Trigger warning. Sensitive content.

…Greek… Greek...

“Greek mythology! You slick bastard… Now…”

C for Cronus. Curtis slides his finger over the spines of the books, looking for...

“Aha…”

The book’s murky green spine sits tightly squeezed shoulder to shoulder between two much larger spines of dark burgundy and pastel mustard. 

“Cannibalism. An act of love, hate or an urge to devour.” Mr. Anethena spoke in today’s class. “Which one is it? Let’s look at it from the eyes of the Greek Gods.” The professor strolled into the room ten minutes late, grey and feeble. His wild, white hair stood in a frantic mess as if some giant shook him loose. His eyes weren’t any calmer. 

Curtis slides the book out of its tight confinement, feeling the surprising hefty weight of its body. He opens it and starts reading.

“Cronus, also known as Kronos, the ruler of the Cosmos. The devourer of children…”

The devourer… Cannibalism never sounded so sexy. 

“…Son of Uranus, God of the sky, and Gaia, God of the earth…” A crackling sound, like rubble against rubble rings through the quietness of the library. Curtis waits for any other sounds to follow. As the space resumes its deafness, he recommences his reading.

“…Fearing a prophecy of his own kin overthrowing him, Cronus devoured each and every of his children as soon as they were birthed by his wife Rhea… Also his sister…”

Oh my…

“…Desperate to save the last child, Rhea hid Zeus on the Island Crete and tricked the ruthless Cronus by swaddling a stone in child’s clothes, resulting in him swallowing the stone instead of the child…”

What a dim-witted Titan… Suppose this cannibalism is the act of fear…

Closing the book, he places it under his left arm and starts re-trailing his steps back to the library exit, however, he notices a dull flickering light oozing from the crack on the opposite wall. He walks towards it and runs his fingers over the breach. A cold air touches his skin.

A door…?

He looks around, checking if anyone is looking but sees only the shelves. 

He curls his fingers into the crack and pulls. The wall stays where it is. He pushes his weight against it and after crackling and moaning, the stoned structure moves. He squeezes his thin body through the gab and feels the cold air on his cheek, his neck, his shoulder and then he is soaking in it. A singular lanky candle stands by the stone wall. His eyes adjust to its dimly light and like a sleeping giant, a stone staircase comes into his view. It grows upwards into the darkness of the ceiling. Curtis steps on the structure and slowly starts climbing. It’s quiet. The ceiling he thought he saw keeps stretching until his thighs burn and his lungs hurt, and just when his curiosity begins to die, he sees another soft glow further up. Sounds of shuffling slither through. Wet dripping like spillage. Something familiar to cloth ripping. Curtis looks back only to see absolutely nothing but a yawning darkness. 

Up ahead the stairs cease their climb, leading Curtis through a narrow corridor to short entrance. It’s a small, square room. Dark and damp. A squatting figure shuffles in the left corner. White, frizzy hair. 

Professor Anethena…

Curtis notices something long protruding from the man’s side. A pair of legs… He’s holding a body. The wet sound rings again. Ripping. 

Chewing…

Curtis’s hand gives out and the book falls, thudding loudly on the ground, echoing its fall over the damp walls. The shuffling ceases. The extra pair of legs thud to the ground as the professor stands. Curtis’s heart beats loudly. His palms sweat. His throat dries. There is a head by the man’s feet. Pink lips. Eyes open. 

“Hello, boy…” Professor Anethena screeches as he turns towards Curtis. His mouth is painted with blood, oozing down his chin like red paint.  

Curtis backs away slowly, his body stiffens, his stomach turns with fear and disgust. As the man leaps towards, Curtis’s body jolts with electricity, forcing him to runs backwards for the door, only to hit a wall.  

Where is it!  

His hands frantically move across the cold surface searching for the exit. A shard slices through his palm. The wall starts to drip with something wet. Curved lines decorate it.

Where is…

His shoulder is painfully gripped and he is hurled backwards. Further into the room. His back slams into a hard surface. His lungs crushed. His tongue tastes of iron. He’s chocking on liquid. And for a moment, it all goes quiet. His ears ring with a high note and his mind travels to his large sitting room in which his sister would play her piccolo, its discombobulated notes travelling into his eardrum.

I must get up… Get up! Oh god! I cannot die here. 

Curtis thinks of the world outside. The quiet Library. The empty halls of the school. The students that are safely tucked inside their dorms. It will all stay the same. His family. No matter what happens here…

It will all stay the s…

Shuffling of feet cuts the silence as they slither closer. His left arm are gripped tightly and he is drags across the hard floor. A scream escapes his throat. Like a beast, the professor hurls towards him and starts widely grabbing at his clothes. Curtis’s head hits the floor and his vision blurs; his body goes numb; his ears ring yet again. Piccolo. The weight on his body grows and he can feel his clothes ripping off of him. Cold air touches his naked torso. He’s exposed. 

Pain!

He screams. Something spills out of him. A dark ceiling comes into his view. Nails dig deeper. Deep, sharp pain takes over his belly. A dim flickering somewhere in the room. His eyes jump and the snarly face of the professor appears. His limps start fighting against the beast on top of him. Anger radiating from the muscles. The need to survive. His hands push against its face and the beast falls backwards. 

Curtis stumbles onto his hands, his knees, his feet and he runs towards the black wall and through it. He trips and falls, hitting his elbow, his shoulder, his head as he rolls down the stairs. The crack on the wall appears. The library. He’s free. He’s going to make it. He picks his broken body up and squeezes himself through the wall and onto the mosaic floor of the library. Another student. He screams for help. 

Her black, shiny shoes start running towards him. “Oh my god, what’s the matter with you?!” A hand weaves over his arm. He’s lifted up.

“What happened to you?” Her voice is calm. No terror.

“There’s…Up there, dead. P…Professor Anethena has… He’s…”

Curtis looks down at his broken body only to find it splendidly alright. His green school jacket is clean and pressed. His white shirt buttoned. His torso, clothed and clean, unhurt. 

No… What? I was being eaten…

“He’s…” He looks behind him. The crack is no longer visible. The wall is intact. 

What… No… There was blood. His mouth was covered in blood. His mouth… He was eating… The student… Dead… Green eyes dead… 

“I…” He looks back at the student. Her face is wrinkled with worry. Amusement shines through her eyes.

She must think I’m mad…

“I’m not…” He begins. 

“What are you on?” she asks. “Any sort of drunks aren’t permitted. You know that.”

“I’m not on drugs!” He yells, ripping his arm off of her hold.

Shushing travels from somewhere deep within the library.

“We’re having a study group. Why don’t you go back to your dorm. Sleep it off…”

“I…”

“Go sleep it off.” And she leaves him.  

“I’m not…” He starts walking forward, confused. How on earth did that not happen? He was there. He saw the room, the professor. He felt the pain. A loud repetitive tap-tap tap takes over; the librarian behind her desk is stumping books. Someone walks past him. Giggles. He walks through the exit of the library into the hall and there he is.

Professor Anethena is standing with another student, bent over a large book. His white, wild hair are just as they were this morning. His mouth looks normal. No blood. 

What the hell just happened to me? What was that? Am I…

Curtis walks past them, unnoticed.  

Am I mad?