The dark web -Part 4.

The whisper returned.

Mariano brought his hands to his neck and began to scratch. Was vodka no longer getting him drunk? Could you become an alcoholic in a week? Mariano knew he could. He heard the voice more clearly now. His nails dug into his flesh like the claws of a wild animal. Blood stained his fingers and dripped onto his chest. The voice reached an unbearable volume.

Mariano fell to his knees.

He needed to dull it, he needed pain. He looked at his forearm; the marks hadn't healed. Some were infected and oozing a yellow, nauseating substance. He had to go back to the bathroom and look for the razor blades. He had to cut himself.

He stood up, took a step, and stumbled. He held onto the wall for support. Mariano smiled, relieved. The dizziness had come just in time; he was drunk. Alcohol clouded his thoughts, but it also buried the voice deep in his mind, drowning the nightmare.

Without leaving the safety of the wall, he made his way to the living room. There, he found more of the same; the apartment was a mess. The blinds on the balcony window were tightly closed. The noisy sounds of the city were almost imperceptible. The darkness calmed him. He let go of the wall, stumbled, and finally collapsed onto the couch. In front of him, the coffee table was overflowing with papers, dishes, and cigarette butts. He rummaged through a stack of papers until he found a pack of Marlboro cigarettes. He took one, placed it between his lips, and, with a trembling hand, lit it. The first drag was deep and gave him a headache, a real marvel. He reclined and stared at the table. Among the plates full of cigarette butts, there were also burned-out incense sticks.

He muttered a curse.

Supposedly, incense purified the atmosphere of bad vibes. It was all nonsense. They had been completely useless. And what about holy water; the bottle, in a corner of the table, had been another disappointment. First, he washed his face, then he prayed (a prayer he had looked up on Google), and in the end, he drank it. He had gone through the whole procedure with great skepticism (despite the situation), but when it had no effect, he was deeply disappointed; he was running out of options. The printed pages were filled with dozens of solutions that he had researched on the computer when the problem had just started, and his brain had functioned for more than a minute. As always, he had tried to solve the problem on his own; now it was too late to call a priest.

He still had one last card up his sleeve.

On the other side of the table, the flat-screen Sony TV was turned off. Underneath, covered in dust but ready to be used, was the PlayStation 4. Mariano had dreamed of owning one but didn't have enough money to buy it. In the end, he got it in the least expected way. What he had started as a way to kill boredom turned out to be a very profitable job. The golden YouTube plaque hung on the wall as a reminder of his luck. The channel's name read "DARKEXPLORER666."

The day he uploaded his first video on urban exploration, he didn't expect it to get such a response. Subscribers and likes poured in. Apparently, recording himself in an abandoned factory at 2 in the morning captivated people. The Satanic graffiti on the walls helped a lot. And what about the rat that unexpectedly crossed his path; it scared the life out of those who saw it. And, to be honest, him too.

Immediately, he found himself breaking the law and sneaking into the gloomiest places he could find; cemeteries, hospitals, factories, and any abandoned location worthy of a B-movie horror film. He didn't always get a good video, but he managed; with a little help from Photoshop and other editing programs, a fake spectral voice elevated the content (and the views). He didn't feel entirely good about deceiving his subscribers, but he couldn't afford his income to drop and end up back at his parents' house. Parents who didn't mince words when expressing their disgust with their son and his life choices.

Mariano always teetered on a fragile balance between financial sufficiency and ending up on the streets. But that changed in a short time; with the boom of the Deep Web and mystery boxes. His channel was perfect for that kind of content, and without thinking, he found himself acquiring one of those boxes. The video was simply fantastic. He received a package from somewhere in Eastern Europe that he couldn't pronounce; inside was a grotesque doll, photos of a girl, and locks of hair. Mariano scripted a story about a murdered girl turned into a cursed doll. As a result, the channel grew like never before. And it was normal to continue with the same theme; buying another mystery box.

And welcome to hell, our offer for today; a mind-profane demon, delivered to your doorstep.

Mariano reached for a sheet. He squinted so the letters would stop moving and he could read. It was the translation of the note, the damned phrase he had read aloud.

"I GIVE YOU MY FLESH AND MY SOUL."

And don't forget my sanity, you son of a bitch, he thought. He crumpled the sheet and threw it away. He stood up; he wanted to watch the video one last time. Maybe he could spot some detail he had missed that would help him save himself.

On the other side of the room, there was a door. It had a sign attached with the warning, "NO ENTRY, RESTRICTED AREA." It was his editing room; a two by two room with walls crowded with soundproofing egg cartons and a powerful computer with all the editing programs.

"MARIANO, stop resisting and let me come out to play," he heard.

Mariano received the words like a hammer to his senses. He lay on the couch and clenched his fists until they turned pale. There was no time for the video.

The time had come.