Paura Del Demonio
It was sunset and they were drinking wine.
The men in the village prepared for the feast of Walpurgisnacht.
On this night hell’s armies break loose. Those damned souls, slowly melting into oblivion, suddenly feel a churning desire that chase them back into existence just for a few hours. But because they no longer remember who they once were, only the masterless, wild beast returns that once was reined in by the living noble or despicable person. And the beast yearns for raving. Its thirst for blood is insatiable, and it seeks a living body to possess just for a while.
The men know: madness can overwhelm any of them at any moment. Despite being strong, able to work like a bull and endure any pain without lament, they know: the beast lies dormant in everyone, and that they can only live in a community without murdering each other because over the eons of its existence the human animal has slowly learned to suppress its wild passions. But they could not uproot these passions altogether because that would have also meant their own destruction.
They know it well: the fate of man is a rope dance between the divine and the diabolical. A stumble is all it takes, and falling into the depths or the heavens he is lost all the same.
And now they were together. They watched each other and prepared.
They drank wine and waited for the night to pass.