself because his clear voice resonates to tell the end of what he dreamed:
-I can't find anyone but I'm convinced there are there. Maybe I have climbed too many trees recently because in this dream I have the idea of going to the highest roof in the city to look around.
-I go up, I go up the stairs. Floors after floors... I'm running out of breath and yet I scream "Is someone there? I can hear you." (The man's tone is devoid of tremors, from the beginning to the end he remains emotionless) And it is true. I really hear something. Distant whispers and slamming doors. A thought comes to me on the stairs of the skyscraper and doesn't leave me the whole time: People are running away from me.
Red shifts a little. His shoulder pushing the shoulder of Dust. The smaller of the two is forced to curl up to make more room.
The brown eyes of Dust meet the blue eyes of the other.
-It ends when I reach the roof. There I look down and I see what we see in all the cities. People moving around, shopping, laughing, eating on restaurant terraces.
Cars driving calmly on the roads, buses waiting for their passengers...
The silence lasts a few seconds. The two stare blankly at the branches above them.
Dust thinks there is more to the story, a meaning that only the red-haired man understands. But the boy does not dare to ask more questions on the subject instead he asks:
-Are we still far from the lake?
the only answer he get this time is a short "no".