Nobody's House
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“May 17. Went to the second house. There are worms all around and other vermin. Pavel is down with a fever, he has fallen into the swamp.
“May 18. Tallguy has disappeared. I’m writing down instead of him. He went to the embankment and didn’t return. I think I’d heard a scream but I’m not sure. Sergei discovered a basement, went down there, the jerk – returned white all over, his hands shaking... Can’t say anything decent – mutters some curses about lights and a shiny box, out of which somebody is looking...
“May 19. Went to the path again. Encountered the marionettes, barely escaped. We’ve decided never to go...”
“Well, enough then?” Oleg removed his glasses and smiled with an effort. “Fantasy club... Let’s write down the rest ourselves, something spooky.”
“Read on,” answered Gleb.
“You’ll do without it, let’s eat, God damn it.”
The intentionally rough tone of his voice eased the tension. Everybody started moving, getting out the food and seating themselves closer to each other.
“Lots of stories are going around about this House of Ushers,” Oleg didn’t forget to chew the nearby lying products while speaking. “One friend of mine became a follower of Krishna after it, while before he would drink vodka from night till dawn and go to the babes. From dawn till night. Or vice versa. Now he can’t stand the other sex, sips rice water instead of beer and shouts ‘Hare Krishna’ out of the window. Got eight kilograms fatter. Meditating.”
“And Pete the rascal made it back from here with a Japanese tape recorder,” noted Andrei. “If he’s not lying, that is. And didn’t become a follower of any Krishna.”
“Well, why Krishna? That ain’t necessary... People just change here, that’s the point. It’s just that nobody tells what has happened to him here. They can’t. Or don’t want to.”
“Pete did,” tedious Andrei wouldn’t give up. “He was walking and walking around here, then he looks – a tape recorder lying about. Panasonic. He took it, walked around some more, didn’t find anything else and went back.”
“And some people didn’t get back at all...” added Gleb gloomily. “And no traces left.”
The girls packed together more tightly.
“Why the hell are you saying such rubbish?!” I attacked Gleb. “So what if somebody told you that? Look at Andrei here, Pete has also told him all sorts of rubbish, about the tape recorder and all...”
Gleb got insulted and shut up.
“Boys, I’m scared...” Christine really was shaking all over.
I got up, intending to pet her on the shoulder and say something extremely manly, and bumped on her gaze – they like to show such eyes in the movies. She’d become white with fear, and was looking through me – or, rather, at what was behind me.
Actually, I don’t complain about the reaction. Having thrown myself backwards together with the armchair, I was already intending to hit the unknown enemy with my hand over the shoulder, but instead of it I hit the back of my own neck – first with the back of the damned armchair, then with the floor, and called myself an idiot in my mind. My side appeared to be soiled with something that looked like fuel oil, I stood up and saw a black, glistening mass of that very fuel oil flowing from under the door and spreading across the room. The door folds that somebody of us had bolted earlier began to creak, Bronya screamed hysterically, and I rushed towards my bag. The flare pistol turned out to be on the top; I leaned against the wall and started pulling the trigger frantically.
A series of greenish flares appeared where the door was, there was felt a disgusting smell of ammonium chloride, my finger on the trigger of the pistol became numb – and when I finally managed to loosen my grip, it became clear that the door was missing altogether, the doorway was charred and the remains of the smoking aggressive fuel oil were scattered all over the burnt parquet.
“I killed him! Or, I killed it...”
“Where have you got a gun from?” Oleg was standing in the corner, a chair in his hands. I looked at the flare pistol. In front of me there was a handy, smooth pistol, with a long muzzle and a small panel above the ribbed handle. On the panel there was a number 815. For about a minute I was staring at the weapon, puzzled, then shifted my eyes to the guys...
“We need to go and see what’s on outside,” declared Gleb, climbing out of the narrow space between the wall and what used to be furniture. “Maybe there are tons of that crap out there...”
“Will you come with me?” The ghost pistol stuck conveniently in my belt and didn’t hamper my movements.
“Frankly, I’m a bit scared.”
“And if you have a weapon?”
“What, you got an arsenal in your bag here?”
“No, but I will shortly. I think I’m going to start getting it. You, Gleb dear, try to concentrate, imagine yourself something horrid and begin dreaming of a weapon. That you really badly need it. Got it?”
“I’ll try...”
Gleb sat down in the armchair and closed his eyes. After a minute his right hand began rising, his fingers twitched – and I didn’t even notice at what moment there appeared a big pistol, with a thick, phallic muzzle.
Behind Gleb’s back originated nervous chuckles, somebody began to elaborate on a theory of sexual anxiety, there arose a question what that Gleb’s thing is shooting with...
Gleb, frowning, choked at the sight of his creation, then lifted the pistol and shot at the wall. Successfully, one had to admit. Bricks scattered in all directions with a great bang, and when the dust had finally settled, one could see a hole in the wall, about 2 metres wide. There were no more questions.
“Well, so now let’s go.”
Outside, no one was to be found. The fog scattered, and about two hundred steps away one could perfectly see the ruins of another house and rusty metallic constructions.
“Shall we have a look at what’s there?”
“Ok.”
“But Gleb dear, let’s have this agreed upon right away – I’m in the front, you’re in the back, about ten metres behind me. If something happens, shoot. Just not me. And shout ‘duck!’.”
“Fine...”
About three minutes later we made it running to the metallic constructions. These turned out to be the girders of a colossal bridge. An interesting idea. There isn’t even a river here... Surreal.