The eventful evening concluded with my Brother trying to explain who the man in the mask was and why he had set up a camera while I nodded at all the appropriate times and listened intently at any sign he was on to me; I didn't get any. At the end of his little rambling about perhaps I wanted to record who found the Barrel in order to use them as canvas the two of us sat down once more and watched the clip of me setting up the camera a few more times, however, this time my Brother was busy scribbling notes to truly take it in. I suggested that we should watch when the Witnesses arrived – as I knew I wouldn't get a second chance – with the reason that knowing how the Barrel was found could clear some misconceptions and even, if we're lucky, bring some light on the whole situation. My Brother eagerly obliged.

At first, there was nothing. The night was illuminated only by the Cheshire grin moon that hung low between the silver clouds hiding the stars from the world. Leaves slowly fell down to the beat of the autumn night while the stream flowed slowly and quietly, hitting the Barrel only occasionally. After a few minutes of this – as we had decided to speed up the footage and rewinded when we noticed something happened – sounds could be heard. The wind was loud enough to hide the giggling moon, but despite this, laughter could be heard. Loud laughter penetrated the silent night like a blade, destroying the stilleben and showing that a world beyond this single frame of life existed and was not shy about it. Soon enough the laughter turned to talking, and the talking turned to shouting, and within only a couple of moments, five or six black Shadows escaped from beyond the scene, giving the world a new point of focus. They stumbled as if intoxicated – which they were – and almost as soon as they walked out on the bridge, one of them decided to show off to his pals by standing on the edge of the slippery bridge. He succeeded in a way, as his friends gave out a cheer and laughed a shrill laugh. As expected, within seconds, the Shadow had fallen into the stream, the other Shadows only laughing harder and louder.

The Shadow who had fallen gave out a pained scream before stumbling to his feet. He searched for something to lean on, stumbling on legs of cement, and soon he found a place to lean and rub his sore head. The Barrel. He was leaning against the heavy Barrel as if it were a piece of furniture. His friends must have noticed how he didn't return as they all decided to walk down to him. They were rather careful, however, as the rocks were as slippery as a bucket full of eels, luckily enough for them, only one or two fell and broke their limbs. They limped over to the fallen shadow who was still leaning against the barrel and made a few word-like sounds, but I couldn't be sure what they said since the camera had been just a bit too far away. Noted. After a conversation of sorts the Shadows grouped together once more, all centred around the Barrel with obvious curiosity and glee. One of the Shadows grabbed an object, most likely a bottle, from a large pocket and placed it upon the Barrel. The object was put down and spun around. After a few seconds of giggling the object slowed down to a stop in front of one of the he Shadows, to the others great pleasure and pain. The Shadows, excluding the Chosen One, all took a few steps away from the Barrel. The Chosen One took a few cautious steps forwards, most likely both giddy with excitement and struck with hinted fear. Their shadowy hands wrapped around the lid, checking if it was open, which it was. I had been sure to make it airtight yet easy to open if you simply twisted it open. The Chosen One touched it, hit it, pulled at it, and finally, twisted it. The Barrel made a “fiss” sound, as if someone had opened a recently and relentlessly shaken bottle or soda. The Shadows jumped at the sudden sound, but it was not the sound that forced them to take several steps back and fall to their knees; it was the smell. I could smell it from the comfortable seat of my Brothers leather couch, but I knew it was far from pleasant. The Chosen One who was still holding the lid was sent shooting back as if someone had struck him with a heated iron. His hands were sent rocketing up to his mouth, as he was most likely trying to keep the alcohol and food he had consumed earlier within him; he failed. Even from the distance the camera was at you could still clearly see a thick liquid escaping his gaping mouth. The lid had been thrown to the ground in this sudden surge of motion, revealing the Barrels contents. It was hard to see from the distance the camera was set up at, noted, but you could barely make out a pair of spherical objects enclosed in a dark soup. Most of the Shadows had now fallen to their knees, releasing what they had thought would go out the exit through the entrance. Only one of the Shadows was seemingly unphased, and he limped, only barely keeping his head up, over to the Barrel in order to find out what could create such a foul stench capable of bringing five or six adolescent boys to their knees. Could it be old fish? Mouldy cheese? Excrement? Nope. Humans. I really wish I had set the camera closer; his reaction must have been priceless. He walked over and grappled onto the rims of the barrel in an attempt to battle the nausea, but when he felt something thick and wet and gross on his hand, he noticed it. The stumbled backwards, through the stream, and fell on his arse. Another one of the Shadows tried to get up and out of curiosity check the barrel, but the Shadow whom had witnessed its foul truth almost instantly got to his feet and ran over, resealing the Barrel with the dropped lid. Before the other Shadow even had a chance to object, the one whom had had witnessed it shouted, loud enough for the camera to pick up, “CALL THEM GET THEM HERE NOW DO IT DONT HERE NO,” to which the other Shadow responded with stumbling back in shock. Within a few minutes, the ever faithful police had surrounded the Barrel.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

My Brother wanted to stop it there, but in a fit of what I can only describe as perfectionist glee, I commanded him not to. He obliged.

The cops had a similar reaction. Open it, stumble back, return. However, unlike the adolescent boys, they neither puked nor screamed. In fact, they barely reacted at all, to my great displeasure. I asked my Brother to turn if off, and once more, he obliged.

After this, we decided to call it a night, and within only a couple of minutes, I had returned to my humble abode. I was still feeling the savage glee of knowing I had caused such a display of disgust and fear, but I had had no way of expressing it while my Brother was close by and witnessing the same as I, and thus, I could only express it once I was alone. My mouth twisted itself, almost on command, into a stale grin. My teeth which were normally so clean and precise looked crooked and wrong, only adding to monstrous effect my gleeful grin contained. I brought my thoughts back to the moment the lid had been twisted loose, the “fiss” and their reactions. Oh, their reactions, it was so perfect, and I wish I had put the camera closer, even if it meant I wouldn't be able to retrieve it later. My grin only twisted itself further and further until it was like that of a Cheshire cat. Soon enough my grin had opened up and allowed a sound to flee the prison of my body and make itself known. It sounded like someone inhaling rapidly and shallowly. Like someone who had gotten thrown into a sea of shock so deep they could only take short, hyperventilating breaths. This giggle soon turned into a laugh a thousand times more disturbing. The rapid gasps had turned into full-blown breaths of joy, and the frightening laughter I could no longer shackle resounded through my home like the screams of the damned souls in hell.

I was happy.

I was truly happy.