Pietaador Biisteerrson

If I had to describe Elina Remes in one word, that word would be a rose. Eye-catching, beautiful, and yet thorny. Very colorful and yet incredibly pure. I’ve known her for over two decades. When we first met, Elina was that one girl all the boys at school liked. Most ended up being weirded out by her artistic interests and unusual choice of pets. I on the other hand found her peculiarities charming. I guess that’s why we bonded and remained friends all those years later. Still, as people age, they tend to drift apart. The same happened to her and me. We’ve remained close nonetheless, regardless of time and distance.

It wasn’t much of a surprise when she called me, wanting to talk about nothing in particular. The odd thing was, however, the way she casually spoke about being separated. I remember the happiness written all over her face at her wedding. In fact, she always seems to be content with herself and her life. A woman with a positive heart and yet so dark a mind it would’ve driven anyone else to madness.

The thing about Elina is that her life was always decent; her parents are great, and she has got a great relationship with her siblings. She was never hungry or seriously ill. A dream-like existence. One that potentially enabled her to see things we, the less fortunate, not that my life is so terrible, couldn’t see. She could express and redefine darkness to even the most morbid individuals.

As we spoke over the phone, the topic of art naturally came up. Elina said she was about to launch her first exhibition in a few weeks and wondered if I was interested in getting a sneak peek at her works before they go public. Admittedly, I’ve always liked her paintings and getting to see a bunch of reptiles was just a sweet bonus. I agreed, and we’ve spent a weekend together since she lives quite a distance away.

I ended up driving through a blizzard to see a bunch of depressive paintings, nearly killing myself through exposure just because I felt like having a few drinks and a chat with an old friend. Granted, said friend is probably the most intelligent person I know and is someone who understands me like no other on a spiritual level of sorts, but next time, I’ll have her over at my place…

Once I arrived at Elina’s, I instantly remembered how great it was to grow up in a distant village in the mountains. The silence, the cold yet real humanity, and the almost romantic atmosphere around everything. It was almost intoxicating.

Speaking of intoxicating, as it is customary for us, an offer of a drink followed a greeting from my dearest friend and that’s how we’ve spent nearly half a day. Drinking vodka and catching up before for a few hours before Elina’s art collage came to mind. I had almost entirely forgotten about it in an endless conversation about idiots at work, idiots in the wider world, and idiots as a whole. Honestly, for someone who had been through a recent separation, Elina seemed genuinely happy, with no signs of hurt or longing. Almost eerily so. And it’s not like she hid her emotions, either. We declared our love for each other a few times that day.

Eventually, after being already fairly intoxicated, Elina grabbed my hand and pulled me into her gallery room. Proudly unveiling painting after painting. Before long, a picturesque cacophony of artistic madness surrounded me. Paintings the likes of “Tears of Agony” which was a painting of a screaming face with tear marks carved into the skin surrounded by a rainbow of fiery colors in violent strokes mimicking flames or “Until Death and Beyond” which was a painting of a man kissing his dead lover as the latter lay lifeless, pale and emaciated from consumption were so emotive and true to life they had a sobering effect on me.

Another painting; “Oppression” had an incredibly realistic depiction of possessive oppression or the tight grip of madness on one’s mind. A pair of conjoined ghastly faces, sharing a cheek and obscuring each other’s mouths with equally deathly hands surrounded by pitched darkness. This one was really powerful; I could almost hear their muffled screams as I looked at it. I almost felt bad for them as I looked at these faces.

There were dozens of such paintings in that room, all different, each unique. A new flavor and shade of the mental hell this woman was spilling out of her brain somehow without ever having to pass through the gates of perdition.

Elina found it funny that I was so blown away by the majesty and purity of her works. The unbridled darkness in “A Northern Night Over the Gaping Jaws of Hel” and the insane detail of drawings on the robe of the courtesan in “Jigoku” were all just so captivating and beyond any logic. I knew she was talented, but I did not know she had gotten this fucking brilliant.

And yet, there stood one covered canvas Elina seemed to avoid showing to me. I noticed she skipped that one a few times, but before I could ask her about it. She said, “I’ll be back in a moment” before leaving me alone with the visual madness that was peering straight into my mind.

Whatever was under that cloth really intrigued me, regardless of if this was something unfinished or something that wasn’t up to her standard. I wanted, I needed, to see it. The hidden painting was almost calling out to me, begging for my eyes to experience it. I walked over to the covered canvas, thinking it wouldn’t be too big of a deal if I just took a peek at what was underneath and pulled the cloth away.

My heart skipped a bit when I saw what was underneath. I couldn’t believe my eyes. It couldn’t or shouldn’t have been real. Just couldn’t. My skin crawled, and a sudden breeze caressed my limbs as I stared into the eyes of that thing.

Pietaador Biisteerrson.

A hundred-eyed, dog-headed, tattered-winged abomination with a serpentine lower half. A demonic presence that no one should’ve ever known about. I have told no one about this thing since my mother decades ago. This creature used to haunt me at night. It would just stand over me and drool hungrily as I cowered away under my sheets, trying to fall asleep.

The terrible snorts that accompanied its putrid breath once again came to mind, as I could not turn my gaze away from the illustration of the chimera. Torn between confusion and a growing dread, I continued to stare at the creature trapped on the canvas. As if attempting to face my greatest fear once and for all.

The sound of violent coughing forced me to pull my gaze away from the devil in the painting. Hyperalert and practically wheezing, I left the gallery room, calling out Elina’s name. She wouldn’t answer, but the coughing got worse and louder. Almost to the point of vomiting. I could hear audible pained gasps for air between the fits of a cough. I looked around for Elina, but I couldn’t find her. The house seemed to grow bigger and become labyrinthine in my panic.

“Ella, are you alright?”

“Hey, Ella, is everything okay?”

I kept screaming as the sound of her coughing assaulted my eardrums. Finally, I found her crouching on the floor next to a bed. I stood over her, placing my hands on her shoulders as something escaped her mouth.

“What’s wrong, El..?” I didn’t even finish the sentence. She turned to face me. Her gray eyes were bloodshot and pleading, blood pouring out of her mouth. The color was fading from her skin as she bent herself once more in a coughing fit. Her throat was making all sorts of disgusting sounds between pained moans escaping her mouth and reflexive attempts to expel whatever was stuck inside of her.

The sight of her in this state threw me into a state of panic-induced dizziness, interwoven with fear. I could feel my heartbeat in about every organ and the room was spinning at irregular angles. The combination of alcohol in my system and the sensory overload weren’t doing me any favors. I was getting sick myself and totally lost. Elina grabbed onto my shirt and collapsed on top of me, her head facing downward. I heard something make its way up her throat. That sickening sound, God…

A current of blood came flooding through her lips as I hopelessly watched until she fell on the floor. Completely still. I just stood there, frozen, unable, and unwilling to move. Feeling as if I am experiencing an out-of-body experience.

I thought she was dead; I thought I was dying or was already dead. Maybe there was something in the alcohol. Or something in some of the paint she used. I didn’t want to die. I felt like screaming and crying, but I couldn’t utter a sound. My body wasn’t my own during these moments. My mind was eating itself alive, trying to keep me afloat in all of that madness, but nothing could prepare me for the sight of Elina’s body jolting violently and flipping face upward. She shook violently, grasping at her chest and throat before a thundering crack out of her mouth, echoing like gunfire in my ears.

A dog’s snout came out.

Followed by a massive black mass of muscle and fur and snakes and skin all pulling themselves up from within her mouth with a wet noise violating the room.

It all happened so fast, almost like a movie reel. It was too fucking insane to be true and yet there I was, face to face once again, with that animal that drooled over my form when I was a child. Crawling out of the body of my friend.

It let out a terrible roar that turned into a shriek and eventually into a whistle. I just closed my eyes and prayed for everything to stop. My prayers came true when a wave of burning liquid iron covered everything from my head to my chest. An ocean of searing pain. It was so bad I couldn’t even scream.

After that, came darkness. Pure nothingness. The sweet release of death whose joy-bringing embrace I felt but for a moment and then I was gone.

Eventually, I woke up, wrapped up in blankets in a very warm room. Looking around, it felt very cozy. I thought I was in heaven. Especially after seeing Elina’s angelic face smiling at me.

“Wha… what happened?” I let out.

“You went outside underdressed and passed out…” she said before smacking me across the face. “Idiot, don’t scare me like that!” She scolded, trying to sound stern, but her voice sounded caring and sweet.

My thoughts were still swimming in the mush that was in my brain. My entire body was sore and my head pounding.

“I left you for a second to answer the phone, and you end up half-dead.” Elina complained, “Damn you men!”

“A s-s-second?” I slurred.

“Well, yeah, maybe more than a second… “

“What… about… the… creature… and… you… and… blood…” I questioned, struggling with my verbiage.

She sighed, “You looked at the Bies-infested canvas, love.”

I looked at her, perplexed. She must’ve noticed the change in my expression.

“You won’t believe me now, but this thing is how I get inspiration. It shows the viewer terrible things. Had it in the family forever. We’re immune to its effects. I don’t know why. We see the visions, but everyone in my family knows it’s all not real. It doesn’t freak us out. I look at it every now and again and use the visions as inspiration for my paintings,” she explained.

“Aha…” I wasn’t sure if to believe her. A demon-infested painting canvas sounds kind of impossible, but a lot of things around this woman are impossible. I can’t stress enough just how good these paintings are at being macabre in the rawest sense.

She figured she didn’t convince me just yet, so she got up to her feet and walked out of the room saying, “let me show you something.”

I wasn’t really able to think straight, so none of anything made sense to me at that moment. Elina came back a few moments later holding a piece of paper she handed to me. Her husband’s death certificate.

Cause of death; suicide. The poor bastard shoved scissors into his eyes and ended up killing himself that way.

Elina’s voice turned solemn. “I told him not to look at it, but he did when I wasn't home to stop him, after years of me warning him against it. I don’t know what the canvas showed him, but he couldn’t handle it.”

“Oh” was the only thing that escaped my mouth in response. I was in pure disbelief and potentially considering the truthfulness of her words. After all, why would she lie to me?

In typical Elina fashion, she lightened up the mood, saying, “I never told you why I am single. I just told you I am” before snatching the death certificate away.

“I’m just glad you’re still alive...” she muttered, walking out of the room.