Eyes in the Dark(MARISAGI) Chris was in the garage collecting the equipment left by his friends the last time they had played there.
Finally they had found a good place to rehearse. People weren't always happy to listen to their music as not many people like hard rock and for this reason time and time again they had been compelled to change place.
His parents had let them use the garage for a while, but now they too were really fed up. When they were playing they felt excited and free, but whoever was around went mad, eagerly wishing a corner to hide where not to hear the sounds of their electric guitars and drums.

His parents usually went away and came back only when Chris phoned them it was over.
Their band consisted of four components: Rolando, Alex, Chris and Ricki. Rolando was the leader, the reactionary, the one covered with tattoos, the rebel. It's thought whoever plays wild rock is transgressive and damn he was. When he was a teenager he had made use of drugs and alcohol but, fortunately for him, he had left that period behind him. Alex, Ricki and Chris attended the same school and had known Rolando two years earlier.
When they hed met Rolando he was half-drunk leaning on a girl, probably under age, who was looking at him as though he was a Greek God. They didn't like him.

Then, late in the evening, a guy started playing his jambè, soon a boy joined him with an electric guitar, another one with drums and Rolando left the lass and began to sing with a hoarse and intense voice.
The spectacle was fascinating. The three friends couldn't believe their eyes and when the unusual show was over they wanted to know Rolando and the other guys.

They started studying music and the more they knew it the more they participated in those performances increasingly enjoying the rock liberating atmosphere.

Then they had formed the band: "THE BEWITCHED" with Alex playing the keyboard, Ricki the electric guitar, Chris drums and Rolando, the songwriter, sang and played bass guitar.
However it was difficult to find a place to practise and after a lot of tries he hoped to have finally rent the right one.

It was a rough old isolated cottage located in the open countryside. This had been fundamental in the choice as there was nobody nearby who could complain. There was a large room where to practise, a kitchen, a bathroom, it was supplied with gas and electricity, just a normal house where they could stay for more than a few hours without freezing during winter and with the luxury of fresh water during summer. The rent was low and this was very positive for them who worked only occasionally. They had created a cash fund where they saved what they could for the band's expenses and 0o record their own CDs.
After collecting everything he went to pick his friends up.
All of them were excited to go to the new house. How many laughs in the car as they were going there. From afar it was really cute, surrounded by huge shady trees, a pit on the left and a green and thick hedge that ran all around, a postcard landscape. They parked and after unloading everything at last they could play.
They played like they never had as they knew nobody could hear them and obviously no one would complain.

Since then their rehearsals got longer and more satisfying but Rolando was not satisfied, he had not written the winning song yet, he had no inspiration, he was blocked, and therefore he was very nervous and intractable.
He had moved into the cottage leaving his parents who were saddened but also relieved because they really needed a break. It wasn't easy to live with that son, a rebel, never serene, never calm, and, during that period, particularly unbearable.

Rolando, when the guys weren't there, went around the cottage and its surroundings like a caged animal in search of inspiration, of a scream that could give them the desired success.
Behind the house there was a barn full of old things all piled messily. When the four boys had seen it they had felt nauseated.
Dust, cobwebs and insects of various kinds were masters of the area, but Rolando, so frustrated at that time, had no problem.
He cleaned everywhere, looking around in search of something, of anything. He worked for two days to clean up and brought to light so many objects, but with his big disappointment, he had to admit that there was nothing useful for him or the band.
When he had lost all his hopes he found strange and old music books in a hidden case behind a chest. They really had to be very old judging by their covers and watermarked paper , and their smell was so strong Rolando felt suddenly dizzy.
Intrigued he opened one of those precious books and while flipping its pages he had the strange feeling the book had started breathing. How long did he spend sitting on that bench? Hours? Days? When he stood up he staggered slightly and felt an urgent need for food. He was going to the kitchen when he saw something shimmering on the floor.
He stooped and picked it up but was too tired even to watch. He went into the kitchen to eat something. It was dark. He had entered into the barn in the morning and had lost track of time. He felt strange and agitated. What had he been doing in the barn? It was not possible he'd been reading those music books for hours! He wanted to sleep, to rest. He stretched out on the bed trying to sleep, but he couldn't. He began to hear strange noises running through the walls, rumbles, bangs, squeaks, whispers so terrifying to freeze the blood in his veins. "What's going on? This is not my first night here and there has always been a deep silence". He decided to inspect the house in search of a reason that would explain those oddities. Initially he saw nothing, then, wherever he looked he saw dark shadows flying around him and crawling along the walls and red-fired eyes following his movements. Suddenly he felt such a terrorizing intense burning spreading throughout his body he ran out of the house to find relief and refreshment.

Lying on the ground the desired relief came, that feeling of blazing fire slowly disappeared. His head was bursting. "What happened in there? This isn't the same house as before ". Then he remembered those books, how he had felt touching them, but he was too tired, he wanted to rest and, exhausted as after a long workout, remained where it was, and fell into a fitful and erratic sleep. He fell into a deep chasm, the heart exploded in his chest and his throat tightened and while he was sinking, chilling figures, flaming skeletons, rotting bodies, flames, slithering forms sought to grab him.

When it happened to open his eyes he saw scary eyes sparkling in the dark, but, despite trying, he was unable to rise as blocked by someone sitting on him and keeping him immobile while snickering: "you're mine! you're mine! "
But why couldn't he wake up? He felt he had to, but eventually he gave up to those sparkling eyes.

His dreams changed suddenly. No more horrifying scenes, but lights, colours, stunning landscapes, wonderful women, fantastic hotels, theatres filled with adoring audiences, and Rolando walking between wings of applauding crowd.

Then he woke up. He felt fine, fresh and rested as if he had been sleeping on a feathery bed of a luxury hotel room and had had a revitalizing shower. He ran into the cottage and took from the kitchen table the sheet he had collected in the stable. It was a music score sheet. Now it wasn't glistening, maybe because it was in Rolando's hands and had no need to be noticed by him, as if that sheet had a life of its own. Holding it tightly in his hand he hurried to his guitar, turned it on and began playing and singing the music found. Immediately adrenalin got pumping, a strong and unexpected power pervaded his body, he felt different, as if he was a giant of rock, his music was wild, aggressive, biting and his voice thick and mighty. He had found his music and his scream, he was sure that music would give his group the desired success.

The walls quivered and flinched, the whole house was him, it was as if the house had been waiting for him for a long time, and through him it was saying: " I'm alive! I'm back!"

It was Saturday and Alex, Ricki and Chris were going to the cottage. They were a bit worried because they hadn't heard from Rolando. They had bought food and soft drinks, as their friend had no car and couldn't go shopping. When they arrived they hardly recognized the place. Only three days had passed but the idyllic place had now become dismal and bleak. The trees around the house didn't seem protective but incumbent and the hedge looked much higher, it was rather impossible to see the roof of the cottage.

Silently they got off the car, baffled and hesitant. Suddenly there was a roar and the explosion of an aggressive, rebellious and wild music, played with intensity and violence, a modern, robust Heavy Metal with a mix of hefty, dark and sometimes even epic metal groove. The ground was shaking under their feet! In their memory it was the first time they were listening to such brutal and frantic rock. Cautiously they went into the house, their friend was playing and singing, but the guy in the room wasn't Rolando. His eyes were cold and nasty, the body seemed more muscular and his music seemed to awaken the primordial instincts hidden in every human being. The three boys looked surprised at first and then Alex and Ricki, excited and euphoric as affected by a strong adrenalin charge, went to their instruments and began to play without uncertainties becoming one with the music and the house.

Chris looked bewildered and astonished seeing how they had changed their aspect. He couldn't understand what was happening to his friends and to the place, but whatever it was made him feel a deep revulsion and near to vomit.
They were playing a music that had nothing of rock, strident, piercing and cawing sounds, entering into his brain and making him go crazy. He called them, trying to persuade them to leave the house, to return home with him, but they kept on playing as if possessed. As soon as the word Devil entered into his head horrifying figures leaped from the bodies of his friends shouting: "They're ours now, come with us. Why not? Why are you resisting? Can you hear how good they are? Don't you want to play like them? Don't you want to be famous? ". They advanced and Chris backed appalled and terrified until he found the front door and threw himself out.
He ran to the car and, without any hesitation, drove away. It seemed centuries since when they had come there, happy to have found an isolated place where they could play without being disturbed. How many hours they had spent there chatting and making plans. Then slowly there had been changes in Rolando and then Alex and Ricki had become more introverted and nervous, less expansive and jovial.
"But what am I doing?" he thought "terrifying figures! What did I imagine? Just because they go through a period of nervousness I'm thinking these stupidities. Now I go back and insist until we clarify and everything will return as it was before " He turned his car but when he was there the hedge had completely hidden the cottage. The entrance had vanished and the deafening music that could be heard made impossible any attempt to draw his friends' attention. Powerless he went home and spent the night thinking about what to do.

Alex's and Ricki's parents called him to ask where their sons were. He told them they were at the cottage and wanted to sleep there.

They were aware that on Sunday evening the group had to play in a near village and generally these events made the boys agitated. The following day, early in the afternoon, Chris returned to the cottage. That night the group had to play and he was the driver.
When he arrived he was relieved seeing the old idyllic cottage surrounded by the hedge and the protecting trees. There was peace and silence. He entered cautiously and began to call them: "Alex, Ricki, Rolando". No one answered.

He noted that the equipment to bring to the event was ready. Luckily they didn't need much as all the instruments were provided by organizers and usually that didn't happen. Chris looked everywhere but he couldn't find anyone. Then he noticed the back door leading to the barn was open. He couldn't believe they were there because they had always told that place was disgusting. He was surprised to find everything clean and tidy. The guys were sitting on improvised seats around a chest and flipping very ancient books. They were speaking softly and when they realized he was there they invited him to sit down and have a look to those books.

He approached cautiously while icy chills were running through his spine. Meanwhile a warm wind was enveloping him, he couldn't breathe and had to stop. They looked at him coldly, waiting. Strangers in his friends' bodies. The earlier sense of relief had vanished. What should he do? He was frightened. Nobody was speaking. They were just staring at him as enemies do, enemies waiting for their prey's move and if they don't like it, ready to leap and eat it.

Chris decided to ignore what was going on in their head and with a determined voice he said: "Well! What are you doing here? I've come to pick you up. I saw that you have prepared everything and you're ready, why don't we go?”

“Have you noticed that I cleaned and cleared everything here? "said Rolando with a detached tone.

"Well done, surely you've found a lot of junk and many interesting objects, I'll see them tomorrow ". Chris replied hastily hoping in this way to leave that horrible place which was getting increasingly hot and stuffy.
"Yes, you say well, junk and interesting things, very interesting, as these books for example", while speaking with a persuasive voice Rolando had picked up the books and handed them to Chris with an inviting look, "they're antique, watch how beautiful and precious they are, feel the paper, smell their scent, they're music books, we could adapt and use the scores. Come on, flip them, make me happy!"
Chris and Rolando looked each other like two enemies. Rolando was like a snake trying to fold the friend in his turns. Chris felt that if he did what he was asked to he would regret it bitterly for all the troubles resulting.
He couldn't figure out what was going on. He could read a tangible threat even in Alex's and Ricki's icy eyes, they too were ready to jump on him. "They flipped through the books," Chris thought "the paper must be covered with a special powder that is poisoning them. I have to do something for them, but above all I have to go away from here or I too will be poisoned. "


The survival instinct won on everything. He turned his back, and trying not to run, walked away from the barn as quickly as possible saying with casual tone: "But you must be crazy! We must leave and they read books. Rolando, loneliness hurts you, it makes you do strange things. Believe me, you must return to your parents' house, sleep in a comfortable bed, have a shower, and have regular meals, not this crap that we bring to you. And you two, dear friends, have really left me in trouble, your parents have tortured me with thousands of questions last night. In my opinion you should go home to show that you are alive. Come on, move, please!"

Almost screaming he left the stable, took the two bags, closed the door and loaded the car. The friends calmly got on the car. He was pleased to notice the more they got away from the house, the more their breath and the traits of their faces were becoming smooth and calm.
Chris kept on talking without stopping and without really knowing what he was saying. He was convinced the three weren't listening to him at all, but he wanted to give a semblance of normality to a situation that wasn't.
Watching them furtively, he realized something inside them was leaving them free to breathe. He took them to their house and went to pick them up later to go to the event.
While waiting for their turn Chris saw his friends talking and watching him as if they were taking a decision, then Rolando went to him and told him bluntly that they had been trying a new song the whole night and as they wanted to play it he wouldn't play.

"And who plays drums? " Chris snapped now infuriated.

"Alex," Rolando answered gelid "when you are ready to do what I want you'll play with us again, otherwise you can leave the group, we don't need you. By the way we 've a lift to go back home, you're free".

After these words he coolly turned and went away. Chris was flabbergasted and speechless, dazed by the events of those twenty-four hours. He didn't go away curious to hear the song they had decided to play and what had made Alex the King of drums in one night.

It was their moment. There was the announcement, the usual preparations, and then his friends took their places, still like statues for a few seconds and then the first sounds. Chris was more and more astonished, like the previous evening there was a radical transformation in them, instantly they were bigger, more muscular and wilder. Their sounds, agonizing and almost satanic for Chris, were exciting the audience composed mainly of boys and some curious old people who were there essentially to criticise.

The boys under the stage, after a surprised initial uncertainty, hearing that rabid, distorted lysergic rock, characterized by relentless and haunting riffs, as if hypnotized, taken by a psychedelic trance, began to shake hands, to fidget, to yell, accompanying the sounds. Even some of the old people felt growing inside a sense of rebellion that only an aged and tired body kept within the limits of decency.

Only few people were immune to the collective hysterical raptus and making the sign of the cross they fled away.

Watching the scene with unbiased eyes there was nothing strange, a rock band was playing and the audience was wildly participating. Chris,however, had never seen such a scene, a continuation of the weird things happening to him lately.There was something wrong, but he couldn't understand what. "My friends have become demons and have me ousted from the band. Ridiculous! " He left the village with a thousand thoughts in his mind and went home. Everything was dark and there was a profound silence. His parents were sleeping and trying not to make noise he went into the living room and took the blessed candles from a locker.

While going to the door he saw in a corner some bottles of holy water. He had never believed in blessed candles and holy water, but he was so confused, dazed and desperate that he was willing to believe anything that could help him. He put everything in a backpack along with a flashlight, matches and lighters and furtively he returned to his car.
He was shaking and was drenched in sweat, he had no precise plan but felt he had to act in some way and, especially, had to face his enemies.
He went back to the cottage because he didn't know if those demons were hallucinations or not, but he knew he wanted to face them to free his friends. He had just started the engine and was already there. He shut down the engine, came down from the car and wore the backpack from which he took the torch to light his way.
The cottage was completely hidden by a menacing vegetation. He was terrorized but he had to go over there and save his friends. They had been tied up for years sharing laughters, aspirations, dreams and no devil or strange, ancient, stupid books could divide them.
He lit a candle and saw a movement amongst the branches, he lit another and slowly the entrance opened. While advancing his heart seemed to burst, he stopped panting, took the bottle and drank some water hoping in a bit of courage.
Walking through the gap Chris was enveloped by a warm wind and heard a whispering voice saying: "they're mine!You too will be mine, I won't leave you! " He arrived at the bench with the books. How beautiful they were! In the light of the candles the golden letters glittered and their reverberation spread around in concentric circles while bright and menacing eyes were looking at him threatening. He saw a dense mist coming from them directly going to the nostrils and then to the brain. Suddenly what a pain in his head!
Without leaving the candles he grabbed the books, ran out and threw them to the ground, then exhausted he leaned against the wall of the barn.The ground began to tremble and he vomited.

The scent was sweet and nauseating. "Think Chris, think!" He felt was forgetting something important, but what? And then he remembered the group had played a new song, where could the score be?
He lit all the candles that were in his backpack and put them around the books. He tried to breathe calmly, then, taking two lit candles before him, he went into the house looking for the damned score.

Walls sagged and closed upon him, there were squeaking and grinding noises, shadows were tumbling about in the air without daring to approach to the shaking and wavering flames. The floor swayed, he heard voices, whispers and threatening rumbles. Those weren't hallucinations, certainly evil presences had taken possession of the house.

Something under a pile of papers was shining in the dark, he pulled it out and ran outside, with the heart throbbing in his throat, threw the sheet on the books.

He vomited again. Leaning against the wall he opened the backpack and drank again. He tried not to hear all the squawks, screams, voices around him while the flames of the candles came up to the books. Angry flames erupted and a brutal, savage laugh penetrated inside him and mocky words sneered him from the books:" Ehi, asshole, we are made of fire, You can't do anything, give up, you are mine!"
Chris was desperate, what could he do?
Then he began to laugh as if he had lost his mind, he laughed as only a fool can do. He opened his backpack again and began to pour all the water he had on the books and on the score screaming out: "you're made out of fire? The fire won't do anything? And then enjoy a bit of water to refresh yourself, you will be fine. Why don't you say anything? No laugh now ? Drink! this water is special. I grew up with this water. They made me swim in this water when I was in Lourdes! Not once, but many times! Let's drink together! Hands off my friends and me and go back where you came from!" Chris was dancing and laughing as if he was really crazy then he stopped exhausted.
The candles were almost completely consumed, the water was over, the books and the score were on the bench, illegible, wet, with the ink smudged all over and a strong smell of burnt paper.

There were no more glittering eyes and no shadows fluttering through the air, no earthquake, the floor was still and the trees and the house were normal, but, above all, there was a wonderful, amazing silence. No squeaks, groans, creaks, whispers, roars, screams, nothing, only silence.
Suddenly a deep sense of prostration fell upon him. He felt exhausted, empty, he dragged himself to the car and went back home.
He opened the door quietly and without even undressing he threw himself on the bed. How beautiful to be safe in his bed! She didn't want to think about anything at the moment. Tomorrow he would have found out if he was still part of a band, if he still had friends and if everything had come back to normallity. For a moment he saw two peering eyes in the dark, but he felt too exhausted to care and sank into a deep sleep.

His loving mother put a blanket on him and silently closed the door of the room.

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