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.

NIGHT WATCH

- Want a smoke?

- Sure. Bet on one. - Łukasz eagerly reached for the cigarette his friend handed him.

They were both silent for a long moment, trying to light it with a match, the flame dancing uncertainly in the strong wind. Robert was the first to grunt triumphantly and inhale deeply. When the tobacco in his cigarette burned steadily, he allowed Łukasz to light it from his.

Robert and Łukasz stood facing each other, exhaling alternate puffs of smoke. They did this steadily, like a machine. The heavy gray clouds seemed to freeze briefly in the air, then rushed towards each other, like two drunk drivers playing a game of chicken. Only when the puffs merged into one did a strong wind disperse them. At one of the puffs, they burst into laughter and began to smoke, each in their own rhythm. Łukasz took long, deep drags while Robert inhaled quickly and greedily.

"Are you sure you won't mind staying here overnight?" Robert asked, glancing around the construction site, nervously searching for his son playing somewhere among the foundations of the slowly rising house.

"I've got a few beers, and you've got the TV in the trailer. We'll figure it out," Łukasz replied.

"I really wouldn't ask you to if I didn't have to."

"You better go to the hospital, don't screw up. You'll have another kid soon."

Robert didn't answer. Instead, he began to look around nervously. After a moment, he shouted loudly,

"Marcin! Marcin, come here right now! I'm sorry. What were you talking about?"

"Never mind. You need to take a break from that boy; any longer and he'll finish you off." "

I'm losing my nerve. You'll see how yours gives birth someday.

" "Mine?

" "A wife, a woman. Whatever," Robert explained, still looking around for his son.

"Well, I can't wait for that feeling," Łukasz replied in a sad tone.

Robert wanted to comfort his friend, but decided against it. Only a month had passed since Justyna dumped him. They'd been together for a few years, until she finally declared she didn't love him anymore. Łukasz claims she said it as if she were asking him to change the channel on the TV. Right after this indifferent statement, the doorbell rang. When Łukasz opened the door, he saw a younger man in a black leather jacket and slicked-back black hair so heavily coated with gel that the comb marks were visible. The newcomer was chewing gum, his lips constantly moving under his crooked nose.

"I'm going to Justyna," he declared loudly, smacking the gum in his mouth, simultaneously spreading a faint strawberry scent around him.

Łukasz didn't even have time to respond when Justyna hovered over the stranger and kissed him deeply. The newcomer and Łukasz's recent girlfriend flirted in the doorway for a few minutes until they finally remembered their host.

"Janek," the newcomer introduced himself, extending his hand to the host. He had been chewing gum the entire time. He didn't bother to spit it out during the kiss.

Łukasz, disoriented, shook his hand and mumbled something. Less than an hour later, Justyna left with a gelled-up Janek and a large bag of luggage. Łukasz watched everything as if through a fog. He couldn't believe it.

"Bye, man!" Janek exclaimed, smacking his gum from somewhere in the hallway. "You better not wait for Justyna. She won't be back." Now he was joined by the loud chuckle of Mrs. I Don't Love You Anymore Justyna.

Łukasz sat on the couch, stunned, and stared at the turned-off television. He finally came to his senses enough to go to the kitchen and retrieve the vodka he'd been holding. He drank it straight from the bottle, as if he were holding half a liter of mineral water. He only realized what had happened the next day, when, right after waking up, he was hanging on the toilet bowl, emptying the contents of his stomach. "

I didn't want to mention it, and..." Robert finally broke the silence. "

He's sitting over there, by the cement mixer," Łukasz interrupted, staring at a chubby boy, no more than four years old, furiously digging in a pile of sand with a plastic shovel.

Robert smiled sheepishly and waved at his son, who raised the red shovel in greeting and then went back to playing. "

You're probably right, I should give up on this. Enough time has passed, but I still can't forget."

"I'm definitely right," Robert corrected. "You should go have some fun." Find a woman and go to bed with her. That'll cheer you up. "

I tried, but nothing came of it. I think..." He suddenly stopped. He didn't want to admit that ever since Justyna dumped him, he'd been afraid of women. A pretty girl sitting next to him on the bus was enough to give him goosebumps and tremors. They were like fire to him, and he didn't want to get burned. "So what am I supposed to be guarding?" he changed the subject. "Concrete or maybe that priceless clay?"

Robert didn't want to push it. He accepted Łukasz's terms.

"No," he replied matter-of-factly, as if he hadn't heard the irony in his friend's question. "You can guard the concrete mixer and the Styrofoam, though.

" "Concrete mixer?" Łukasz asked, staring at the heavy device standing on a small hill, which Robert's toddler was carefully beating with a red spatula. "Nobody would have taken that scrap metal out of here anyway."

"And that's where you're wrong. Yesterday, some people tried to take it away." When I ran out of the trailer, they found that the foreman had ordered it to be moved to another construction site.

"And?

" "And I chased them away. The bastards couldn't release the wheel lock, and now I have to put a block under it to keep this giant from rolling down the hill. I have to fix this somehow.

" "Aren't you afraid it'll roll onto the kid? It's on a hill and looks pretty heavy...

" "Marcin won't be able to get the block I put under the wheel. Besides, it won't hurt him because it's my concrete mixer!"

His interlocutor laughed loudly. To which Robert responded rather impulsively:

"What? You'd talk like that too if you paid a thousand for it!"

Łukasz, however, wasn't bothered by his words at all. Staring at a point behind Robert, he continued laughing loudly. Finally, Robert turned and followed his friend's gaze, who was glued to the concrete mixer's drum, or rather, its mouth, from which blue corduroy shorts and a pair of sneakers protruded wildly in all directions. The cement mixer rocked precariously as the trapped boy tried to escape.

"Marcin!" Robert shouted. He threw what was left of his cigarette to the ground and rushed to help his son trapped in the red drum.

Instead of following suit, Łukasz grabbed his knees and tore his sides with laughter as he watched his friend struggle with his legs emerging from the mixer. Eventually, however, he won over the machine and pulled his son out with such force that they both landed on a pile of sand. The mixer swayed precariously. For a moment, there was complete silence. The machine continued to dance a moment longer on top of a small hill before finally returning to its original position. The red colossus almost fell directly on Robert and his son.

The first sound Robert heard after the mixer stopped rocking was Łukasz's loud laughter:

"Because it's my private concrete mixer!" "I can't!" Łukasz laughed from a distance, watching the fat dad and his chubby son simultaneously brush the sand off their faces.

"Shut up!" Robert replied furiously, searching for his glasses, which had fallen off his nose in the fall. "She could have killed us!"

The boy, furious, ran to the cement mixer and kicked it with all his might. It didn't even flinch, while Marcin grabbed his leg, howled in pain, and then jumped back, hitting his dad, who was just putting on his found glasses. This time, they fell straight into a large puddle that had formed during the overnight rain right next to the pile of sand.

"Because it's my private cement mixer!" Łukasz repeated once more, now practically rolling on the ground with laughter.

"Fucking clay," Robert groaned, ignoring his son.

He tried to get up, but repeatedly slipped on the wet surface and landed back in the puddle. When he finally managed to get back on his feet, he was covered in brown mud. He adjusted his glasses and pulled his son out of the muddy clay chute.

"Mommy won't be happy," he wagged his finger at him, which the little one responded with a burst of tears and Łukasz with an even louder, almost absurd, burst of laughter.

"Because it's my..." he began, but couldn't finish as he collapsed into giggles again.

Robert looked first at Łukasz, then at his crying son, then at his dirty clothes, and to his own surprise, joined his friend's laughter.

"My own private cement mixer," he finished the thought and approached Łukasz. "Jesus, I'm covered in dirt. They probably won't let me into the hospital like this?"

"Come on, you look like a classy pig," Łukasz replied, tapping him on the shoulder. He quickly regretted the gesture when his hand became completely covered in mud from his friend's shirt.

"Wait, I'll get you a towel and some water," Robert suggested, seeing Łukasz clumsily trying to wipe his hand on something. "I'll give you some too, Marcin! Come and wash up!"

The boy obediently ran over, and the three of them went to the camper.

"Okay, we'll go," Robert said, stubbing out his cigarette. He put on a new shirt and pants and hung his dirty clothes by the construction site. "Be careful. At night, when it rains, all this clay turns into one big slide.

" "It's a shame I didn't bring my skates; it looks like today will be perfect weather for some skating," Łukasz replied, glancing at a black cloud completely obscuring the sky above the forest surrounding the construction site from the north. "

You have a flashlight in the camper." Walk around the construction site a few times at night, or at least open the door and check if I have any uninvited guests.

"Seriously, could anyone come here?"

"If anything, it'd be better to come in a large car. It'll be quiet.

" "And uncle, watch out for the Scary Guy!"

Łukasz turned toward Marcin. The boy was already standing in clean clothes. He was wearing a tight, red blouse with an advertisement for some now-defunct company, making him look exactly like a piece of ham that had broken off the string at the local butcher shop. In his right hand he clutched a candy bar, probably a Mars bar, which his father had given him to wipe away his tears.

"Excuse me?" Łukasz asked, surprised. "

Watch out for the Scary Guy," the boy repeated, lowering his voice as he pronounced the last words. Then he ran back toward the cement mixer with a shovel to get his new clothes dirty.

"Scary Guy?"

"Some woman in the shop told the kid that our house was on some old cemetery or something," Marcin explained, adjusting his shirt to cover the mud stain on his neck. "You know how it is in a small village. Someone moves in and there's a big fuss.

" "Is that true?

" "I don't know," he continued. "Possibly. But even if so, it was already very old. The only thing I found was a sort of barrow." He pointed to the outhouse. "Right there." "

You made a toilet on some pagan grave?" Łukasz asked, surprised. "And now why are you shitting on the heads of Mieszko I's warriors?"

"Don't get so upset. Give me a break. It was just some ordinary hill, that's all. And anyway, what's it bothering you?"

"Probably a hill," Łukasz repeated, hissing back the beer can. "I'll be a little uncomfortable, really, pissing on corpses."

"I've been here for months and haven't seen a single dead body. Only Marek has this Scary People thing in his head and now he's talking to me about him nonstop. It's all just village legends to scare children. Nothing more.

" Łukasz nodded and took a sip of beer.

"Okay, I'll be off," Robert announced, staring at his friend drinking beer. "If he attacks, watch out for the cop. It's getting incredibly slippery. Marcin, come here immediately!"

The boy reluctantly stopped playing and ran to the car, wiggling his chubby butt. Łukasz thought that if he added a little tail, he'd be indistinguishable from a pig. And that's when the boy spoke to him:

"Be careful, Scary People," the boy said to Łukasz, pointing his chubby hand at the outhouse, and then hopped into the car. "

I'll be there tomorrow morning. I'll call you when he's born.

" "Sure," Łukasz replied mechanically, watching the car drive away.

teddy bear and human life

He'd never felt so awkward in front of her as he did today. Not even on their first date. But tonight was going to change everything. He looked at her and saw that she was guessing something. She sat there, staring straight into his eyes, as if she could read everything in them, his intentions, his thoughts.

Suddenly, the waiter broke the awkward silence:

"Good evening, would you like something to drink? "

His English sounded more like the sounds of an old typewriter.

"Damn it. Why is this guy speaking to us in English? He immediately decided we didn't speak Spanish?" "

No, thank you, you can leave!

" "If not him, at least I'll speak my native language."

At that moment, a million thoughts were running through his head. Yet he was able to even notice a waiter who, in his opinion, didn't belong in this restaurant. A Spanish macho type. Built on protein, doused in wax, carved by atlas, burned by the biggest star. Despite this, a tattoo caught his eye, reminiscent of those from Hollywood tragedies. The colorful dragon on his right shoulder is rather unusual for waiters in good restaurants. Maybe he just thought he'd chosen a good restaurant, maybe it was just a cover for the Spanish mafia.

"What are you thinking about? I can see you're absent!" she interrupted his thoughtless thoughts.

"Nothing important, I'm sorry. I'd like to have a serious talk with you." He finally dared, but his heart raced, and he couldn't control his hands. He moved them energetically only so she wouldn't see his fear. "

I figured it out; you've been lost in thought all day. I hope nothing happened." Her voice suggested she was composed, but her eyes spoke volumes. They begged for truth, honesty, a word of explanation.

He'd seen those eyes before. At their first official meeting. A lonely one, without friends, just them. She'd looked at him with those eyes then, too, keeping her in suspense. When he couldn't bear to look at her sad eyes anymore, he took her hand and placed it over his heart. "Do you feel it? It's you. You're the only one who can do that. You're there, and you're going crazy. You'll stay there as long as you want, until you get bored. Only you can make it stop feeling, stop going crazy. I'm not asking you for a home, a family, a life for better or for worse, until death do us part. I'm only asking you to continue going crazy there."

He remembered it like it was yesterday. That's why he had to do it today. Today was their fifth anniversary. He had to refer to that conversation. The last period of their relationship had demanded it. He knew those words had to be changed.

"I wanted to give you something..." He paused for a moment. This was the moment he dreaded, the moment when doubt crept in. Reflections on whether he was doing the right thing or the wrong thing. Maybe it wasn't meant to be this way, maybe he shouldn't talk about it at all, hold off for a while longer.

"Did you buy me something?" Her true character immediately appeared on her face. Full of joy, life, love.

At that moment, he reached under the table. He knew he couldn't back out. He knew that what he did would change his life forever. He also knew he wanted to do it. Now he was sure.

"I wanted to do it here. In the same place where I met you..." He fell silent and pulled a teddy bear from under the table. He placed it on the table and waited. He could afford very expensive gifts, but he knew that in this case, the teddy bear would be perfect.

"It's beautiful, how did you manage to hide it from me all this time?"

"I wasn't hiding it, I simply knew you wouldn't look for it." This teddy bear is me, and I want... please, take it with you everywhere you go when you leave. Now take your hand and put it in the same place you did five years ago.

Surprised by these words, she didn't know what to do at first. Hesitantly, she placed her hand on the teddy bear's chest.

"Now, check if you still live there, or if you're still going crazy."

Only then did she notice the stitches in that spot. She could only guess what was there. Despite her best efforts, she couldn't get her hands to the sewn-in compartment. She took a knife and slowly and gently began to cut the stitches. She put her hand in and suddenly smiled at him. She stood up and threw herself into his arms.

"Yes. I want to be with you. Until death..." a voice broke his kiss.

********

He had never been as angry with her as he was today. Tonight was supposed to change everything. She knew it well. She sat and looked straight into his eyes, as if she could read everything in them, his intentions, his thoughts. She didn't think she would ever find out.

"Maybe you could explain this to me? You're my wife, I deserve an explanation." He just wanted to know why, like most people in such situations want to know what was wrong.

"It happened so suddenly, besides, I don't have to explain anything to you." She didn't know what to say to him, she was only thinking about one thing.

"You know it has to end. After all these years, you're doing something like this." He had to be firm; the situation, her actions, demanded it. "

Everything passes, I can't explain it any other way. You're still important, but it's not the same. Goodbye." She stood up, composed as ever. "

Now I can only think that you were with me for my money." He had no idea how to talk anymore.

"And I looked at you like that for my money?" She stood up, flustered, and left.

He quickly thought about this conversation and ran out of the apartment. He ran into the street but didn't see her. He looked around like a lost little child searching for his mother. He almost burst into tears. Then he saw her walking and disappearing around the corner. He ran faster than he had at his high school race. Around the corner, he collapsed to the ground. The streetlamp flashed with varying frequency; he didn't think about why it was broken, didn't think about the fact that he was lying on the ground. He was thinking about who he was seeing. She was standing with another person.

"If only you'd let me go..." There was a touch of pity, irony, and above all, compassion in her voice.

He didn't know what exactly had happened, only that everything was slipping away, that everything was gray. He forced himself to open his eyes tightly, and suddenly the streetlamp glowed brighter, illuminating them. Two people looking at him. His last thought in this world. The severing seams of a teddy bear and the triad.

The Price of Life

October 1, 2003. For millions of people, it was just an ordinary day. For me, it was the day my world collapsed.

At first, I couldn't believe it. My twin sister, Susan, was dead.

On that fateful day, I returned home a little early. I found the police and my distraught mother there. Something truly serious must have happened if my mother had deigned to show up at that hour. She always left for work before we were up and returned after we were asleep. That way, we lived a peaceful life—we simply barely saw her.

I was more surprised to see her than to see the police. But what were they all doing here?

I couldn't get any information out of my mother. She'd respond in incoherent monosyllables and then burst into tears again.

I had to question the police. During a break in writing their report, they could spare me a moment to answer my question about what had actually happened.

"Suicide," one of them declared calmly. He was a plump, slightly balding man. "She opened her veins. I'm sorry," he finished without emotion and returned to his work.

"Excuse me...?" I asked. My eyes misted over, and a strange sound rose from my throat. I sobbed, but at the same time, an alarm bell went off in my head. If anyone knew Susan, I knew her perfectly well, and I knew she would never do such a thing. She was afraid of death. She would never dare take such a desperate step. It was definitely not suicide...

I had my premonitions, but what could a fifteen-year-old do when adults knew better?

I had to accept it and continue my sad existence. I felt a terrible emptiness after the loss of my loved one.

I could sit for hours, staring listlessly at the wall. My life had completely lost all color. I was drowning in gray hopelessness.

My mother came home even less often now. I was doomed to endure unimaginable pain alone.

I was afraid to enter Susan's room. Since her death, almost a week ago, no one had visited it. I treated it as a sanctuary I would never be worthy of entering again.

Then one day, passing the door to the "chapel," I heard, or rather felt, something strange. Something like... a heartbeat, coming from inside.

I stopped dead in my tracks, listening. I stared at the door in horror. I couldn't believe my senses. My pulse, along with the other beating, formed a single, monotonous rhythm.

Knock-knock. Knock-knock. Knock-knock.

I hesitated. I fought a brief battle between my fear and curiosity. I'd always been surprised that in horror movies, people walked straight into the jaws of danger. Now I knew why... I reached for the doorknob. The door opened with a slight creak. Nothing unusual, it always creaked. Despite this knowledge, a shiver ran down my spine. I expected the worst. Heart pounding, legs buckling, I slowly stepped inside... There was no one, nothing. As I crossed the threshold, the strange sound stopped as well. I breathed a sigh of relief, but on the other hand, I felt a certain disappointment...

I stood in the middle of the room and looked around. Everything looked exactly as I remembered. Nothing had changed. The only thing missing was the owner...

I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach again, and my strength was fading. I collapsed onto the bed. The sheets still smelled fresh...

I felt tears welling up in my eyes. I allowed myself a brief moment of weakness and cried for a few minutes. Then I wiped my tears and was getting ready to leave when a pale green notebook on my desk caught my eye. I didn't remember seeing it before.

I stood up and picked it up. I opened it to the first page and read: "Susan Wagner's Diary. Do not touch!"

I was surprised. Susan had a diary? I didn't know anything about it.

I felt a slight pang of guilt, because you're not supposed to look through other people's things, but what new information could I possibly read here? We had no secrets from each other, and I'd known for a long time that she liked Alex. So what secrets could this diary hold?

I flipped through the pages until I found the last entry, from October first.

"Dear diary! Yes, I have almost everything. It's true that instead of red candles, I have pink ones, but understand, I couldn't find them anywhere. There was also a problem with the cat's tail.

But besides those two things, I already have everything I need for the ritual. Just wait a little longer, Dad. We'll see each other soon!"

The notebook slipped from my hand. What nonsense was she writing! After all, my father died two years ago!

And then some ritual, a cat's tail, candles! Didn't she join some kind of cult?!

The thought terrified me, but I quickly pushed it away. It was simply impossible.

But the fact is, she died that day...

Suddenly, the skin on the back of my neck prickled. It felt like someone was watching me. I looked around, but of course, there was no one there. Then I heard my heartbeat again. It seemed to be coming from my right side. This time it was... encouraging.

Knock-knock. Knock-knock. Knock-knock.

Guided by that voice, I approached one of the cabinets. Just then, my limited common sense was making itself felt. I grabbed a lamp from the desk. A rather flimsy weapon, but a weapon nonetheless. It gave me confidence.

I reached for the handle, simultaneously raising the lamp in a defensive gesture. I opened the door...

There were only a few haphazardly discarded books. They were jumbled haphazardly on the shelf. Nothing terrible, no matter how you looked at them. Unless you considered a math book to be terrible...

But I had a feeling. There was something here. I could feel it, even through my heartbeat.

I parted the textbooks with my hand. Beneath them, I felt what I was looking for. I pulled it out. I

put the lamp down and stared in surprise at my find. It was a small black book. The strangest thing was that it had no title. I ran my hand over the cover. It felt like leather. Then, as if by magic, or rather by my hand, an inscription appeared, red as blood: "Book of the Dead."

I screamed in terror, almost dropping the volume. For the second time that day, I was simultaneously terrified and curious. What was this book doing with Susan?!

I opened it to the first page. It was blank; no author, title, publication date. Nothing.

I quickly leafed through it. Every page was slightly yellowed and completely blank.

"What kind of book is this without text?" I snorted. Then the book seemed to come to life. I felt a gentle pulsation beneath my fingers.

I screamed and dropped it to the floor. It opened roughly in the middle. I felt like I was hallucinating; text appeared on the page. It looked as if someone was just now writing it. Black ink flooded the letters and made blots. After a moment, I could easily read the fresh words: "What do you want?" the book asked.

I realized the absurdity of this situation. The book asked me?!

Well, what did I have to lose? My sanity, at most, but even that had been a bit fragile lately.

So, after a moment's thought, I answered.

"To see my sister..."

A few pages turned on their own. I tried to convince myself it was the wind, even though the window in my room was closed. But then again, after that day, nothing could surprise me anymore....

The text began to write again. I know it sounds strange, but it was true.

After a few seconds, I was able to read the instructions... on how to summon a spirit!

I stared at the book, speechless. I'd heard various stories about summoning spirits, but I'd never believed them. But how could anyone not believe a "self-writing" Book of the Dead?

In a way, I was glad, because I didn't need anything special to perform this ritual. Actually, I needed four chairs, a large room, nighttime, and the right spell. Not much for a soul summoning.

I glanced at the clock. Five o'clock. There was still some time until midnight, but I couldn't sit still. I'll meet my sister!

I ran to my room and quickly arranged the chairs as instructed. Together, they formed a diamond-shaped shape.

I sat on the bed and waited. You can't even imagine how long it took me. I glanced at the alarm clock every few seconds, trying to force the hands forward. Time dragged on mercilessly. I grabbed a book, but I couldn't concentrate. I just read the instructions a dozen times. I almost had them memorized.

At eleven o'clock, my mother returned. She was a little surprised that I was still awake, but I quickly told her I was waiting for a movie. She left me alone, though she eyed me suspiciously.

Well, that put Mom's mind at ease.

It was almost noon. I locked the door so no one would disturb the ceremony.

I took a few deep breaths to steady my trembling hands. I was excited to meet my sister, but, honestly, I was a little apprehensive. After all, it wasn't every day you summoned spirits.

I consulted the book to be sure, even though I already knew the recipe by heart. I didn't want to mess anything up now, since it was so close....

I turned off the light and stood about two meters from the "rhombus." I raised my hands and chanted the incantation. My voice was quite weak at first, but as the lyrics unfolded, it grew more confident.

"Ashonai! Nowl! Kansai! SUSAN!" I shouted passionately. I felt some strange, ancient power within me. This power simultaneously intoxicated and terrified me. An incredible feeling.

But nothing happened. I lowered my hands helplessly. All my strength drained from me like air from a punctured balloon. I wanted to cry. I felt cheated. How could I have been so gullible? I'd wanted to see my dead sister, using chairs and a few foolish words?! Oh, sweet naivety!

Tears streamed down my cheeks, falling softly onto the carpet. I was furious. At myself, at the book, at everyone on the planet. Why did my sister have to die when there were so many other people on Earth?

I sat helplessly on the carpet and buried my face in my hands. I can't see the world, the world can't see me…

Then I heard a strange sound. Like a soft whistle. I lowered my hands and stood up. Fog swirled between the chairs, thick and white as milk.

I involuntarily opened my mouth. But it happened!

After a few moments, the smoke took on the shape of Susan. I felt as if I were looking into a mirror.

"Sara?" the apparition asked. Her features were very sad.

"Yes, little sister! It's me! I'm so happy to see you!"

She didn't answer. She stared at me with the unruffled calm of the dead.

Strange behavior for my ever-smiling twin...

I'd only thought about how to summon her, but now that she was with me, I had no idea what to ask her. Suddenly, a revelation came to me.

"Susan, you didn't commit suicide! Who killed you?!" I asked. I needed to know. "

In a sense, I passed sentence on myself. I wanted to revive my father, but I lacked the strength. I prepared the ritual incorrectly, and the book killed me. Now I'm cursed..."

My eyes widened in surprise. I felt fear, but at the same time, a glimmer of hope flickered in my heart.

"So, with this book, you can raise the dead?! Susan, that's wonderful! Look at all the possibilities this opens up! You failed, but I can do it!" After all, the very fact that I summoned you proves I have the power! I'll resurrect you, and then our father, and we can be a family again!" I shouted. I could already picture us all together in my mind. I smiled to myself.

Susan didn't share my enthusiasm. Her face contorted into an angry grimace, and the air around her began to spark.

"Stupid! Didn't you hear what I said? That book is dangerous. You can't take any chances!

You have to get rid of it as soon as possible! Got it?"

I stared at it as if it had fallen from the moon. I don't know where it came from, but that's what they usually say.

"Throwing away such a wonder?! You must be crazy. You're just jealous of my power! You'll see, I'll succeed and revive you, whether you like it or not!" I yelled.

Susan folded her arms across her chest. That was a sign she was truly furious.

"Fine. Do whatever you want. Just don't say I didn't warn you later!" she shouted. Her body turned to smoke, and a moment later, there was no trace of her.

I stared at the chairs, slightly dazed. I still couldn't believe what had just happened. But I quickly recovered. I had a task to accomplish.

I crouched down and opened the book to the first page. I wanted to know the secret of raising the dead, but I had no idea how to obtain it. Finally, I decided to ask the book itself. I cleared my throat and spoke slowly and clearly,

"Do you know the instructions for raising the dead?"

For a moment, nothing happened, but then the book seemed to jump and open to a later page. Text began to appear on the blank page. I read the heading.

"The Ashan-Ente Ritual," I mused. The name sounded a bit scary, but I was determined. I quickly read the rest of the instructions. This time, I needed more preparation. I had to find, among other things, those unfortunate red candles and a cat's tail. Following Susan's example, I preferred not to take risks and chose my ingredients more carefully.

The date was also important in this ceremony – October 31st, Halloween. The day when the line between the worlds of the living and the dead is thinnest.

I was happy because it was soon. I wouldn't have to wait forever.

Time flew by in preparations. I managed to get the candles, though I had to travel almost to the other end of town. I also had luck with the cat's tail, finding a dead furry creature near my house. I struggled for a moment with the disgust that was overwhelming me, but finally I overcame myself and cut off the tail. I had everything. Now I just had to wait...

Finally, the day I had been waiting for – October 31st. All my friends were frantically getting ready for Halloween. They were buying costumes, making "scary" decorations, and betting on who would get the most candy. Unfortunately, I had to pretend to be interested in this nonsense. Let them play dress-up, but I have more important things to do – I have to resurrect my sister. So who can make the most of this holiday – me or them? That's a rhetorical question, of course. They don't even reach my heels!

Around five o'clock, I locked myself in my room. I closed the curtains to make it dark. I lit a candle and read the instructions carefully by its light. I did everything as written. Every ingredient was in its place. Now all I had to do was wait until midnight. To my surprise, this time I didn't have to recite a single incantation. The revival happened "automatically."

Wow, how that sounds!

If someone had told me six months ago what I was going to do next, I would have told them to see a specialist. Well, life is full of surprises...

I sat on the bed and counted down the time. I was so excited. We'd go back to living our lives as before! With that in mind, I awaited the hour of S, as I'd "christened" twelve. S for Susan. Simple, right?

The long-awaited moment finally arrived. I stood up and stood by the chairs, which I had to arrange in a diamond shape again. I glanced at the hands of my watch. It was perfect, down to the second. Nearly midnight...

Five more seconds... four... three... two... one... NOW!

I held my breath. A delicate, shapeless mist hung between the chairs, but otherwise, nothing unusual happened.

I growled furiously. Had I done something wrong?

I quickly glanced at my book. Maybe I could still correct the mistake and complete the ritual.

I didn't even have to touch it; as soon as I got close, it opened at the end. Bloody writing appeared on the initially blank page: "Pay the price of life."

I screamed and looked at my hands. They began to turn transparent. Terrified

, I looked into the mirror. There was no reflection. I screamed at the top of my lungs, but it didn't help.

Driven by some strange feeling, I looked at the rhombus. There, growing increasingly solid, was Susan. She, too, was terrified.

I felt a strong tug. We passed each other. I flew through her. We switched places.

I groaned desperately, waiting for help. But I knew it would be useless.

"SUSAN..." I said, losing all my strength.

"Sara! I'll help you! I promise!" she shouted forcefully.

I smiled weakly and disappeared.

I was now in a strange prison. A gray barrier surrounds me, moving with me. I can't leave it. I'm suspended between life and death, not fully belonging to either world. Now I know what it means to be cursed...

I woke up then, suspended in the ceiling. I was already in my prison. Yet I could see everything, still remaining invisible to others.

My mother was knocking on the door to my room. Susan stood and opened the door.

"Sara! What are you doing here!" she began reproachfully. She hadn't noticed this small change. Well, Susan and I were practically indistinguishable. It's just strange that my mother didn't notice that my sister was dressed the same as the day she died...

"Oh, nothing, Mom! I had a nightmare. But everything's fine now!" she assured me.

The next day, Susan took the "Book of the Dead" to the library. She was too afraid to experiment with it again.

But I'm not worried about it at all. My sister was perfectly aware of my presence, so she quickly explained her plan to me.

Someone will surely, sooner or later, take an interest in a strange library book.

Human behavior is incredibly predictable. Some person will quickly try to perform a "forbidden" ritual. The ceremony will certainly fail, and then it will be easy for me to "swap" with him. I'll take care of it. I'll get my life back.

My name is Sara Wagner, I died on November 1st, less than a minute after midnight. But someone will surely bring me back. Maybe it will even be you? Will you do it for me?

Victim or executioner?

He saw only her face. Her

face contorted in a monstrous grimace. A mixture of hatred, contempt, and fear.

And her mouth… the corners of her mouth turned downward… flecks of saliva ejected… with every word… shouted directly into his face.

He was taller than her. Her eyes reached his chin. She was hitting him with her hand. At least she tried to reach his face with her nails. He grabbed her hand, squeezed it, watched the spasm of pain… then let go. And waited for her to do it again. He didn't really know how many times. He didn't want to explode. He tried. He tried so hard.

He knew the feeling of losing complete control. When his body came alive with its own life. When he, the master of his own body, became merely an observer. It was preceded by a sudden surge of energy, a trembling of every muscle, and a pounding in his ears. Then there was only chaos and emptiness. And then… resentment… at himself… that it had happened again. That he had lost again. He tried... Yes, good intentions... he remembered and smiled... the road to hell is paved with them.

Again, a few words. They hurt terribly. They touched the most delicate part of his ego. They hurt more than any slap... He fought with himself. Anything to avoid exploding. This would work...

And again, a mixture of insults, cynical contempt. How much longer could he endure?

She knew all his weak points... she knew the memories that were still vivid... that always hurt equally.

She drew from this knowledge by the handful. Again, a few words. Again, that gaze... again, those eyes.

Looking, he wondered if it wouldn't be possible to count all the bloodshot veins in the whites of his eyes. They were so distinct, he probably would have succeeded.

Again, those flecks of saliva, thrown with hatred onto his shirt. There were already quite a few.

A few more stupid, unnecessary words. A few ruined things. A torn shirt collar. Blood dripping down her cheek, leaving four distinct nail marks.

He grabbed her by the hair with his hand. He pulled her away, out of reach of her nails. She was kicking him... she was screaming something...

He couldn't hear anymore... the first blow was an open hand to the cheek. He saw her pupils dilate. Then everything was obscured by falling hair. He felt pain. He didn't know where... she probably hit him. He repeated the slap a few times. Still holding her hair, he felt her resistance weaken. He punched her a few more times... he probably punched

her. He let go of her. She fell. Actually, it dripped onto the floor... The torn blouse and blood... that was all he noticed... He lost...

*

He was very happy when they finally moved in together. They had been dating for a few years. But it wasn't the same... he was glad they would finally be together forever. They would stop playing, they would be stripped of each other's feathered coats. He was delighted to discover her tiny weaknesses every day. He fulfilled his role as protector and organizer of their life together.

He loved the moments when he came home in the evening, when she was waiting for him. When he saw that she had done so many things all day just for him... He loved her... sincerely, with the devotion of a dog.

In fact, he had subordinated his entire life to her. Anything that didn't fit, he simply threw it away, discarded without regret. Like an empty cigarette pack. He didn't look back. He forged his happiness. And he was aware of it. And there was no point... he was drawn to the availability of sex.

It was available at any moment. And he eagerly took advantage of it. She was damned attractive to him. He didn't dwell on tomorrow. There was no point. Long-term plans can only make him unhappy... if they don't come true or are even delayed.

He had created his own paradise. He had earned it. Quite hard. He deserved it after years of endless failures. He was his... completely... selfishly his... completely his, down to the smallest detail. And so, day after day, he rediscovered himself with renewed strength and began to believe in his luck more and more.

*

Another empty morning. He should have eaten breakfast. But he didn't really feel like doing it. He'd end up with coffee and a cigarette. That was the norm these days. Almost a miracle diet.

He turned on his phone. Although it took a moment to do so. He pondered, holding that damn phone. He was afraid.

The bags under his eyes were exceptionally dark today. They contrasted even with the not-so-clean sheets, which were once white.

Cigarette, coffee, cigarette... maybe another coffee in a moment...

Thousands of thoughts... chaos...

Familiar illusions...

The phone rings... he knows who's calling... there's no need to even check...

It's stopped... relief...

It rings again... he knows it will ring if he doesn't answer this call...

It's like this every morning...

He picks up that hated phone... he reluctantly presses the green receiver button...

Silence...

A moment of consternation...

I'm listening, he says, trying to give his voice a natural tone.

"Come back," a woman's voice drawls out the word on the other end. "

We've talked about this dozens of times already," he wonders how to explain it again. "

Come back to me," the voice persists. "

Please, forget about me," he says hopefully, perhaps this information will finally sink in. "

I'll forgive you everything," the voice filters into the receiver.

I don't want to be forgiven for anything... let me go... don't torment me... I want to be myself again... – he started screaming.

Honey, it'll be like before, just come back... I don't want to be alone... – his voice intensified his torment.

Fuck it, I don't want your forgiveness, I don't want my remorse, I don't want to live like this, you won't turn me into a monster anymore, I want to break free – his clenched facial muscles heralded unyielding determination.

It'll be alright, I miss you – the voice refused to accept the information – you can't even argue.

From now on, honey – he slowly emphasized the word – forget you ever knew me.

He pressed the button. He hung up.

Paradise is a myth. A fairy tale. Sweet, comforting, optimistic… but a fairy tale nonetheless.