Night in Hell was not so different from any neighborhood without electricity: dark, silent. But here the silence was absolute, suffocating. No barking, no rustling, not even the distant croak of a crow. Only a few oil lamps—dim, solitary—and Becker's lantern guiding me like a single polar star.
"Master Becker," I whispered. My voice sounded enormous.He grunted in acknowledgment. "Speak, but softly.""Why can't we hear anything? Where are the animals?"
He turned just enough to raise an eyebrow at me. "Hast thou ever seen a single animal down here? Or a plant?"I thought about it. In truth, no. Except in Charon's sancta sanctorum, I had never encountered any. I shook my head."Exactly. Hell has neither. Where they end up—whether as demon fodder or in some paradise of their own—I know not. But personally, I have never met a single one."
"But then… the food? The spätzle you gave me were made with spinach!"
Becker resumed walking, sifting his voice into the devouring silence. Our footsteps were the only sound. "Food is a mystery as well. Each week the Red Barge docks at the port and brings everything needed for Alessandria's sustenance."I remembered the scarlet vessel. "The one that picks up the poor devils without an obol…""The very same. It takes away arms and brings back supplies.""And where does it take them?"
He shook his head, the lovelock bouncing on his forehead. "No one knows. The few who return tell nothing — perhaps they don't remember. And those who never return… I doubt it is by choice."
We continued northward in silence, away from the port. After an hour we reached the Gate of the Acropolis, enormous but deserted. No guards."There are no patrols?"Becker cast me a skeptical look. "Who would venture out at this hour? Aside from us, I mean.""People like us, apparently."
The German lowered his voice, making it sound darker. "A foul story stalks these streets at night: that of the Jikininki."
He said nothing more until I was beside him."They say he was a man so wicked he became a demon after death. Tall as a palace, black as nothingness, invisible in the dark. The only things one ever sees are his cerulean eyes—an instant before someone disappears. And that is all."
I felt myself dying inside. "And we're walking through here? In the middle of the night?"
"Because no one else dares. And that grants us discretion. Risk is the price. But fret not: the Jikininki is deaf and short-sighted, for in life he listened to no one and looked at none but himself. His steps, though silent, echo those of his prey."
His tone deepened. "Never underestimate that feeling of not being alone. Gooseflesh, quickened heartbeat, thoughts that fail to soothe the restless soul. 'Tis a sign that may save thy life."
A shiver crawled up my spine. "Have you ever met it?"Becker paused a moment. "One is never certain unless one ends in its belly. But once… yes. I know I crossed its path. It did not see me. I hid in an alleyway and stayed still. Eyes and ears ever open—'tis the only way."
We circled the walls, breath held, waiting for a sound that never came. Soon the houses thinned. Ruins stared at us through hollow windows. Fewer lamps—one every hundred meters now.
"Why keep them lit if no one goes out?"Becker did not look at me, but I sensed a glance full of commiseration. "Thou art a fortunate man, Herr Cremaschi. Thou hast never known the hunger of the miserable who live in the streets. Each night they must survive either the Jikininki or the knives of their own kind. The Podestà grants them at least a little light."
I was almost reconsidering this mysterious authority when Becker cut me off: "We have arrived."
Before us, in the middle of nothingness, stood a wrought-iron gate. Exactly like in horror films about cemeteries. No wall, no fence—just the gate, black and imposing, planted in the void.
And there I was, two undertaker's sacks over my shoulders, beginning to fear the German wanted me digging up corpses.
"Here begins a forbidden place," Becker said. "Forgotten by all. They call it the Camposanto, where the dead rest uneasily.""How can they rest if they're uneasy?"He shot me an irritated look. "Hast thou ever dreamt a nightmare?""Plenty.""Then thou knowest. That is uneasy rest. Whatever thou hearest, do not let panic seize thee. 'Tis but the memory of a fading soul. Nothing that may touch us. Nothing that may harm us."
He placed his hand on the ivory handle. With a long metallic shriek the gate opened. A chill ran through me."Couldn't we go through somewhere else? Somewhere that doesn't screech…""Nein. This is the only entrance," he replied. "Misfortune fall upon whosoever enters this place by other ways."He stepped inside, and I followed with reluctance; his lantern was the only slit of light in that cold.
The Camposanto was a desert of dust, broken by bones and skulls jutting out like stones in a dry riverbed. At every step the ground gave way, soft as light ash, and bones crushed under our boots with faint crackles. The smell was that of a forest burned to its core: acrid, dry, sticking to my palate like tar.
Outside the yellow halo of the lantern, nothing. A black, motionless sea that seemed to swallow even sound. Our footsteps the only noise. Until, far ahead, a baby's cry froze my blood.
"Stay calm," Becker said. "Ignore them, and they shall ignore thee."I tried. But the more I tried not to think of it, the harder the voice hammered inside my skull.
"And if I can't?""Then trouble follows! The uneasy dead relish tormenting those better off. They are Echoes—remnants of souls stripped by demons, twisted by rancor. They cling to someone to keep from dissolving. And once one attaches… the others follow, like a pack."
We walked on. The silence became unbearable.
"But if the soul is dead, how can—"
"Because it doth not die entire!" He turned toward me, the lantern casting sharp shadows on his face, making him look spectral. "An Echo is the shard left behind. The rest… goes where it must."
Small blue lights flared around us; thin screams clawed at my ears. Then a woman's lullaby began.
"Do not listen!" Becker barked. "'Tis an ancient Echo—singing for centuries. Follow my light and look away.""How do you stand it?""We Rhinelanders have strong schadenfreude.""A what?""The pleasure of seeing others suffer.""That's… not very nice.""Down here niceness is irrelevant. Only what works."
I was about to reply when he yanked me. "Stop!"
Before me yawned a chasm, invisible until the last instant. A black abyss. I peered in: no bottom. Only the faint oil light failing to scratch the dark.
"What is that?""The Great Chasm. They say demons dwell below."
He smiled—and the ground trembled. The vibration rushed through the throat of the chasm, growing violent. I fell on my backside, heart pounding. Silence.
Then a roar: a massive jet of mud erupted from the abyss and drenched us.
"To cover!" Becker shouted.
The world became black sludge and latrine stench. Dazed, I spat mud while Becker laughed like a madman, a thin line of blood down his temple.
"Behold what it hath brought us!" he said, showing me a filthy skull. Around us, bones and crania rained down.