The Quiet Words

Dear Reader,

Some of you are familiar with one or more of my stories. Many of them feature a character by the name of Samil. He’s a trickster of sorts. Sometimes he is mischievous, and sometimes he’s pure evil. Today, I want to tell you another Samil story. A true story.

 Hae verba legendo, ianuam obscuritatis aperis

Curses are real, but so are counter-curses. By reading these words, you are protected from him. But he insists that you know him. This is the story of how Samil cursed me. A cautionary tale.  

I first met Samil when I was still in college. He was disguised as a janitor. I was studying English and, like many English majors, I was trying to publish my writing. Of course, I was failing miserably. Imposter syndrome hit me hard, and I still have not been able to shake it. Isn’t there a cure for it yet?

One night, I was deep inside the school library, tucked away in one of the many cozy nooks. I typed away on my laptop. Another short story. I fell in love with the idea in my head, but the words showing up on the page sapped every ounce of optimism I had. Another pile of crap. I submitted it to a contest anyway, and of course heard nothing. I could imagine the judges laughing as they read the garbage I had just submitted.

That is when I first saw him. Or, when I first noticed that I saw him. This was the first time we spoke.

He rolled his car past my cozy corner, stopped, then backed up with keen interest.

Watching me type for a few seconds, he grinned in his charming way and said, “Ah yes, the midnight writer. Churning out the next masterpiece.”

I snorted a laugh and said, “Not quite. Churning out a bunch of trash is all I’m capable of.”

“I seriously doubt that”, he said.

He then held out his hand and said, “I’m Samil. And you are?”

“I’m Dan. Nice to meet you…Samil?”

He nodded.

At the time, I didn’t find it odd to be sharing so much with a complete stranger. He had a very inviting way about him. Charming. With a British accent. He was tall and thin, with an easy smile. He is the type of guy nobody knows but everyone wants to talk to at a party.

He sat down across from my little table as if he had no other place to be.

“Tell me, what are we writing today?”

I spun my laptop around and invited him to look. He read my story with intense interest. Nodding and smiling at times. Then becoming solemn and quiet at others. Watching anyone else read my writing, right in front of me, would have sent me into a panic attack. But I was anesthetized by his allure. It was already too late for me.

Umbrae te persequentur, et imago tua iam tua non erit.

When he was done, he spun my laptop around and clapped. “Brilliant! I loved it. Especially at the end when we find out the guy was trapping them all along! I was so scared for him, and it turns out he knew what he was doing the whole time!”

I smiled reluctantly. Distrustful of an actual compliment.

“Dan, tell me, how many stories have you published? Have you written your first novel yet?”

I shook my head. “None. But, I have written a novel. Still editing it.”

Nodding, Samil sat back. His eyes flared as if by a hungry fire, just for a moment.

“Yes, the path to publication can be treacherous. What if I told you I could help you? What would that be worth to you?”

“Help me?” I asked.

Samil said nothing. Just stared at me with his wide eyes, allowing me to explore the possibilities in my own mind.

“You mean, you know someone who can publish my work?”

My face burned at the thought of calling my writing “work”. How pretentious of me.

Samil leaned forward, sliding the laptop between us aside. “Not exactly. But what if I told you I could give you a story guaranteed to get published? And eventually your novel? Isn’t that what it’s all about? Your name on the lips of the world!”

I had no idea he was talking about himself at this point, but I think that was his intent. He made it about me. And I was all too eager to lap up what he was feeding me. My eyes filled with rose-colored flashes from the future. Critics heaping praise on me for my “work”. Contest wins. Publishers knocking on my door with offers to sell my novel. Yes, having people read my work and loving it was the whole point! Yes!

Samil silently slid his chair around the table next to me, watching me. As my mind rode this merry-go-round of possibilities, he leaned in close and whispered, “What would it be worth to you?”

And that’s when the deal was done. A barter struck. In hindsight, it sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it? I’m sure reading this now, you must think I should have laughed at the guy and been on my way. Or even if I took him seriously at the time, as soon as he left I should have come to my senses, right? Well, that’s not how it works with Samil. Once the hook is set, you’re on the line.

The only thing he told me was that he would feed me my first story. I asked how.

He said, “In your dreams. You’ll know it when you see my face. Write it, and it will reap for you what you desire.”

I stared at the space in front of me, a tall bookshelf. The first in a series of many spanning all the way to the front of the library. But I didn’t see them. I saw the future.

In a voice that I barely recognized, I asked, “What do I have to do in return?”

With his mouth close to my ear, Samil slid the laptop back in front of me and whispered, “Promise me your soul."

I froze. Not out of fear. Out of confusion. Should I say it out loud? The preposterous proposal seemed perfectly reasonable at the time. Who would believe such an agreement was enforceable? Or even real?

Before I could ask, he answered, “Write it.”

A blank Word document stared at me from my laptop screen. My fingers floated down to the keyboard and I wrote the words, I promise my eternal soul to Samil Romero. November 8, 2016.

Underneath, I typed my name. Samil added a single uppercase “S”, and it was done.

I still have the document saved on my desktop. It’s title is “K”. The legal symbol for the word “Contract”. I haven’t opened the document since. But I know it’s there. Waiting for me.

Samil animam tuam vindicat omni spiritu quem capis

I dreamed that night. Before I could entertain the possibility that it was all a farce, I dreamed. (Have you seen him in your dreams?)

I wrote the story I witnessed in that dream. That story won 2^nd place in a NYC Midnight contest just two months later.

I’ve had many other dreams since. All Samil stories. And I discovered that he feeds me stories in which he plays a central role. He’s not feeding me fiction. All of the stories I’ve written about him are real. They all happened. I started researching them. It took some time, but I’ve been able to track down the real events in many of them already.

He’s done some things. Horrible things. But I can’t stop writing them now. I’ve tried, believe me. And whenever I do, he is there. Prodding me to continue. And the longer it takes for me to get back to it, the less gentlemanly he feels about it. He turns my dreams into nightmares. He’ll be a face in the crowd, then he’s just around every corner. A constant reminder of the contract.

He once showed up as a bartender at my cousin’s wedding in Rhode Island. It was as if he were a perfect stranger who knew a terrible secret. He handed me a drink with an angry smile and said, “So, I guess it’s back to work on Monday, yes?” He didn’t wait for an answer or look at me again.

Back home after the wedding, I realized we have ourselves a co-dependent relationship now. He needs people to know him. His plan was to become famous himself. (Or infamous). He knows that if enough people read his stories and get to know him, they’ll eventually revere him. Worship him. And that’s all it takes. That reverence. And just like me, they won’t even notice until it’s too late. Like a vampire bat that secretes an anesthetic in their saliva, I have been anesthetized. He’s been feeding off of me for years, and I never felt the bite.

Slowly gathering a flock. Sure, the flock is small right now. But it will grow. He wants to include you. But no, it won’t be you. You’re protected now.

Samil has been alive for hundreds of years. Alive is a slippery term though. I’m not sure if such evil can truly be alive. But he’s been here for much longer than I can possibly understand. He has been the fuel for every evil uprising that threatened the human race over millennia. Only to be suppressed by the goodness of humankind.

But this is the main event now. The internet. Social media. A global presence. They’ve made his conquest possible. This is what he’s been practicing for. Sure, we can chuckle at the notion that this beast you’ve never even heard of before suddenly rising up and becoming a powerful presence, wielding such evil. But like I said, it always starts small. Look around you though. Do things seem to be getting better? Or worse? Are we on the precipice of something truly evil about to happen? Does you feel safe? Surrounded by goodness and light?

I wanted to write this today as a warning to you. As the famous vampire killer, Peter Vincent, once said, "Forewarned is forearmed.” Now you know about him, and you can protect yourself. Don’t let yourself get roped in.

I’ve included four phrases embedded in the text of this letter to you as a protective spell. The final phrase is:

Ultimo verbo dicto, huic mundo iam non pertinebis

Did you read all of them? If not, go back and make sure you read the words in your mind. Hear them, even if you don’t know the pronunciation.

My eternal soul is doomed, but if I can save you, then I will consider myself redeemed in the eyes of my God. My only hope is that he saves me from my nearly-certain fate after I depart this mortal coil. As long as I write Samil’s stories, I have breath in my lungs and life in my heart. But as soon as I stop feeding him, I die. And then I will be doomed to spend an eternity in a caged hell I cannot fathom.

Samil has designed a place outside of our realm, but very close. And just as it is in this world, it seems in his world. It always starts small. He welcomes you with promises of bliss and abundance. But soon enough, you notice a tiny crack in the otherwise pristine sky. And then, the façade crashes around you, leaving you in a desolate wasteland where physical pain is the only escape from a psychological torture that will torment you until the universe collapses on itself and begins again.

I want to thank you for reading this. As I stated at the beginning, this is a true story. I pray that you read every word and took it to heart. And now that you’ve read every word, I must conclude with an apology.

An apology because if you weren’t particularly frightened by what you read, you’re going to have to start getting scared right away. The words you read were not actually a protective spell. They were a trap.

He was unhappy with my progress as a writer and made me write this letter. I would urge you to use Google Translate to learn the meanings of the four Latin phrases contained within the text.

Samil showed me through terrifying images in nightmares what he would do to me if I did not write this letter, so please forgive me. Since I am so unsuccessful at writing, he has not benefited from the stories I have written about him to the extent he previously expected. And now, you have been anesthetized. I’m so sorry. It’s already too late for you.

By voluntarily reading the words, you have entwined yourself in the very same Nemorosa as me. Misery loves company.

It will start slowly. It always starts small. At first, you’ll be able to convince yourself it’s all nonsense. Just a silly story written around Halloween to scare you. But I assure you, it’s all true. This is really happening to you now. This particular contest was the perfect feint. A masquerade.

The first time it happens, you won’t even notice it. You’ll see him somewhere in public. A grocery store, the gym, or on the street. He'll be charming and polite. And then his image will evaporate from your mind as quickly as it appeared. You will begin to feel as though someone is watching you. You’ll dismiss it, as you always have. But the feeling will return.

And then you’ll see him again. His face will be vaguely familiar. But that happens sometimes, doesn’t it? Until you see him again. After a few coincidences, he will start showing up in more intimate places. Situations you wouldn’t expect. He’ll be the most politely intrusive person you’ve ever met.

All that time while you dismissed the little bites as minor annoyances, he will already have begun feeding. I don’t really know how long it takes, but the changes are so subtle that you won’t even notice. But the people around you will. Those closest to you will find you to be more and more paranoid. You’ll see his face when he’s not there. Insisting to your loved ones that the evil is there. Right there! All they’ll see is empty space where you witness unspeakable evil.

Whispering voices will taunt you from behind empty shadows. No one else will hear them. You’ll see something move out of the corner of your eye, but when you turn to look, nothing will be there. The demons coming to drag you to Samil’s hell will be getting closer.

He will drain your soul from you, leaving an empty husk. Much like the exuvia a cicada leaves after it molts. Your goodness, your soul, will be imprisoned in his world, far away from the paradise we live now. Replaced here on Earth, among your loved ones, by a doppelganger. A soulless extension of the evil that is Samil Romero. Another soldier in his army ordained to rid the world of innocence, drawing pure evil to reign with insanity and relentless fury.

Please forgive me for I am weak. You would have done the same in my place.