Diamond painting

 

Diamond painting

 

Diamond painting

 

Diamond painting

 

CD 4

TO ESCAPE.

Łukasz opened his eyes and gasped for air. Immediately he felt the stench of the creature pressing down on him. The monster, however, no longer looked so terrifying. Now he saw it as it truly was.

The creature stared at him with two small eyes set on a large, round head like a football. The rest of its face consisted of enormous jaws, grinding ominously. The creature watched Łukasz curiously and suddenly roared furiously, revealing a rich arsenal of teeth.

Now I still have a chance, Łukasz thought, trying in vain to throw the monster off him. The creature responded with another roar and then attacked. Łukasz covered himself with his hand and felt its teeth clamp down on his forearm. He screamed loudly, this time from pain, not terror. He jerked his whole body violently. He managed to shift a few centimeters. That was exactly the distance he needed. He moved just enough to reach the red cement mixer. The clay on which the mechanical colossus stood had dripped down in the rain. Currently, the concrete mixer was bending in the gusts of wind like a tree.

"Because it's my cement mixer," Łukasz said, and pulled out the block blocking the wheel.

The monster turned toward the red colossus, stood on two legs, and rattled furiously. Now it looked almost comical. Small legs supported its rounded body and round head.

Łukasz seized the moment and rolled to the side. Immediately afterward, the cement mixer struck the monster, accompanied by the screech of breaking bones and the piercing scream of the creature, which was probably experiencing pain and fear for the first time in its life. The cement mixer toppled over, crushing the gray monster. The impact was too weak to kill the creature, but the concrete mixer's weight effectively pinned it to the ground.

As Łukasz rose, he felt a throbbing pain where the creature had bitten him, but he tried to ignore it. He took a few steps and bent down to pick up a shovel from the ground. Leaning heavily on the shovel, he stood over the creature and looked directly into its small red eyes. The monster tried to seize this opportunity, transforming into different people one by one. This time, Łukasz was unimpressed.

"Let's see what you're afraid of, you freak."

The monster rattled, and Łukasz could have sworn he heard fear in its voice. He tried to free himself, but Robert's cement mixer was pressing his body firmly to the ground. He kept rattling furiously, even when the shovel struck him the first time, reducing most of his head to green pulp. He continued rattling after the third and fourth blows, only falling silent after the fifth, unable to produce a sound. Łukasz, however, continued to pound what remained of the monster. He lowered the shovel again and again until he finally fainted and collapsed heavily to the ground.

By the time Robert returned to the construction site, he was already the father of two children. During the night, his daughter, Julia, was born. In the car, he hummed happily to a song known only to himself. Yesterday's inclement weather was only evidenced by the numerous puddles, now reflecting the cloudless sky and the bright sun. The black tire of the blue Fiat repeatedly unceremoniously shattered these natural mirrors, spilling water in all directions.

Robert tried calling Łukasz again, but he didn't answer. Disappointed, he threw the phone onto the passenger seat and pressed the accelerator harder.

"Did something happen to your uncle?" asked Marcin, sitting in the back, in a special child seat.

"No way. I'm sure everything's fine. He's just not answering his phone. That's all.

" "Uh-huh." Marcin seemed satisfied with this answer, because he went back to playing with his favorite toy car.

"Drive faster," he whispered to the car through gritted teeth. Despite what he'd told the little boy, he was almost certain something unpleasant had happened to Łukasz. Various visions of what could have happened to his friend began to flash before his eyes. Some were incredibly evocative and— "

Dad!" he was interrupted by his son's loud cry.

He looked ahead, just in time to realize he'd just swerved into the left lane and was now flying head-on into the hood of a large truck. He swerved hard to the right. At the last second. A car sped past him with a blare of its horn and the crunch of the driver's side mirror being ripped off. Robert, however, didn't stop to gather them. He merely cursed silently to himself and slowed slightly as he remembered his wife and Julia waiting for him at the hospital, and Marcin sitting in the backseat. Death was hardly the way to spend this afternoon.

"Again!" shouted a delighted Marcin from behind, who had thoroughly enjoyed driving alongside the speeding truck. "Yet.

" "Quiet," Robert said dryly and pulled off the expressway.

Robert stopped the car on the dirt road, seeing the overturned cement mixer ahead of him and the man sitting next to it.

"Łukasz! Łukasz!" he shouted, jumping out of the car. "Stay here!" he ordered his son and started toward his friend, still calling his name.

"They're all gone," Łukasz replied calmly, watching his friend approach. "Don't be afraid, they're all gone." Father. Justyna. Janek. Even the policeman and Mr. Shit Eater. Everyone had already left.

Robert stopped halfway to his friend and hesitantly asked if everything was alright. The man only had to raise his head to see that nothing was wrong. His entire face was caked with mud. Gray strands were clearly visible among his raven-black hair. His eyes were as empty as wells after thirsty troops had passed through small villages.

"You see, everyone's gone. Everyone!" he said almost cheerfully, circling his head with one hand. "They've gone. They've gone."

Robert examined his friend's hand, tucked under the burgundy cloth. Bloody cloth, he corrected himself mentally. Following the bloody trail from his friend's hand along the clay, he came across another stain, olive green, and then something that initially reminded him of a large Brussels sprout. Except that Brussels sprouts don't usually have human shapes. Robert covered his mouth and then screamed loudly, scaring away the birds feeding on the corpse of the creature that had emerged from the outhouse.

CD 3

He had to duck. The room was very low and filled with the unpleasant smell of human feces. The man unzipped his pants and shone his light into the hole surrounded by the toilet seat. Inside, a beam of light illuminated a pile of excrement. Łukasz looked away and began to pee. When he finally finished, he zipped up his zipper and shone the light into the hole he had dug in the ground again. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement. But when he looked closer, he saw nothing. He stared at the excrement for a moment longer, and just as he was about to look away, he saw a figure in the hole. Terrified, he lowered the flashlight and fumbled for the doorknob, which, to his chagrin, he couldn't reach. From somewhere deep within the outhouse, a strange sound reached him, something resembling both human speech and the clatter of a stork. The sound repeated several times, and then everything fell silent. Łukasz stood staring at the hole, surrounded by a white toilet seat, listening. Nothing reached his ears but the gusts of wind and the sound of his own breathing. There was no trace of the terrifying clatter, yet the tension lingered. Finally, his hand found the handle. He pulled it with all his might, and a moment later, his butt landed hard on the sodden clay. He wasted no time in slamming the outhouse door shut with his foot. He nervously looked around for his flashlight, then remembered it had been left inside. Sitting in the mud, he wondered what he had seen, but he couldn't quite place the image. Something was lurking there in the shadows.

It was just an ordinary rat, he told himself, but the pounding of his heart and the shortness of his breath proved he didn't believe his own arguments. The Terrible People, he recalled the boy's words, and gritted his teeth. There's no such thing as the Terrible People, is there? His question was answered by the memory of a dark silhouette moving underground on a mountain made of human shit. A silhouette darker than darkness and making stork-like sounds. Łukasz tried to think rationally, but his mind had clearly given up on such attempts long ago and given in to madness.

"It was there, you know it," the voice in his head repeated stubbornly. "It was as real as the clay surrounding you, you better believe it, get up and run as far away from here as you can. And you know what else? It saw you, saw you, saw you so clearly."

"The Terrible People," he said quietly under his breath, then bit his tongue.

He finally regained control of his body. He stood up and began backing toward the white wall of the house under construction. He never took his eyes off the wooden outhouse. When he finally felt the pleasant coolness of the cinder blocks behind him, he heard the scratching sound again. This time he knew its source. It came from the wooden latrine opposite. "

The Terrible People. They were fighting for their lives. If anyone had heard, there might still be a chance. Bye, man!" Memories flooded his mind in waves, both long-faded and completely fresh. "There would still be a Terrible, Terrible People chance," the policeman's voice told him, and then somewhere inside his head, the sleek Janek muttered, "Terrible Chance, Terrible People. The People were fighting."

Łukasz's world spun before his eyes. All images blurred into a grayish blur. Time and again, he became a little boy, then a grown man again, everything happening to the endless accompaniment of the scratching. That's how his father's shoes scratch across the carpet, how they shuffle as his old man hangs himself. Or maybe it was the creature hidden in that small outhouse that decided to dance across the wooden floorboards.

"Łukasz," he heard his father's voice, interrupted by moans and gasps for breath. "Łukasz! Łukasz!"

Suddenly, his father's screams were replaced by a powerful rattling sound. The sound filled Łukasz and penetrated him.

Fear. The fear was the same, wasn't it? Then and now. All-encompassing, all-powerful, yet so tangible. So real, almost physical. "

Łukasz, chance, fight, rattling. I don't love you anymore!" A mad carousel of memories. Different voices shouted different words at him, and then they were lost in the powerful rattling of the creature from the latrine.

Fear, the same as then, wasn't it? It was fear. It was just fear.

Łukasz felt the voices around him fade, and his vision refocused. He was surprised to find himself standing directly in front of the outhouse door, his hand dangling motionless inches above the doorknob. Something was still rustling within the room. The sound was so eerily similar to what he had heard years ago. The toes of his boots scraping the rough carpet, while his father's neck was being tightened by the rope in that final, loving embrace. He felt the memories begin to crash down on him again with tremendous force, but this time he refused to let them carry him away. He faced a great wave of memory and managed to persevere, standing against the current for now. He realized that, like an acrobat, he was walking on a thin rope suspended above madness. He knew that if he allowed himself to be swept away by the crushing river of memory once more, he would next awaken in a psychiatric hospital dressed in a white caftan. And even that, he could only hope for if he was lucky.

The door. It was behind it that his father hung. It was the door that had slammed shut behind his girlfriend, and he hadn't opened it, letting her go. It had always been about the door, and the doorknob that Łukasz had never been able to turn. Now he stood facing his nightmares. Facing all his fears. Redemption awaited him on the other side. One move separated him from ridding himself of his own demons. It was time to face them.

His hand stopped shaking. He knew he had to do this. Once and for all. The time had come, the time to reach for his personal salvation.

"Now or never," he whispered to himself and turned the doorknob.

Have you ever ridden a roller coaster? Not the kind you see at those small town fairs, but the massive colossus so often shown in American movies. Imagine yourself riding one. First, the incline. A terribly long, steep, and slow one. You can then watch the clouds and the sun peeking through them. The braver ones might look down, straight at the crowds of people, which are constantly shrinking. The coaster slows steadily, and the top of the incline is almost here. For a moment, you feel your car level out. A cliff looms ahead. The track drops at an incredible angle. The cars begin to plummet at terrifying speed, straight towards the ground. The rushing air fills your cheeks. A stray fly slams against your forehead. Adrenaline surges through you. Suddenly, you feel your bladder tighten as you see a section of track missing, just below the ground. You see your car about to crash with tremendous force, directly into the concrete scaffolding. Your entire life doesn't flash before your eyes. Maybe when you're exceptionally composed, you'll only think about why your boss had to give you your paycheck too soon today, or why you had to skip school today. Your last thought will be that you're already dead. This realization will fill your mind. The moment will stretch on like an eternity. A second will become infinity, accompanied only by the thought that you're already dead. That's how Łukasz felt when he saw what awaited him on the other side.

Łukasz jumped away from the door. He was as white as a sheet. His lips twitched irregularly, like two pale earthworms seeking shelter from the rain pouring down on their burrows. He took another step back. He slipped and landed in the mud. He heard something ahead of him. He tried to recall what he'd just seen, but no image appeared before his eyes. Or maybe he hadn't seen anything? Where had the sound come from? He was certain he was already dead, and all he could do was prolong his agony.

That was certain. Something was coming for him.

He flinched as he felt something hard tighten around his ankle. The grip was incredibly strong. He immediately remembered who, or rather what, had crawled out of the outhouse. His pupils dilated to unnatural sizes, and a powerful scream rose in his throat. His father, or rather the being wearing his face, froze, clenching his black hand even tighter. Luke saw with disgust the bones protruding from the rotten black hand, reflecting the pale moonlight.

The monster lay before him. From the waist down, it seemed paralyzed, moving only with its hands. Its head moved in jerky movements, like some kind of interrupted animation, right and left. The creature stared at him with dead eyes, Justyna's eyes. Suddenly, it opened its mouth, and a loud rattling sound emanated from somewhere in its black throat. A dark green tongue slid out of the monster's mouth like a living animal.

Łukasz kicked his legs violently and wrenched himself free from the creature's grip. He began to retreat quickly. He moved like some exceptionally retarded crab. He pushed against the wet clay with his heels and dug into puddles with his hands. He somehow didn't think to get up. He didn't have time. He was now face-to-face with his worst nightmare. And you know what? He wanted to forfeit the match as quickly as possible.

The monster stared at him with Justyna's dull gaze; he wasn't in any hurry. Finally, he moved, awkwardly pulling himself up on his hands. Fragments of skull protruding from the black, rotted bone of his head gleamed deceptively with his every movement. The creature moved slowly but relentlessly. Precisely, like the hand of a clock meant to measure the time allotted for pleasure. We almost don't notice its slow movement, but we can't escape it. Whether we run, drive, or fly, the hand will catch up with us.

Łukasz seemed oblivious to this simple truth. He moved faster and faster through the clay, until finally his head struck the wall of the house under construction. He felt no pain from the impact. He didn't have time. He jumped to his feet in a flash and looked at the creature crawling toward him. It stopped moving and returned his gaze. This time, the creature no longer had his father's face; in its place was pale skin stretched to the breaking point over a skull, over which slicked-back black hair had sprouted. The monster stared at Łukasz, this time with empty eye sockets, then whirred loudly and moved towards him. The man broke into a chaotic retreat along the wall of the building. Unfortunately, a moment later, when he landed hard on his stomach, he remembered his friend's warning. "When it attacks, watch out for the clay. It gets terribly slippery." "Never mind," he said aloud and scrambled to his feet.

He still believed he had a chance. He didn't look back. He was certain the monster was far away. How fast could it move by crawling?

Very fast.

Łukasz fell again. This time, he didn't slip on the mud, but something grabbed his leg and yanked him back hard. He hit the ground so hard that for a moment he couldn't catch his breath. He rolled onto his back, only then managing to fill his lungs. Suddenly, he felt the creature grip his torso and slowly pull itself up his body. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine the blanket. The same one he'd once hid under to escape the nightmare that had been chasing him. But this time, his worst nightmare had become reality. Łukasz felt a cold, heavy sensation at chest level. It was lying on top of him. He held his breath, the only thing he could do. When he inhaled again, he smelled rot. Finally, he couldn't bear it any longer and opened his eyes. Before him, he saw only the blackness of empty eye sockets, through which worms repeatedly rolled. Absolute silence reigned all around, broken first by the clatter of the monster leaning over Łukasz as if to kiss him, and then by some alien, terrifying scream. The last glimmer of hope faded when Łukasz realized it was he himself who was screaming.

He felt himself drowning in memories. His father hanging in the room like some doll at a fair. Justyna emerging from the apartment with a sleek Janek stabbing him in the back. A dark abyss where the monster's eyes should have been. The stench of an outhouse built on a small hill. The end. Madness gripped his brain. He tried to draw air into his lungs, but repeatedly swallowed only liquid. Somewhere above him, a small red light loomed above the water's surface. But he was already too deep. Now he would never rise again. He was helpless, and could only wait for death. Yet the red glow still shone somewhere above him. Łukasz decided to swim out, but his legs were gripped by the demons of his past. They were pulling him to the bottom, wanting to see him dead.

"No!" he discovered with surprise. He could scream, and his pursuers could hear him. "Leave me alone!" They

let go. His legs were free. Łukasz moved quickly toward the light, toward the surface. Toward consciousness. He no longer wanted death. He only wanted...

CD 2

Moments after Marek had gone to the hospital, a real storm broke out. Thick, almost black clouds covered the entire sky, and total darkness fell over the forest and the nearby village, slashed by frequent flashes of bright lightning.

Łukasz sat inside a small trailer, watching some action movie, the kind you forget within thirty minutes of the show ending, and the next day you can't even explain how you spent your evening. He held a beer in his left hand. "That's the fourth one that evening," he thought, and downed almost half the contents of the green can in one gulp. Somewhere near the trailer, thunder boomed, and the televisions became covered in dense static, making further viewing impossible.

"It was crap anyway," Łukasz said, quickly checking other stations, but all showed only static.

He turned off the TV. He was about to lie down on the small pink couch when he heard a scratching sound coming from somewhere outside. He jumped to his feet and hit the trailer's low ceiling painfully. He immediately sat back down on the couch and grabbed the top of his head with his right hand. He listened. But now all he could hear was the roar of the wind, the thunder, and the downpour.

"Easy. Just be calm. You misheard something. That's all."

When he finally calmed down, he heard the mysterious sound again, sounding like fingernails scraping against the uneven wood. Łukasz jumped again, startled. This time, however, he didn't hit the ceiling. He sat bolt upright on the couch, staring nervously at the trailer's exit door. The sound came from somewhere far away, but it had to be incredibly loud to penetrate the sounds of the storm. The sounds echoed in Łukasz's head. He was afraid.

It was just like when he was seven. Just like when his father died. Just like when he'd stood in front of the closed door behind which the sounds were coming. Sounds similar to those he'd just heard. Not similar, he corrected himself mentally. "Identical."

But now there was a storm outside again. Nothing more. Łukasz reached for the flashlight and sat down, weighing the object in his hand. He hesitated. Finally, he grasped the plastic handle of the trailer door with his right hand and quickly opened it. Across from him, the foundations of a house rose, and somewhere in the distance, an outhouse was dimly visible. The storm had subsided somewhat, but a rather heavy rain was still falling, limiting his vision. The beam of light from the flashlight danced nervously across the construction site, and Łukasz's gaze followed it. Raindrops struck the clay steadily, creating ever-new puddles. There was no one in sight on the site. The cement mixer stood quietly by the pile of sand, in the same spot as before. Out of the corner of his eye, Łukasz saw movement and aimed his flashlight at it, which stopped at the outhouse. For a moment, he thought he saw the wooden outhouse move slightly. He froze with fear. He felt his muscles tense, and beads of sweat began to form on his back. He stood still, staring at the hastily assembled shed. He was afraid that the moment he lowered his gaze, it would move again. "

Terrible People," he said after a moment, and turned off the flashlight.

He closed the trailer door and lay down on the small couch. He opened another beer and began to sip it slowly, listening intently to the sounds coming from outside, like a rabbit lurking in a small hole. But he heard nothing. After a moment, he felt his eyelids begin to feel heavy. He settled back. Now the recent fear seemed abstract. He told himself he'd only heard the sounds of the forest, wild animals, or falling branches. He'd completely forgotten about the bouncing outhouse. His mind simply dismissed the image as an optical illusion, like a mirage, or the splatter of steaming water you might see on the asphalt on particularly hot days.

Sleep came unexpectedly. In fact, it was a relived memory. An incredibly real memory. In it, Łukasz watched a small, seven-year-old boy sitting on a bed in a dark room, staring at white model airplanes on a shelf. At one point, the boy stood up and moved toward the door. Łukasz tried to block his exit, but he was unable to. When he blocked the boy's path, he passed through him as if through thin air and emerged from the room into a dark corridor that seemed to stretch on forever.

Łukasz ran after him, screaming all the while, but the boy ignored him. The boy headed toward the white bathroom door looming somewhere at the far end of the corridor. As he moved along the dark walls, his goal seemed to recede and grow smaller. The boy started running, but suddenly another door blocked his path—a brown and massive door, like the gates of a castle. Łukasz stopped screaming and stood beside the boy, who was staring at the door. The whole world spun, the corridor walls dissolved into darkness. Everything around seemed as unstable as a reflection in a pond. The only final thing was the massive brown door. Nothing else mattered.

Suddenly, scratching sounds and a faint wheezing sound came from behind the door. The boy and the man simultaneously pressed their ears to the wood just above the massive doorknob. The scratching turned into a shuffling sound. Somewhere behind the door, something clattered to the floor. Łukasz felt a warm stream of urine run down his leg and looked at the boy. No. He wasn't looking at the boy anymore. He was looking at himself. Now he was the only one left, a seven-year-old boy with a wet pant leg, standing in the darkness, listening to the sounds coming from behind the door. He didn't know what to do, unable to lift his feet from the ground. On the other side was some beast. Some monster. After a moment, he regained control. He took a step back. He hit something and fell onto the soft carpet. He quickly got to his feet and ran along the burgundy carpet that led him to the room.

As he fled, he heard a hoarse scream coming from behind the brown door.

"Łukasz!" the beast screamed his name, and he ran along the carpet in the darkness.

"Łukasz!" the same rasping voice again, this time much quieter.

Suddenly, his room appeared before the boy, his bed looking like some impregnable bastion. The boy immediately dove under the covers. Only now could he breathe. He cried, but slowly recovered. Here he felt safe. The snarling monster behind the door was far behind him. Now he was out of danger, safe.

"Łukasz! Łukasz! Łukasz!" he suddenly heard the same terrifying voice.

He squeezed his eyes shut and curled up under the covers. But the voice didn't stop calling him. It persistently screamed his name.

Suddenly, everything fell silent.

The boy waited a moment longer, and when the sounds didn't return, he only uncovered the top of his head. He counted to three and opened his eyes, clutching the blanket, ready to cover himself with it at any moment.

He groaned when he saw the hanged man, but he didn't retreat back under the covers. Curiosity got the better of him.

The man dangled from a rope in the shadows just in front of his bed. The toes of his elegant black shoes repeatedly scraped the boy's carpet. His head was slightly bowed, and his arms hung limply at his sides.

"Dad?" the boy asked quietly.

Only silence answered him.

"Dad!" he repeated louder.

Just as once again, no one answered him. Only the silence seemed to thicken, the only sounds breaking it were the boy's shallow breathing and the hanged man's shoes repeatedly scraping the carpet.

"Dad!" the boy shouted.

Suddenly, the hanged man raised his head. His bulging eyes stared directly at Łukasz. The swollen, pale tongue that had previously been hanging from his mouth now began to move rhythmically. His pale skin glowed in the moonlight.

"If someone had heard, there might still be a chance," the hanged man rasped, then added, smacking his lips. "Bye, man!"

This time Łukasz didn't even try to hide under the covers; he was too busy screaming.

He woke up covered in sweat. For a moment, he nervously looked around. He was alone in the trailer. Relieved, he grabbed a small table and gripped it tightly. Thoughts and memories swirled in his head. After all these years, a childhood nightmare came back to him. He found him here at night, in the middle of nowhere.

Łukasz sat on the edge of the mattress and rubbed his temple. He was fighting for his life—he remembered the words from his dream—"If someone had heard, there might still be a chance."

His thoughts drifted back to his memories. He recalled his father's posthumous expression precisely, with almost photographic precision, when he found him hanging in the studio in the early morning. Now, before him once again stood a livid face, bulging eyes and a grotesquely curved mouth hidden beneath a thick mustache. Dead eyes glared at him accusingly, and pale skin gleamed faintly in the rays of the rising sun. This was how he remembered his father, how he had seen him in dreams for years. Now the nightmare returned with renewed intensity. "

There would still be a chance," Łukasz repeated quietly under his breath.

He had heard these words from a policeman who had come to the house to investigate. Łukasz had never learned why his father had committed suicide. His mother refused to discuss it with him. Besides, he was more preoccupied with another thought than with the investigation—that he had killed him. The policeman confirmed these suspicions. The hanged man struggled with the rope for over fifteen minutes. He had probably given up on suicidal thoughts at some point, but it was too late. For some time after the chair had been knocked aside, he had to stand on tiptoe, fighting for his life. Then he tried to stand on the chair leg, but finally, when it broke, he stopped struggling and allowed the rope to tighten around his neck with deadly force.

He was fighting for his life. If anyone had heard, there might still be a chance, the policeman said, ignoring the child standing in the corner of the room. The child had heard, but it didn't help; instead, it fled terrified to its own room and hid under the covers.

Łukasz reached for the can and took a small sip, but immediately spat out the contents of his mouth. The beer was carbonated and unpleasant. Besides, he'd had enough alcohol for the evening. As he stood up, he felt his bladder tighten uncomfortably. He had to go to the bathroom. The thought of stepping out of the trailer into the heavy rain replaced his memories. All that mattered now was the small outhouse on the other side of the construction site and his bladder filled with the beer he'd just consumed.

Łukasz reached for a large flashlight and opened the door. It was still raining outside, but the heaviest downpour had long since passed. A very strong wind was blowing, blowing small drops in all directions, giving the impression that the rain wasn't falling from the sky but was drifting in from somewhere in the forest.

The man stood on the wet clay and closed the trailer door behind him. The wind ruffled his black hair and whipped raindrops across his face. He started toward the outhouse, but immediately slipped and fell straight into the wet clay. He cursed silently and tried to stand up. He only managed it on the third try. Once he was firmly on his feet, he bent down to reach for the flashlight. It slipped from his hand a few times, as if it had come to life and wanted to become some kind of mud fish.

Before taking another step, Łukasz carefully looked around, searching for something to lean on. Finally, his eyes fell on a spade propped against the wall of the building. He cautiously approached it and gripped the shovel in his right hand. The tool proved a bit too long, but Łukasz couldn't see anything better nearby. After all, it's only a matter of walking a few meters, he thought.

With the help of the spade, he managed to reach the outhouse without any major problems. The outhouse stood on the edge of the plot, on a small hill. Beyond it, he could see a dark forest shrouded in shadow. The boards and nails that made up the outhouse creaked softly in the breeze. Łukasz shone the light on the latrine and felt a cold shiver run down his spine. The door it was made of was identical to the one in his father's workshop. Even the doorknob glowed with the same dead light. He blinked in disbelief when he opened it again and saw only an ordinary, old brown door. He felt dizzy. Instinctively, he grabbed the wet doorknob to steady himself. He looked at the door again. Now, he was certain it was different from the one he hadn't opened as a seven-year-old. He pressed the knob and then entered the privy.