I
November 10th, 1641
The air in the room had become unbreathable. From the ceiling dripped a strange, sticky, reddish liquid.
Outside, as if under some kind of spell, the sun had been eclipsed by thick black clouds, and the darkness was illuminated only by sudden electrical discharges that struck the ground with immense force, followed by the deafening roar of thunder.
René Descartes sat frozen in his chair, paralyzed with fear.
Suddenly, from the adjacent room, a horrifying creature emerged. Descartes had never seen anything like it in his entire life; in fact, he hadn’t even imagined that such a “thing” could exist.
The being stared at the philosopher with its large, blood-filled, bulbous eyes and wore a strange grin, revealing sharp, dark teeth like those of a vampire. Its ears were pointed, as was its nose, and its head bore only a thin layer of hair, making it all the more unsettling. Its body appeared slimy and wrinkled, which only amplified the horror and repulsion it inspired. Its hands and feet were disproportionate to its body, with long, razor-sharp claws.
Descartes didn’t know what to do. Sweat began pouring down his ice-cold forehead. His throat was dry. He couldn’t even swallow the small amount of saliva his glands still managed to produce. His hands gripped the armrests of the chair tightly, as if to keep himself from falling. His head started to spin wildly, while the darkness and stench around him grew more oppressive.
«Tell me, René» – croaked the creature in a raspy voice, – «is this how you imagined me?».
Descartes stared at the strange and unsettling being. He seemed unable to grasp the question. The creature stepped closer and repeated it.
«Am I what you thought I’d be?»
«What… what do you mean? I don’t understand…» – stammered Descartes, his voice trembling like that of a child confronting their worst fear.
«I am the genius, the evil genius».
Descartes’ eyes were fixed on the grotesque creature before him. He couldn’t make sense of what was happening.
«You’ve invoked me so many times in your writings that I decided to drop by and meet you…».
«But…».
«You thought I was merely a figment of your imagination, didn’t you? A hyperbolic creation of your meditations… What do they call it? A thought experiment… Well…».
Descartes could barely say a sound. Only guttural noises of terror escaped his lips.
«…that’s not the case,» – said the creature, punctuating its denial with its long, pointed right index finger. «I talk, I think… I exist…»
The being burst into a thunderous laugh, while even more cadaverous shades of white spread across Descartes’ face.
Suddenly, however, the laughter stopped, and the creature planted its massive limbs on the floor. Its expression changed, and it fixed Descartes with a predatory gaze. Then it crouched like an animal ready to pounce and devour its prey.
Giovanni Covino
[To be continued…]
Briciole filosofiche 
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