The Dead Nights

The innkeeper was cleaning beer mugs as he looked at the darkness through the window. Outside, the snowstorm showed no trace of abating.

The door opened suddenly, letting wind and snow howl into the room. The torches tilted for a while before lighting the tall, horned and hairy monster that burst into the inn.

- Are you already here? -asked the inn owner. - You don't fear a thing, do you?

Covered by a cloak, a stranger looked up from a dark corner beside the fireplace.

The monster walked on its feet and carried a huge club in its claws. It growled affirmatively while it shook the snow off of its fur.

- No, we are not letting bad weather disturb our mission -the monster said as it brought its claws behind its head-. There is no excuse for not carrying on our duty on the Twelve Nights.

The monster lifted the heavy horned mask and let the head of a youngster appear. He would be some eighteen years old and tall and burly. The stranger smoked slowly from his pipe as the youngster put the dreadful mask on a table and the innkeeper served him a pint.

- I used to have a mask like yours when I was younger -the stranger said, putting down the hood of his cloak. The pale light coming from the fireplace lit the face of an old man. Grey were his hair and his beard, and his eyes shone in an odd way. The youngster, curious, approached the old man.



- Long, long ago I used to be the best-known Schiachpercht in the shire where I lived. I would not have been afraid of a snowstorm like this. -The old man had a very deep voice, as if it came from the very bowels of the earth. -To scare away the evil spirits hanging around on the Dead Nights is too important a job.

- ¿Dead Nights? ¿Do you mean the Twelve Nights? -the youngster asked.

- Indeed, -the old man sat up- the twelve nights remaining after twelve lunar months to complete a solar year. The nights when the goddess Berchta runs around the mountains, when darkness covers everything, when the line between living and dead is so fragile that one hardly can tell the difference. And that's why we have to put on fearsome masks to scare evil away, for on these nights they fly around our towns.

- Yes -the youngster nodded proudly-, and I am the one Schiachpercht that always runs after evil spirits the farthest, even deep into the woods. I am the only one. The others have no guts.

The innkeeper rolled up his eyes, used to his braggings.

- The border between braveness and stupidity is quite difficult to tell -the old man replied with an undecipherable smile. -You ought to respect the woods. Some of the beings that dwell there are not easy to scare away, even with a mask like yours.

The old man closed his eyes and let the smoke from his pipe slowly out of his mouth. The youngster remained silent as the old man began to tell his story.

- There is an old tale where I come from, telling the story of a Schiachpercht who, like you or like me, used to go out with his mask on the Dead Nights. He, too, had no fear when chasing evil spirits deep into the woods.

The old man took a deep breath before going on.

- It is said that in the middle a snowstorm night he went alone into the woods and found a lake of dark waters he had never heard of. He was there ambushed by wood goblins who awoke with their cries and laughs an old and powerful evil spirit that slept in the water. In order to save his life, the young man sealed a pact with the spirit, turning into a lycanthrope, a werewolf...



- I don't believe in werewolves! -laughed the youngster. The old man looked at him with fiery eyes, irritated at the interruption.

- The villagers, worried for the missing young man, parted to search for him. On the second night, his mask was found, broken and covered with blood. On returning to the village with the mask, they were hunt down by a creature of the night, from whose fierce attack only one man was able to escape. Badly wounded, he made it into the village to explain, briefly before exhaling his last breath, that the horror the group found walked on its feet as a human but it turned into a wolf to attack them. That two-legged creature wore the clothes of the missing young man.

- It's a good story to scare children, but werewolves don't exist -the youngster insisted.

- The biggest triumph of the Devil is to make us doubt his existence -the old man replied.


- Nonsense -the youngster drank up his pint. -I still have a lot to do tonight. It's been nice to meet you, but I cannot stay for any longer here with your tales. The woods are waiting for me -the youngster said. He threw a coin over the counter and put his mask on again.

- Good hunt, young Schiachpercht -the old man smiled.

- You too, stranger -the youngster replied, his voice distorted behind the mask.

An icy wind blew again into the room as the youngster walked out. It did not snow any more. The old man stayed for a while beside the fire. As he finished his pint, he wrapped himself with his cloak, bid farewell to the innkeeper and walked out the room.

The innkeeper shook his head and continued cleaning beer mugs. As he looked around the room, he realized that the old man had forgotten his pipe on the table. With a sighing, he picked it and went outside to see if he could still catch him.

The old man's cloak laid empty on the virgin snow, the full moon illuminating it briefly between the clouds. The sceptic innkeeper looked around and he thought he saw the dark silhouette of a wolf, running into the darkness of the woods.

It's all so beautiful / like a landscape painting in the sky

No matter what your beliefs are, may your life be blessed with Peace, Beauty, Love and Happiness. Thanks for reading me, thanks for being there, thanks for the support, and Merry Christmas!

Driving home for Xmas...

Well, actually we didn't drive, we flew home. But the spirit is the same as in the song, because we started our travel (almost our journey!) yesterday in the morning and we arrived home at night. But it's really nice to meet (again or, in some cases, for the first time in person!) with those who have been supporting me all the time.

I am quite excited about these Xmas! :)

The Source of All Things

When you decide to move to another country, it has to be clear that there is a lot of things that you are going to miss. Besides your friends and family, of course, most of the things that you are going to end up missing are quite surprising, because they are quite trivial, like fried corn, the music of a jackpot machine in a bar or water-filled ashtrays, and because you realize that you miss them the first time you see them again.

Other things you know you are going to miss from the very beginning. Before moving to Austria I told someone here that one of the things that I was going to miss the most was the sea. He looked at me with a strange look on his face and he told me that I should not worry, because there are lots of lakes here in which one can go swimming in summer. All right. Great. It is not what you can do on the sea what I miss. I miss the sea. Just like that. But they don't get it. Maybe because they are not able to understand it at all.



But I am not alone. I know there's someone who understands me. I get understanding from my friend K's blue eyes, where I am able to see the sun reflection on the North Sea over the bow of his Phaleron. I get understanding from the sarcastic smile of a Swedish girl, who asked herself what is really the point of all those Germans who buy themselves a boat to sail around a lake.



But, what is it about the sea? Why do we all who grew at its shores miss it so much? Why do we feel so attracted to the sea?

My mother always told she needs the sea because it is an escape way. Because knowing that the sea is there, she does not feel trapped on solid ground. She might have something there, but I believe there is a deeper reason.



Because the sea is the source of everything. The sea gave us life millions of years ago, and it keeps us alive ever since. It is the sea who gives us our bread. As I look at the sea, I marvel at its incredible beauty, and I could spend hours and hours watching, listening to the waves breaking onto the cliffs, letting the smell of the salt into me, stepping down in respect in front of its infinite power. As I look at the sea I think that everything began just there. And it is still there, after all that happened, and this provides a security and cosiness quite similar to the one you might feel going home. Because I think that the sea is, actually, our home.



I live far away. But I know it's there, and I just need to close my eyes to see the colours, to hear the waves letting their white hair go before dying on the sand with a murmur.