76°00'08.2"S 53°43'31.2"E - Nuevo Trujillo, Spanish Antarctic Colonies

  18.05.2024 23:15, UTC+03:00

  “You belong…” I tried to read the letters in front of me. Letters that I was not supposed to be able to read, but then somehow could, shifted shape on the wall paintings of the Conservatorio.

  “You owe…” I read the next word.

  Lucia shrieked excitedly, breaking my focus. The letters on the wall lost meaning again.

  “Look! Look!” Lucia ran next to me. I turned to her, only to be met by a digital light near my nose. I stepped back a bit, unable to process what she held so amazed in front of my face.

  It was her phone; while I was captivated by the décor, she was taking pictures of me. In her picture, I was leaning forward, trying to read the wall’s inscriptions. I felt embarrassed, almost like I was caught doing something I was not supposed to.

  She scrolled through the pictures. Admittedly, they were good, right lighting, angles, and all that stuff she liked to talk about. I could only think of one question, looking at my slightly hunched back in the picture:

  “Does everyone look so weird in photos? Or is it only me?”

  “Don’t be silly!”

  She turned her phone and grabbed me, forcing an awkward selfie. She of course looked effortlessly gorgeous, while my eyes were closed. “Cute!” I felt her hand tightening around my arm before releasing me again.

  I scratched my head and backed away.

  “Maybe take pictures of the statues instead. I don’t have the looks for pictures today,” I said. I hadn’t even finished my sentence, and she was already on it, running around from statue to statue and taking photos.

  I sighed. I was no longer sure if I would have a chance to talk to her about us today. The temple was empty enough, so it felt private here, with five or so other people around, but she was in way too good spirits to ruin it for her.

  And there was another priority. These markings on the walls that I had never noticed on previous visits. As I looked at Lucia taking pictures, I could feel them merely existing on that wall.

  It was the feeling of being watched while asleep.

  I turned back to the painted wall – of course, it was exactly as before. I tried to retrace the text I had read before, among all the theological and mystical imagery. Right when I thought I would not find it again, it was right there. Painted strokes of an elaborate alphabet, they almost looked carved, the way the sun’s rays cast shadows on the rough wall. The sunlight poured into the Conservatorio, and for a moment, its rays highlighted the right letters.

  “You belong… you owe…?” I read, questioning my own eyes. As I uttered the words, I saw the letters move away from me, crawling onto the painted wall.

  I blinked, surprised, and then scrubbed my eyes. I could swear I had seen these words move. Shift away, amidst the light and the paint, but not disappearing, just scurrying away.

  I ran, following their path. It was no illusion, I was sure. The words had crawled on the wall. I tried to taste the words in my mouth. Who was submitting? Who owed?

  A few hurried steps among the statues, and I managed to glimpse another word, slithering around the century-old paint.

  “Submit…” I read aloud.

  You belong, you owe, submit.

  A cold black finger, its texture rough and cold like freshly cut marble, touched the back of my head. It passed through my skull and crossed into my mind. I could feel it slithering inside through its cracks fast, and as it did, electricity crackled down my spine and limbs, turning me numb. I was alone in this temple, with the sun’s light gone, far away from everyone. No one could save me from the cold, black finger crawling inside my brain, carving words in it.

  You belong, you owe, submit.

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  Why had I come here, so far away from my parents and friends? Well, I did not have any friends. I only had Lucia, but I was going to abandon her, too, to run away. I was only-

  “ángel, are you okay?”

  Lucia’s voice cast the darkness away. I was back in the Conservatorio, and she was holding my hand.

  “Yes, are you?” I asked and turned. It felt like I was jolted back into my body, but that would imply I was not in it before. That made no sense, nor how quickly I was forgetting the sensation I had felt just seconds before. I remembered there were words, and I was alone…

  “Yes, I have taken a lot of pictures.” She leaned back and forth in excitement. “Do you like the statue of Sagrado ante Todos? I can take a picture if you want.”

  Who was she talking about? She was pointing right behind me. I turned to look.

  A large marble statue, perhaps the tallest of all the statues in the Conservatorio, stood on a podium on my right. Its scale must have been at least two times large as the man’s real size. The man, Sagrado ante Todos, was old, as implied by his long beard. The attention to detail in its clothing revealed the true artistry of the sculptor.

  His left hand was slightly raised, forming a religious gesture, like waving at the sun. His right hand hung next to his body, twice the normal size of a hand, not too far away from where I was looking before Lucia woke me up. I must have been staring right at its fingers. My skin crawled.

  “No, I am good. Maybe. Let’s go back to the Paseo. I need some air,” I said. She nodded, perhaps somewhat disappointed with my lack of enthusiasm for pictures.

  We walked out of the Conservatorio, and as we passed through the exit arch, I looked back. I had felt that exact same feeling earlier. Like somebody was watching me.

  “Hey!” Lucia shouted. She had walked faster ahead of me. She smiled excitedly as she pointed at the sun in the sky, leaning closer to the horizon. “The midnight sun!” She cheered.

  The lighting was perfect. I was ready to forget about my paranoid thoughts. I ran down the stairs and, for the first time that day, I pulled out my phone.

  “Let me take a picture. It’s the right angle!”

  Lucia blushed and cheered as I took multiple pictures. They were not half-bad. She ran ahead in the promenade, and I followed, taking pictures of her. Until I caught up, laughing at her antics.

  “These look great!” I said, scrolling through the pictures.

  “Hm. Not that bad! Maybe you should share some of those with me.”

  “They are perfect. I can keep them to remember you by.” The words came out of my mouth before I could even muster the courage to have the conversation.

  “To remember me?” Lucia chuckled awkwardly. “I am not going anywhere.”

  Suddenly, the heat of the sun turned from pleasant to a nuisance. I could feel the sweat on my forehead. I thought I should regress to my rehearsed plan. Taking it one step at a time.

  “So, what is your plan for next year?” I asked.

  She squinted her eyes. I had messed it up already.

  “Mmhm. I was thinking about an art major at Pizzaro Residence. I was not really sure, but I have been looking through my grandma’s art over the past weeks and trying to replicate things. It seems like it is in my blood.”

  “Nice!”

  She walked up to me, smiling, but I could already sense she was not going to take this easily.

  “Plus, I get to stay here in N.T. and get to walk the Paseo with you. What about you?”

  She held onto my left hand. With my right hand, I slid my phone into my pocket.

  I looked around us awkwardly. We had walked far from the Conservatorio, and we were almost alone, except for a family of five sitting at a nearby bench. A cold breeze blew onto my flustered face.

  “Eh, you know. I think maybe. I could actually go to Europe. Spain or even France. Somewhere different.”

  She squeezed my hand.

  “But ángel,” she said, and her face turned stone cold, “You belong.”

  Her voice was distorted, and even though she stood next to me, I felt her drifting away. I looked around once again. Was the sun dimmer? And where did that family go?

  I was all alone.

  “You owe.” Lucia’s voice continued. She squeezed my hand tighter. I pulled it away.

  “No, Lucia, what are you talking about?”

  The sun became stronger again. I could now hear a kid crying in the background, and a mother consoling it. Lucia’s cold expression was replaced by wet eyes, feigning excitement. Her hand was still holding mine.

  “…this is major news. I did not expect it! But, how come?”

  “I… Lucia, did you see this? What do you mean I owe?”

  Had I only just seen this? Was it the same as in the Conservatorio?

  She looked at me, confused, perhaps even more than I was. She pulled away her hand.

  “You are not making sense, ángel. I hope this is not a sick joke. You are not that kind of guy, are you?”