Mr. Hyde




Zdzisław Beksiński, EZ, oil on board, 73 x 87 cm


Back to the house on the beach, we lock our room with a key found on the floor. We are completely, absolutely closed now. There are two windows, both shut and with their blinds lowered, perhaps automatically. I always sleep with my window open, even during winter, so it’s difficult to accept that they always close all the windows in Sicily, even in the late summer or early autumn, even in the night. Well, especially in the summer (to prevent the warm air entering), but this way there is no fresh circulating air at all! All this is terribly claustrophobic now and it doesn’t let me feel comfortable. I close my eyes lying on the bed aside Freya who just felt asleep as a child.
I see a stranger, his face looks like a dog’s muzzle. I hear some voice saying “I love you”.
– Wha? I don’t believe you – I answer immediately – I don’t even know you, who are you?
Then I turn back, and there is the Old Indian face. But his eyes are no longer there, only dense eyebrows that cover their place, instead.
I try to touch him, and he is plastic, like made of a gum. My finger sinks in his face and I feel an electric current that shocks me up to the tip of my foot. Then the skin on his face splits in half, and I can see there is someone hidden inside.
– Hi, my name is Edward Hyde..



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