Invisible

In 1993, during winter break, I visited my aunt in St. Petersburg to test the waters before applying to university. My relative lived alone in a huge three-room apartment on Vasilievsky Island. She was overjoyed to see me because, she said, she sensed a sense of danger and feared for her life. In those rather turbulent times, it must be said, there was indeed reason to be wary—"black market" realtors were everywhere and would surely have spotted a lonely woman with property in an old building. For this reason, my aunt, whose name was Alevtina Lvovna, immediately told me that I should live with her while I studied. This basically coincided with my plans.

Every morning, my aunt left for work, and I was left alone in the apartment.  At first, I had a hard time getting used to the huge rooms and soaring ceilings, but after about three days, I adapted. The apartment seemed to have a life of its own—parquet floorboards creaked here and there, and I could hear rustling sounds and sighs. I began to understand Alevtina Lvovna—living there alone was a bit scary. At night, the strange sounds became even more distinct, and it seemed as if a ghost would emerge from the darkness. Moreover, in my sleep, I imagined someone moving around in the kitchen, flushing the toilet, and turning on the faucets.

One weekend, when my aunt was home, I decided to ask her if she noticed anything strange in her apartment. Aunt Alya reluctantly entertained the idea, first telling me about the strange sounds, and then suggesting we go for a walk. Outside, she bluntly declared that "someone" was living in the apartment. Some kind of creature, possessing the power of invisibility and not averse to stealing food from the refrigerator.  The strange behavior began only a year and a half ago, and she's terrified that this "someone" will kill her if they find out their secret has been revealed. Therefore, it's best not to bring up the topic in the apartment. Alevtina Lvovna also told me that, on the priest's advice, she sprinkled all the corners of the apartment with holy water before my arrival. In response, a terrible male laugh came from the kitchen. She didn't do anything else.

I'll be honest, I didn't believe my aunt, but my youthful curiosity was piqued. I decided that I would definitely solve the mystery of this "creature" within the next week. Then a recent incident came to mind. I was leaving my aunt's apartment and going down the stairs, and the door was ajar. At that moment, from somewhere above, someone was taking a German Shepherd for a walk. The dog nearly escaped its owner's grasp—it was so eager to get inside. She barely managed to drag it away from the door, and the barking could still be heard outside.

 That same day, I ambushed Lena—that was the name of the shepherd's owner—on the street and asked her directly for help. I needed to let Guy inside and see what was making him so angry. Lena was my age, and apparently she liked me, so she agreed to the experiment.

After the dog had had its fill, we went up to my aunt's apartment together (my aunt had gone to visit a friend), and I opened the door. Guy rushed forward, barking, and rushed into the kitchen. Then he began running around the apartment, finally stopping at the pantry door. His barks alternated with growls as he tried to pry the doors open with his paws. As soon as I yanked one open, the shepherd darted into the darkness and sank his teeth into something. There was a scream, and something shapeless tumbled out into the hallway.  I turned on the light and saw a bearded man on the floor, vainly trying to pry the dog's jaws apart.

Grabbing a knife from the kitchen, I held it to the stranger's throat, just as Lena pulled Guy away. And then, right before my eyes, the man seemed to melt—objects became visible through him. Lena and I couldn't believe our eyes. The knife fell from my hands, and my consciousness went blank—I temporarily lost all sense of reality. All I could hear was Guy choking on his barks.

I don't know how much time passed, but I came to my senses. Lena must have experienced the same sensations. The knife lay on the floor, the dog was raging, the floor was stained with blood—red trails led to the wide-open door. The wounded "invisible man" had disappeared.

There was nothing to discuss—Lena and the dog went home, and I started cleaning.  I felt depressed, as if someone had been rummaging through my mind. By the time my aunt arrived, there were no signs of a struggle. I halfheartedly told Alevtina Lvovna that the "creature" was no longer in the apartment and asked her never to leave the door to the stairs open again. I lay down and slept for twelve hours. Only then was I able to explain anything to my aunt. But it seems she, in turn, didn't believe me. However, the strangeness in the apartment has disappeared since then.

Six months later, I returned to study, and three years later, Lena (Guy's landlady) and I got married. And we're still together. We now remember the hunt for the "invisible man" with humor, although it was no laughing matter back then.