The Fear of the Dark taught Riccardo many interesting things.

As in school there were theory and practice, subjects that turned out to be anything but boring.

The first lesson Riccardo learned was that more living worlds were hidden in the shadows than they were looking for in space. Hundreds and hundreds of alternative realities enclosed in frames like glass balls with fake snow inside, teeming with life and who knows what other surprises so different from the reality he knew.

The "doors" to those worlds, however, could not be crossed, they were well closed and there was no key that could open them. But some of them seemed to be related to each other - "how" and "why" not even Fear knew. An example was precisely in Fear.

The world of that creature and that of Riccardo had been connected for centuries. Maybe they had emerged from the cosmic dust of the Big Bang together, who can say? The fact is that they coexist for each other, albeit spaced by who knows how many kilometers of darkness, united by none other than an emotion that is sometimes banal, sometimes catastrophic. Only now, for the first time, did they have physical contact.

Riccardo wondered: how does a being that is the living representation of fear work? Like any other living being, except for some exceptions: it is not born from a mating because it does not need to reproduce, it is born from the desire not to understand or not face something that is considered foreign. It cannot die from sickness or fatal wounds, otherwise it would disappear with the same ease with which men kill each other ... but if you face it or unmask its facade of deceptions and lies, then it will suffer the worst pains of hell and then yes, it will die.

Another important thing: Fear is eternal.

It never gets old, he doesn't even know what it means to grow old. But it knows well that it is more long-lived than dinosaurs, man himself and anything else that was born, appeared or was built on Earth. It lives and exists because Fear is universal.

"Don't be impatient, you will learn everything." the Fear of the Dark had told him.

Ze was a great teacher a lot, but hirs character was closer to that of a brat.

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Riccardo soon discovered that living with fear was unbearable: for being a supernatural being, ze behaved worse than a spoiled child.

Ze was the worst roommate: ze continually turned his Tex collection upside down, or requisitioned his computer to play with it all day just when he had to work; and when there was nothing left in the house to amuse zir, began to complain.

Ze could have gone out and have fun wherever ze liked, being invisible gave hir the possibility to do many things without worrying about limits or prohibitions ... but no! Ze had to be a pain in the butt! He wasn't a wet nurse!

But babysitting wasn't the real hassle, leading a double life was the hardest side to manage. At least the early days.

His freedom as a human was limited only when he had to provide food for the Fear. He could pursue his hobbies, work and hang out with friends as long as he wanted, but when ze called him to duty, he had to drop everything and please hir before ze got impatient. In those moments, if he was in someone's company, he would have to come up with a plausible enough excuse to leave.

For now, no one was suspicious yet, incredibly luck was on his side. But he hated lying to his family or friends, it was like insulting their trust in him… but what else could he have said to him: “Hey people, I'm working with the personification of Fear and I can become a shadow of myself! ".

How stupid that sentence sounded.

On the other hand, not feeling fear anymore had its positives: he had become much more confident and also very good. Not even in his best form had she experienced such physical and mental well-being.

He allowed himself to do a lot of things he never would have dreamed of trying before: skydiving, sampling sushi, rafting, taking part in escape rooms - which he found to be really fun - and much more. But the best part? Finally sleep in the dark without anxiety.

What a great first night's sleep he had had! As soon as he went to bed he had fallen asleep in a blink of a eyes, waking up only to the sound of the alarm clock. How well and happy he had awakened! So that was how he normally slept. And then one evening he had decided to go into the hills, to a random area; to be able to look at the dark sky: it was like a mystical experience, sitting on the hood of the car looking at the celestial vault and every star. It seemed to him that he was really there floating in the middle of the universe, not even the sharp concert of the crickets and the barking of the wolves distracted him from the state of wonder.

It was a good feeling to face life without "ifs" and "buts"; if everyone could have had his privilege, there probably would have been less tension and worry in everyone in dealing with adversity.

Suddenly the demon pinched his cheek, lost in his thoughts he hadn't noticed that ze was calling, hir teeth dirty with the remains of abnormal hairy strawberries collected earlier.

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Riccardo had not managed to frame the Fear of the Dark well.

Sometimes “he” (or she ... actually the gender he was referring to didn't really matter, ze was fine to be called either way) was very exuberant, other times ze got serious, almost threatening; greed was the only thing that didn't change. If ze hirself was so bizarre, then who knows what the other Fears were like. Maybe even worse.

One day, mulling over hir existence, he asked himself: what is Fear really?

All his life he had only represented it and limited to his trauma, never really studying it deeply in its broad psychological sphere.

Out of curiosity he had searched the internet for known phobias and many results had come out: fear of needles, insects, heights, closed spaces and so on. He was amazed, he had no idea that so many forms of fear could exist, and some did not even seem true to him as strange (and with all due respect to those who suffer from them) and ridiculous as, for example, the phobia for garlic or even to walk. He read articles and essays about it, not being a psychologist, however, he could understand only half of what was written; the more demeaning parts referring to fears caused by trauma, abuse and accidents gave him a lump in his throat that was very difficult to dissolve. It was an incredibly broad subject. He wanted to know more, to analyze it with a different eye.

He looked at the bizarre fruits that the Fear had not yet swallowed: he took one at random, a bunch of bananas that formed a large hand with stubby fingers. The texture of the peel was the same as the skin, the fruit instead wrinkled and slightly pink.

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Riccardo shivered, the slight cheerfulness in the demon's voice made him remember what dismay was.

The wall clock, a ridiculous fish with bulging eyes and the crazy smile given to him as a joke by some friends, reminded Riccardo that it was time to go to work. He grabbed what was needed and luckily went away without too many protests from the shadow who usually wanted to follow him. Ze would be a tourist, ze told him, ze wanted to get to know his world a little. If this was the case, he saw no reason to worry, on the contrary, Riccardo thanked the Lord for being able to free himself from it momentarily and left with a free and happy heart.

The Fear of the Dark had no interest in knowing the world of humankind, its destination was quite different. When Riccardo left, ze slipped through the ivory mirror, moving as supple as an octopus returning to its lair, waiting for a prey.

In its own world, the creature was greeted by a chewing noise.

Brothers and sisters feasted at large makeshift oval tables with large tree stumps, occasionally arguing over the last bit. Each had an abnormal and deformed appearance that made them almost the same, but each could boast of details that distinguished them from each other, as if they wanted to compete for the title of who should be the most gruesome, when instead their existence was enough to make nightmares.

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The relative offered hir a seat next to them, serving hir the exclusive fruit salad that everyone feasted on.

This creature was hunched up and hir arms were smaller than the rest of hir swollen and moist body, hir head was just as small and disappeared into the mass of flesh of hir body.

While the Fear of the Dark ate, the relatives asked them many things about the world of us humans, in particular they were intrigued by its current evolutionary level. They wanted to know things they had only heard almost by chance as gossip, on those rare occasions when they had been able to spy on us from the shadows; such as if it was true that we could go into space.

The Fear of the Dark confirmed and denied everything that was asked of hir (and ze did not miss the opportunity to tell a few stories too). But what ze did not stop repeating was the paradisiacal beauty of the "garden" that humanity formed. When ze lost zirself in the details of the scents and the flavor, everyone stopped to listen with foaming at the mouth; excited and envious of the experience that was denied them.

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Fear of the Dark grumbled, ze hated when hir enthusiasm was dampened.

Another sibling approached hir with a mouth stained with yellow juice; between hir teeth ze had wedged a strange peel that looked like the chewed body of a fat insect. Ze zirself seemed to have something similar to insects, but it was difficult to understand.

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The question piqued everyone's attention, their eyes twinkling with morbid curiosity.

They had good reason to be; after all, what was happening had a reason.

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No one replied, the lecture had been more than exhaustive, and then they resumed their meal, in silence.

The Fear of the Dark, even if ze had made a big voice, was not so much more diligent and patient than hir brothers and sisters: ze too could not wait for "the plan" to be fulfilled.

Riccardo, for hir, was a great, almost unexpected success.

When ze had passed part of zir powers to the man and this had endured them well, ze was more than happy. Not one of the usual hiccups of schizophrenia that usually hit the predestined had appeared, ze had seen so many fall into insanity that by now ze expected it too with him. Instead he had passed the test, and the credit was all hir for choosing him. The Fear of the Dark, was no secret, it was a source of pride.

Ze had always hoped to have the privilege of having the free autonomy to move in the world of human, so ze could be closer to zir beloved food. Seeing all those trees made hir mad with joy, the most beautiful view in the world! Not even in hir dreams had ze hoped to find all that goodness in front of hir! If hir family had been there with hir, they would surely have shared the same joy.

The harvest was only just beginning unfortunately, ze would have to wait a long time before enjoying a serious meal and higher quality food.

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The Grand Hotel in Milan is one of the flagships of the luxury hotels in the Lombard capital. This popular hotel, housed in a historic building dating back to 1863, is a 4-minute walk from La Scala and 10 minutes from the 18th-century Royal Palace. Those who spend the night there -among the rich of course- can enjoy, if they want; a typical experience of a nineteenth century nobleman.

The property also boasts a restaurant well known in the sector, the “Don Carlos”; coveted by many but enjoyed by few. A discreet luxury, that timeless elegance that is found in the large tables covered with beautiful tablecloths, in the wide spaces between one table and another, in the classic silverware, in the attentive and precise service, in all the details that make the difference. An ideal site for business meetings or romantic tête à tête, as well as for an "after theater". In addition to the furnishings, the kitchen of the restaurant also claimed to have to be impeccable, both in flavor and in appearance. Not for nothing there was a starred chef at it command. It was large and well equipped, there was good organization and at one glance it was clear that the food that came out deserved all the praise on TripAdvisor.

Lunch time had just started and the room was partially filled with customers. In the first half hour everything had gone smoothly, then the chef had raised his voice. One or two customers took that moment without paying much attention to it.

> the man exclaimed, his face had become completely red.

The waiter, a young Tunisian with good Italian speech and good looks, had raised his hands, to make it clear that the boss should not be angry with him. Then he pointed to the command he held in his fingers, waving it like a white flag.

> repeated with a trembling voice.

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The waiter pulled out a roll of thick green and purple bills.

Before placing the order he had them checked by the receptionist and this had assured him that each banknote was authentic: those were 400 euros of only tip.

Silence fell between the staff in the kitchen, you could only hear the boiling water in the pots and the hum of the ovens. After a few minutes of uncertainty the chef yelled at everyone to start cooking, after all that was what they were paid for.

Preparing several orders at the same time was already difficult on its own, especially when the dishes have different cooking times and you have to, at the same time; hope to please customers and that nothing comes back. If you lose control of the kitchen, chaos is guaranteed. That evening, the cooks were to be praised for the incredible effort employed, coming to cook double the covers. Steaming dishes left the kitchen without a minute's pause, the waiters constantly shuttled from one end to the other as in a mad ballet, forced to remain composed as the sweat slowly began to soak the shirts under their armpits.

The customers, that evening, would have left the “Don Carlos” amazed, but not for the food.

The real attraction was the man who sat alone in the center of the room, the table occupied by stacked dirty dishes and crockery and empty wine bottles. Those who had to leave wondered if that customer would really eat all that stuff.

Sitting there, under the perplexed gaze of the customers, the old man who was sure he was eighty years old, elegantly dressed in an 80s tuxedo complete with bowler hat and a wooden cane with a curved tip leaning against the edge of the table, enjoyed in silence his lunch. Everything about his appearance was neat, even his short hair and thick eyebrows had been carefully combed; not a single hair was to be seen out of place. Perhaps the only thing quite "strange" were the almost skeletal hands ... they seemed disproportionate to the rest of the body which, instead; appeared more in the flesh…. And then he wore the darkest pair of sunglasses ever.

They stopped only when every proposal on the menu was made, from appetizers to desserts.

They had finished shortly before closing, many cooks now had the smell of food and the mere sight of it made them sick. The chef was as tired as the others, but curiosity took over, he had to know that customer. He joined him as he consumed a thin slice of cheesecake.

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The old man stopped just before piercing the last piece of the cake, put the fork in the corner of the plate and wiped his mouth with a napkin. The chef shivered, that man was not normal.

> he answered, with a calm voice.

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The cook's eyes widened.

He was about to answer him in an unprofessional way and only the restaurant's prominent reputation held him back.

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The little man stood up, helping himself with his walking stick.

He went to the cashier and there, without waiting for the final count of the bill, he left another stack of banknotes, much larger than the previous one given as a tip. He placed the bouquet of yellow and purple pieces right on the counter, leaving the cashier open-mouthed, who stood there, unsure what to do. The staff inspected the place, especially the area of ​​the table occupied by that customer, not finding even a crumb of what he had eaten.

There had to be a trick, no one could gulp down that much food without theirs stomach exploding. Still, that was it, and they wondered what his next culinary destination would be.

No restaurant, bar or fast food restaurant was on the old man's mind at the time.

Instead, he embarked on a Freccia Rossa of the Trenitalia company, towards Naples Central: his destination was Florence, halfway.

She sat in one of the single seats near the connecting corridors between one wagon and the other, in the two seats facing his direction instead sat two lively sisters of a certain age who went to visit relatives in Lazio, together with a large big cat relegated to a gray plastic carrier, whose space was mainly occupied by its thick fur.

> was his comment, when one of the women placed the cage on the table that divided them.

The beast had been protesting for nearly an hour now with long, high-pitched meows. The mistress tried to appease him with food and cuddles, but nothing worked.

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It wasn't right.

It was not the cramped space that the cat Aristotle complained about, his were alarming noises. The feline's acute senses were more effective than human ones, they had immediately perceived the anomalous nature of the man who stood before him and was desperately trying, as he could, to warn the mistresses of danger.

Nobody listened to him except a passenger's poodle sitting in the middle of the car, who was whimpering in fear and trying to hide under his master's sweater. The cat continued to sound the alarm throughout the journey, but everyone heard only an annoying meow.