The summer of 2012 turned out to be extremely hot and dry, so almost everyone moved from the city closer to nature. Naturally, I followed suit, and on June 10, with a huge suitcase of things, I stepped over the threshold of a small two-story house. The cottage belonged to my relatives on my dad's side — an elderly couple and their three children, who occasionally appeared there. It was surrounded on several sides by fences from other summer residents, but on one side it was in contact with an abandoned plot, and the only thing separating them was dense thickets of nettles, willow tea and other nonsense mixed with raspberry and currant bushes. The toilet, as it should be, was on the street, at the very end of the site, and, to my great regret, there was not a single light source on the way to it. Therefore, in the late afternoon, I tried not to drink or eat anything, so that I would not have to leave my cozy bed at night.
One day, the owners of the house were invited to spend the night, and I was left alone. Having nothing better to do, I screwed up a whole can of ice cream for some kind of comedy on TNT, which nevertheless violated the holy rule, and I had to go conquer the impenetrable darkness. Anyway, after fifteen minutes of self-persuasion, I somehow gathered all my willpower into a fist. It even seemed to me that with every step I took, I could hear the clink of my steel balls... if I had any.
After opening the front door, I rushed to the toilet like a bullet, and only when I found myself in a small, bright stall could I catch my breath. I knew in my gut that something was wrong, but I couldn't figure out what it was. Having done all my chores, I turned off the light and had already moved two meters away from my "shelter" when suddenly, somewhere in the bushes, I heard a barely discernible rustle. Since there are hedgehogs in these parts, I didn't attach much importance to this, but I accelerated the step anyway. And, apparently, for good reason, because the next second there was such a deafening crackling of branches that even a herd of these cute little animals could not have done anything like that. I swear, I even heard someone breathing heavily. Without waiting for what could get out of these thickets, I rushed to the cabin like a bullet. I faintly remember how frantically I tried to turn the ever-jammed handle, trying to get to the other side of the door as quickly as possible. The only sound was the loud cracking of branches and the rustling of grass behind him. When I flew into the hallway, I immediately closed the front door and, trembling, pressed myself against the lock.
The noise stopped, and there was an oppressive silence. Apparently, something or someone was standing right behind the flimsy wooden door. Looking around every minute like a hunted animal, I tried to calm down for a long time, and then I heard a barely audible noise outside the door. It was a soft scratching sound, the kind that usually occurs when a cat scratches its claws on a door. It was unbearably scary. I thought I was dreaming and having a nightmare, my head was blurred with fear, my eyes were foggy, and my ears were ringing. After about ten seconds, the scratching stopped, and I heard a faint unintelligible murmur and some kind of giggling.
Apparently, I went into a state of shock, because, muttering something like "get the hell out, you disgusting creature," I flew up the stairs to the second floor, lowered the hatch and passed out as soon as my head touched the pillow. I woke up—or rather, I woke up—when the predawn colors took over the firmament with might and main. After lying down for a while, I tried to piece together the fragments of memories. But my brain stubbornly refused to accept as reality what had happened yesterday, and hunger, mixed with the stress I had experienced, made itself felt.
Well, I had to go down. With shaky limbs, I barely opened the hatch and, having descended to the middle of the stairs, stood rooted to the spot. I looked around cautiously—everything was as before, nothing had been touched. Although my fear was strong, my curiosity turned out to be stronger, and after standing near the door, listening to the sounds from outside, I nevertheless opened the door. My legs gave out, and I fell, bleeding my knees.
There was a mess around: flowers were trampled, country trash mixed with garbage was lying wherever possible, but perhaps the main thing in this circus was the door. Scratched, dented, and with traces of dried mucus, it spoke for itself.
All my hopes were dashed in an instant. It wasn't a dream! Everything that happened was real…
On the same day, I packed all my things. Of course, I didn't say anything to the old people, I just warned them not to go out at night, arguing that a pack of vicious stray dogs had appeared in the vicinity.
When I returned to the city, I tried to forget about everything. But about a week later, I had a strange dream.
All the same events: ice cream, a dark night, an incomprehensible feeling of anxiety, rustling behind my back, but with only one difference — I'm not running away, but waving affably into the darkness to an unknown being. There is a roar, and something that looks vaguely human appears from the undergrowth. It was thin and tall. The eyes look like human eyes, only bigger, and the skin is grayish, with bits of rotten flesh falling off in places. His bony arms were of varying lengths. The creature was dressed in dirty, torn clothes. The creature waved back at me and stretched its lipless mouth into a creepy smile, revealing rotten teeth. At first, it only made an incomprehensible hiss, and then I distinctly heard:
— Well, finally! You run very fast, we haven't even met!
The creature came right up to me and hissed right in my ear:
— Come visit, bitch, you won't regret it!
Then it put a piece of paper in my hand and disappeared.
When I woke up, I almost fell out of bed when I found this piece of paper in my hand. With hands trembling with fear, I unfolded it, then reread over and over a single inscription in clumsy handwriting: "I AM WAITING."
.jfif)
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