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The wind, like a whisper from beyond, swept through the treetops in the dense forests of Araucanía. Will Graham was in his wooden cabin, a humble refuge in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by the thick wilderness that, by its very nature, seemed to consume both light and reason. The cabin, built with old, worn wood, but of the best quality as it came from an ancient oak, creaked under the weight of the night. A biting cold filtered through the cracks, and the air felt dense and heavy with omens. In the distance, the song of the Tue-tue, the night bird, echoed—a legend, a sound that traveled deep into the earth, announcing the arrival of something dark.
Will, though accustomed to the sounds of the forest, couldn’t help but shiver every time he heard the “tue-tue-tue-tue” in the distance. There was something in that song, something that sent chills down his spine and made his hair stand on end. That sound, which seemed to both retreat and draw closer at the same time, wasn’t normal. Yet, it was that time of the month when the moon hid, and darkness was complete. Something lurked in the shadows, something he couldn’t see, but could feel. Unease gripped him as if the trees themselves were witnesses to an invisible presence.
Inside his cabin, Will didn’t feel safe. On his windows, as protection from the unknown, he had hung crosses made of knives—small defensive charms that, though ridiculous to some, gave him a sense of calm in moments like this. He knew something was about to happen. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to calm his mind, but the feeling of being watched grew stronger. The wind hit the cabin harder, and the Tue-tue’s call returned, this time closer, resonating in his chest like an ominous heartbeat. Will felt a growing pressure on his shoulders as if the air was becoming denser. The stove with firewood made loud noises as if the flames were trying to escape, yet at the same time, hide from the place.
Something wasn’t right.
He looked toward the corner of the cabin where his dogs usually rested, always watchful, always ready to protect him. However, that night, strangely, they remained deeply asleep. Their bodies barely moved, as if in a deep slumber, unreactive to the wind or the eerie song filtering through the cracks in the cabin. Will watched them with growing suspicion, feeling an increasing discomfort. The dogs, so sensitive to their surroundings, never stayed still when something strange was approaching. Yet, tonight, nothing seemed to disturb them. Their still bodies, submerged in an almost unnatural sleep, only heightened the sense that something far worse than any common threat was drawing near.
The Tue-tue’s call echoed for the last time, a clear omen.
Only three minutes passed, and Will watched as the pot of stew finished warming up.
And that’s when he heard the knock.
Two knocks on the door, dry and firm, like the strike of a war hammer that resounded in the stillness of the night. Will shuddered but did not hesitate. He knew what he had to do, even though his body trembled. The witch had arrived. With ice in his veins and his heart pounding in his throat, Will rose from his chair and approached the door. The shadows inside the cabin danced, stirred by the faint light of the candle that still burned. In the darkness, the figure outlined through the door seemed almost unbelievable, as if the very air were distorted by its presence.
Will didn’t know why, but in that instant, he understood that this was no ordinary man. The feeling that something wasn’t human gripped him the moment his eyes fell on the figure on the other side. It was a tall man, impeccably dressed, with a face almost too perfect, almost unreal. Will’s eyes narrowed immediately, searching for something in the expression of this stranger, something that would tell him who he was or what he was.
The door gave way under his trembling hand, and when he opened it, the man didn’t rush to enter. His eyes, clear and deep, watched Will with an unsettling calm, as if he already knew him as if he had been waiting for this encounter for a long time.
“Are you the one who called me?” Will said though he wasn’t sure of what he was asking. His words came out more as a statement than a question, his tongue unsure of how to move.
The man didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he looked at Will with an expression that seemed to understand everything, that saw him beyond the obvious. There was something in his eyes that made Will feel small, and vulnerable, as if he were being stripped of his very being as if the man could read him, knew his darkest fears, could enter his innermost depths and pull every last piece of flesh from his bones.
Finally, the stranger spoke, his voice low and soft, as if each word were carefully calculated.
“I’ve been waiting a long time for this encounter, Will Graham.”
Will’s name hung in the air like a weight, a warm whisper that nonetheless left a cold trace on his skin. The man took a step toward him, and though his presence was powerful, almost elegant, there was something in his aura that unsettled Will. It wasn’t just his physical appearance, flawless and strange in its perfection. It was the way he moved, the way he spoke, the way he was present. This man was not from this world, Will felt it in his skin, he saw it in the way his eyes glowed with an almost supernatural light.
“Who are you?” Will asked, unable to maintain his composure much longer.
“My name is Hannibal Lecter,” the man replied with a subtle smile, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes but made them gleam with something deeper, more dangerous. “But you can call me whatever you like.”
The air around them became dense, and Will couldn’t help but feel a chill. There was something about this man, the way he spoke, the way he moved, that told him not to trust him. But on the other hand, something inside Will also told him that he had no choice but to play along. There was something in Hannibal's energy, in his presence, that drew him in.
The dogs, still as corpses, seemed more dead than ever. Will felt that his fate was tied to that strange man in front of him. He knew he could not escape what was happening, that he would not have the option to reject it. And as that thought began to sink in a cold, distant voice whispered inside him that if he didn’t accept the invitation and extend it himself to the being, death would find him in the darkness. The song of the Tue-Tue, at that very moment, was heard again, louder than ever, and Will understood that there was no turning back. If he wanted to survive, he would have to follow the man who, with a smile almost human, invited him into a world from which he could never leave.
“Do not fear, Will. I am here for a reason. A reason that you yourself have been searching for,” Hannibal said, his voice smooth, almost melodic.
The door stood ajar, like an invitation to something much darker than Will could ever imagine.
Will turned slowly, his steps sounding soft and heavy on the wooden floor as the weight of the decision settled on his chest like a rock. The door closed quietly behind him, leaving Hannibal in the doorway, almost insubstantial in the shadow that surrounded him, as if he were part of the darkness itself. Will felt the air become even denser, as though the hut were alive, breathing, waiting for something.
“Come in. I will serve you something to eat.”
Will didn’t know what to feel as he watched the man elegantly step so as not to dirty the wood floor with his shoes. A witch who cared about the earth beneath his feet.
Will approached the table, his mind divided between disbelief and the need to act. The casserole he had left on the fire before going to town was in place, a mix of simple but comforting aromas: chicken broth with local herbs, something that had always comforted him when loneliness became unbearable. The casserole, steaming, seemed like a form of life in itself, a small act of resistance against the dark night that was approaching. But Will knew what he had to do. It was almost a protocol, something ancestral, passed down through generations among those who lived deep within this vast, mysterious forest. He stirred the corn, which resisted the high temperatures, and the potatoes softened under the spoon’s touch, their inner softness yielding easily when the utensils were pressed into them. The pumpkin was so tender it fell apart at the slightest touch, its delicate flesh breaking into pieces without resistance.
With trembling but firm hands, Will began serving the casserole, the sound of the spoon clinking against the pot’s edge echoing in the stillness of the hut. A sigh escaped his lips as he poured the soup into a clay bowl that had been his for years, a silent witness to so many solitary dinners. He looked again at Hannibal, who was still standing in the doorway, watching everything without moving a muscle, almost as though his presence were more a shadow than a body. Will felt a knot form in his stomach, a mix of distrust and the need to comply with what he had learned to do in this place—the only keys to survival were courtesy and kindness.
Will almost let out a hysterical laugh at the thought that perhaps, despite the invitation, his actions might be too rude for the man standing at the threshold.
“The Tue-tue does not respond to violence,” he remembered the elders’ words, “only to courtesy. If you invite it to eat, offer it something of yourself, it may let you live.”
Will turned once more and walked to the table, the clay bowl in his hands. The sound of the wind brushing the treetops outside seemed to fade as if the world itself were holding its breath. As he approached Hannibal, Will felt the cold of his presence, like a shadow slipping between the cracks in the house. There was something about this man that deeply unsettled him. Not only in his almost too-human appearance but in the way he seemed to observe him as if everything he did and thought was being scrutinized every moment.
“Please, sit,” Will said, his voice softer than he had intended, but he couldn’t help it. Courtesy, protocol, all of that was above him right now. “It’s not much, but I made it with what I had.”
Hannibal took a step toward the table, his gaze still fixed on Will, as though evaluating every word, every gesture. Will tried not to think about the exact nature of this man, of what might come next. He knew nothing would be simple, that this would not be an ordinary dinner. But he had to follow the rules, even as his mind screamed otherwise.
“Thank you,” Hannibal replied, his voice so smooth and deep that it seemed to resonate against the walls of the hut. He didn’t sit immediately. Instead, his eyes rested on the bowl Will had carefully placed in front of him, then on Will’s face, as if searching for something more in that gesture.
“You must know that it is not easy to invite someone like me to dinner,” Hannibal said, with a smile that contained something dangerous. “Few dare, and few survive my visit.”
Will tensed as he heard those words, but he didn’t let his fear take over. He held Hannibal’s gaze as he took a step back, allowing the man to sit at the table. The air was thick with tension, with the feeling that every word, every look, could be the last. The legend of the Tue-tue was not just a story, it was a reminder of what happened when you didn’t follow the rules when you didn’t offer what was owed. And Will knew, from experience, that he could not afford to fail.
Hannibal settled into the chair, elegantly taking the bowl Will had offered. The light from the candle illuminated his face, revealing perfect features, yet unsettling at the same time. As if his beauty were a mask, hidden from everyone except those who dared to look closer. Will felt watched, exposed by that gaze, but he resisted the urge to look away. This was his only chance.
“It’s a nice gesture, Will,” Hannibal said, taking a spoonful and tasting it slowly. “But you must know that in this world, appearances are not always what they seem. There are things you are not yet ready to understand.”
Will remained silent, watching Hannibal, his body tense, waiting. The food, the bowl, the soup he had made with his own hands, had become something much greater than just a meal. It was a pact, a hope of survival amid a dark game from which neither he nor this man could escape. The darkness surrounding the hut seemed to deepen as the Tue-tue, with its unmistakable song, marked the rhythm of a fate from which Will could not yet flee.
Each spoonful he took seemed like a conscious effort, as Hannibal’s eyes remained fixed on him, intense, calculating. With every bite, Will felt that something beyond the physical was keeping him in that room, something he couldn’t identify but that drew him in. The pressure in the air seemed to increase, almost as if the space around him were shrinking. The sensation in his feet, the first wave of warmth he had felt, faded as quickly as it had arrived, but left a strange feeling of unease inside him, as if something in the atmosphere had changed irreversibly.
The warmth spread, touched his ankles lightly, like a brief kiss from the fire, even as it receded. Will’s muscles tensed, waiting to see what would happen, but Hannibal simply cut the chicken without a stir. Will’s hands trembled as he tried the pumpkin, the warmth climbing up his thigh, as if playfully teasing to rise higher, to his groin, and when he swore he was about to drop the spoon in shock, it withdrew.
“It’s excellent food,” Hannibal exclaimed, his voice soft but laden with a tone Will couldn’t quite interpret. “It seems you know what you’re doing in the kitchen, Will.”
Hannibal’s name, spoken by him, sounded strange. There was no doubt that Hannibal knew who he was, though Will couldn’t say the same about him. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something in this man wasn’t right, though he knew he wasn’t fully human. Even in that mysticism, something didn’t add up. It was like a sickness, that stuck and adhered, that wouldn’t let go, that took away your last breath, as if his presence were too perfect, too calculated.
Unnatural.
Will forced himself to look at the casserole, trying to focus on something tangible while feeling Hannibal’s gaze still weighing on him. A slight tremor ran through his body as he swallowed the soup, a simple act that now seemed much more complicated as if every bite connected him more to the strange atmosphere that Hannibal had brought with him.
“Thank you,” Will murmured, barely audible. “Not many survive your encounter.”
His words came out without thinking, a declaration he feared, but that seemed almost necessary. Talking about the imminent danger gave them a sense of control, even though the threat was right there with them in the room. A flash of rebellion rose in his chest, but as quickly as it surged, wanting to spit the words out, it died.
Hannibal raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything in response. He simply continued eating, his gaze fixed on Will, almost as if he were waiting for him to say more, as if he delighted in the palpable tension between them, lurking, seeking provocation and challenge. Will could feel the weight of his eyes, as if every one of his movements was being carefully watched, and analyzed. He wouldn't give him the chance, nor the enjoyment of giving him what he wanted. He would do whatever it took to survive, but he wouldn’t flatter him unnecessarily; that should be earned. There was nothing Will hated more than having to adore with empty words, especially fools who thought they could control him.
The sound of the spoon striking the edge of the plate with the pot cut through the silence between them, and Will realized that despite his discomfort, he couldn’t look away. The soup was finished, and only the potato remained, resisting being eaten. Something about Hannibal hypnotized him, kept him there without him wanting it. Was it the danger? The sense of the unknown? Or perhaps, Will thought, it was something much more personal.
Finally, Hannibal placed the spoon back on his plate and leaned slightly forward.
“What do you think of omens, Will?” His voice was low, almost a whisper, but filled with an authority that left no room for rejection.
Will swallowed again, struggling to find the words.
“Omens are signs, right?” he replied, trying to keep the conversation going without giving too much information. “They appear when something important is about to happen, or when something is about to change.”
“That’s it,” said Hannibal, his smile barely visible at the corner of his mouth. “Signs guide us, sometimes toward what we fear, sometimes toward what we desire more than we’re willing to admit.”
The air between them grew even heavier as if each word was laden with hidden meaning. Will couldn’t quite understand what Hannibal wanted from him, but there was something in his gaze that kept him captive, something in his presence that overwhelmed him, and made him want to bite and tear.
As seconds passed, Will felt a rising tension, not just in his body, but in his mind, as if each breath became harder to control. The feeling of being watched surrounded him, and it wasn’t just the perception of his eyes on him. It was the knowledge that, for some inexplicable reason, the Tue-tue had arrived at his door, and all he could do was act according to the rules of the encounter.
The sensation of heat, which had been so unsettling before, now felt like an extension of himself, as if every fiber of his being were being absorbed by Hannibal’s presence, who studied him with an intensity that bordered on disturbing. Will knew he had to keep being polite, keep inviting this strange and dangerous being to share more than just food, in case he showed interest, but at the same time, the weight of his own thoughts threatened to crush him.
“Should I invite you to stay?” Will asked mentally, feeling his words try to rise on their own as if an offer had already been decided before he spoke it. Inside, a small voice whispered to him that if he didn’t, something much worse than death would come for him.
Hannibal smiled, as if he knew the unspoken, and though Will couldn’t see the full expression, he felt that the smile itself was a response to the question he hadn’t asked. Somehow, he had become trapped in a game he couldn’t escape, but one he couldn’t avoid playing.
“Of course,” said Hannibal, his tone soft as silk, with a calm that overflowed any sign of threat. “I would love to extend our meeting. I won’t leave without learning everything this place has to offer.”
The tension between them grew even more palpable as the sound of the wind outside the hut seemed to intensify, carrying away any possibility of escaping the atmosphere that had formed inside the room.
The moonless night had begun to slowly give way, and the faint glow of the first light of morning began to filter through the cracks of the hut, illuminating the shadows that danced on the wooden walls. It made no sense, hours were still missing before dawn, and they had only exchanged a few words and a plate of food, but there they were, the morning rays proving how much time had passed.
Will, still sitting in front of Hannibal, felt time slip away unsettlingly, as if the night’s darkness had stopped its course just to prolong the tension, and had simultaneously shortened by complacency. However, the feeling of being watched didn’t diminish; in fact, Hannibal’s presence seemed to expand with each breath, a being larger than himself, something beyond human comprehension.
With a sigh, Will forced himself to speak, trying to stay calm despite the growing pressure in his chest. The heat on his skin began to dissipate, but the weight of the conversation didn’t.
He remembered the teachings, the stories whispered by the elders in the dark corners of Araucanía, about how to survive encounters like this, how to calm the Tue-tue’s presence with offerings and courtesies.
“Maybe you should return for salt tomorrow,” Will said, his voice somewhat hesitant. He remembered the words the elders had spoken about the balance between sacrifice and kindness, the need to offer something that might appease a being like the Tue-Tue. “Salt is an offering that might bring peace, or at least that’s what they say.”
The words came almost without thinking as if they were a tradition engraved in his bones. Salt, is so simple, so basic, but laden with meanings in the region’s culture. According to the stories, if one didn’t offer enough or something that truly showed humility and respect, the creature wouldn’t hesitate to take what it deemed right. But if one managed to offer the salt correctly, maybe Hannibal would seek nothing more than curiosity, conversation, and intrigue.
Will looked at him, with a mix of hope and fear. Hannibal’s faint smile didn’t fade, but there was something in his eyes that suggested the game was far from over.
“Salt. For another meal, I imagine,” Hannibal repeated slowly as if savoring the word. Then, a faint flash of interest crossed his gaze. “An offering, then?”
The silence that followed was almost heavy, and Will wondered if, with a bit of luck, the interest Hannibal had shown in him was more than a mere morbid curiosity. Perhaps he wouldn’t see him as just another piece to be torn apart, but something much more intriguing—a mind, a life, a possibility for connection. Salt was the only thing he could offer him at that moment, a desperate attempt to keep the situation under control.
“If that’s what you ask,” Will continued, knowing it was more a hope than a certainty. “Tomorrow, I will have what you need. If you wish it.”
Hannibal’s eyes locked onto him, cold and calculating, but there was a silent understanding in his gaze. Will felt that, for a brief moment, the space between them had closed in a way that might have been dangerous, but also significant. Hannibal didn’t seem upset, didn’t seem anxious to rush the conversation into some dark conclusion. Instead, he seemed willing to wait, to enjoy what Will had to offer.
The air in the hut had become thicker, but now there was something else, an expectant tension as if they both knew the exchange of words had only just begun. Will knew he had entered a dangerous dance, but the idea that the simple act of offering something as every day as salt could change the course of the encounter kept him on edge.
“Then, we’ll see each other tomorrow,” said Hannibal, his voice soft and calm, as if he were truly enjoying the unexpected turn of events.
Will nodded, though his mind was still full of doubts. He knew that if he survived the coming night, he would have to face much more than the Tue-Tue. But for now, the only thing he could do was play the game, keep his composure, and hope that somehow, his offering of salt would be enough to appease the darkness that had invaded his life that night.
The door creaked again, and Will, still tense, watched Hannibal get up. With one last look, Hannibal moved toward the exit. Will remained still, the taste of salt on his lips, wondering if he would truly understand the real price of this conversation until it was too late.
The silence that followed was deep, as dense as the mist that began to rise from the trees. The wind, which had been still, now began to move the branches softly, whispering secrets of the night, as the echoes of the Tue-tue’s song faded into the distance. Will stayed there, in the shadow of the hut, breathing heavily, trying to process what had just happened. The dogs, unusually quiet and resting until now, began to stir restlessly, jumping to their feet, their eyes shining in the darkness as their tails moved impatiently.
With a low growl, one of the dogs approached the small table where Will had left his stew, sniffing the air. It moved cautiously, then suddenly began circling, barking softly but insistently. The other dogs, noticing its movement, also got up quickly and moved toward the corner of the hut where Will kept the chicken scraps he occasionally gave them. The tension in the air was palpable as if nature itself were reacting to the event that had just taken place.
Will looked at the dogs, somewhat confused. It wasn’t normal for them to react this way, especially after something so strange. The dogs had always been his protection, his barrier against any threat. Yet now, they seemed alert, a little uneasy, as if they sensed something Will couldn’t understand. But what was most unsettling was the persistent feeling surrounding him, the sense that, despite the apparent peace that now settled over the hut, he wasn’t safe.
He couldn’t believe he had survived. The tension he had felt during his conversation with Hannibal, that strange, almost human man, still pulsed in his chest. Had it been an offer of peace? Or had he simply been playing with him, waiting for him to fall into a trap he could never escape? The thought froze him, but there was no time to dwell on those questions. The reality of the situation hit him hard. He had survived, yes, but something deep inside him told him this wouldn’t be the last time he would encounter that being.
He slowly rose, still watching the dogs, who were still insistent, tapping their paws on the ground as if they were waiting for something Will couldn’t offer them. The early morning was beginning to fade, and the day was timidly beginning to break, but the feeling of unease remained, unshakable like a shadow sliding beside him.
The song of the Tue-tue, though distant, still echoed in his mind, and something deep inside him, a distant, guttural voice, whispered that the price of his survival was yet to come