wtorek, 4 sierpnia 2026

House of Death



...and there's a house there. A sanctuary of death. A cradle of fear and chaos. The house imprisons its master so that he becomes his servant....

(excerpt from the notes of Dr. F.H. Bielski, a patient at the psychiatric home in Manice)

***

"Vampires? That's good. Ha, ha!" the tall man burst into laughter. "And what else, werewolves and those little... Well... Dwarves.
" "Funny." the young woman looked up from the stone tablets. "My first reaction was identical."
"I don't believe it, show me." the man almost pushed his colleague away.
"See for yourself, unbeliever." the woman deftly moved out of the way. "Just don't forget, I taught you to read hieroglyphs.
" "That doesn't mean you can't make fun of me."
"Believe me, I don't find such things amusing." the woman folded her arms across her chest. "And what, Mr. Archaeologist?
" "Fuck! Indeed." "The man took a closer look at the poorly carved hieroglyphs in the stone slab. "Who found these?
" "Guess." A sly smile appeared on the woman's face.
"Probably some professor," the man mused aloud. "But which one? Qatari? Right? One hundred percent, that fat guy. Right? Did I guess?
" "Unfortunately, it's a box, sir." The woman smiled triumphantly. "Kids.
" "What?
" "These tablets were found by three boys playing.
" "Seriously? Where?" The man's eyes widened with curiosity.
"Have you heard about that church on the outskirts?
" "The one every two... No, three days ago, it collapsed from old age. If I remember correctly, a priest died there.
" "I see you're watching the news, Tomasz." The woman smiled ironically. "Exactly that little church. Apparently it was very old. So old, in fact, that none of the local residents could tell me when it was built. Personally, I'd estimate it to be somewhere between the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries." The priest who cared for him was supposedly insane. The Vatican excommunicated him. No one would tell me why. I only learned that they were going to demolish the church. And now that it collapsed on its own and that priest died, it could play into the hands of various people.
"As usual, you've done your 'homework,'" Tomasz looked at his friend. "I'm full of admiration, Kasia.
" "You know me, after all. You know I like to know what I'm dealing with.
" "Their hunger is immeasurable, their only desire is to tame it..." The man read the two selected lines again, leaning over the old writing. "That really sounds like a vampire story to me."
"But what were those vampire stories doing in that old church?"
"You said that priest was insane, and they excommunicated him."
"You think it's his work? He probably didn't scrape it himself. Unless it was about eight hundred years old. And I suggest we reject that hypothesis outright.
" "So he probably found them somewhere and dragged them to the church.
" "Or he didn't have to drag them out of nowhere, as you said, because he could have simply found them somewhere in the church."
"One thing we know for sure: someone must have brought them to this church at some point.
" "How do you know?" Katarzyna looked at Tomasz curiously.
"What do you mean, archaeologist?" The man tried to make the word "archaeologist" sound almost like an insult. It was his way of repaying his coworker for her "archaeologist." "But you yourself said, Kasia, that the church is at most five hundred years old, and the inscriptions on the tablets are eight hundred.
" "Indeed. That's obvious.
" "You know what?" The man left the table. "I see you need a break." "Come on, let's go to Mateusz's at this hour, I don't think he's serving dinner anymore, but maybe he'll make an exception for friends."
"Believe me, he will. Oh, right. You're paying the bill today. I paid yesterday and the day before, I remember correctly. I won't let you fool me anymore."
"Disgusting woman," Tomasz whispered with a smile. "After we eat, we'll go near that ruined church; maybe I'll find something the lady deigned to overlook.
" "Your sense of humor is pathetic." The woman turned off the lamp. "Let's go to that dinner, but then I'm going back; I still have three more tablets to translate. If you want, go to that church yourself. I'd probably just be bothering you anyway."
They smiled at each other; they loved these little squabbles; at first glance, they formed the core of their friendship. But somewhere deep inside them lurked something they hadn't yet noticed. Something that remained hidden and attacked at the least expected moment, mercilessly entangling its victim. However, for now, they were unaware of the presence of this eternal power.
They dressed and left the laboratory.

***

"Fuck!" he cursed under his breath as another door slammed in his face. "Kasia was right—a true conspiracy of silence," he thought.
He looked around. Five farms lay within his sight. He'd already visited four, but this one remained. Although the distances between the houses were only a few meters, he preferred to travel by car, so he would always be nearby if one of the farmers got the idea, for example, to set his dog on him. He preferred to be on the safe side in this strange, unfamiliar territory. He got into the car and drove to the last cottage. He got out. The front was dominated by a ruined house. The windows were boarded up, and broken roof tiles lay everywhere. "Does anyone even live here?" he thought. He approached the door. Before he could gather the courage to knock, the door swung open with an unbearable squeak. A chill ran down his spine.
"Good morning! My name is Tomasz Banicki, I'm a scientist. I'd like to ask a few questions," he shouted from the threshold.
"Come in!" a pleasant female voice came from the back of the room.
He took the first step, then a few more, and found himself in the middle of the dimly lit cottage. He looked around for the innkeeper. He spotted a massive wooden table against one of the four walls. A candle stood on it, its flame illuminating the face of an old woman.
"What do you want to ask?" the old woman smiled, but the smile was lost somewhere in the tangle of wrinkles etching her face. "You're probably interested in this church. Just like the woman who was hanging around here yesterday. Only she avoided my house. But everyone avoids it. And yet, I have my ways of finding out why someone comes here.
" "I, as you can see, haven't avoided your house.
" "Indeed," the woman looked at Tomasz. "That says a lot about you. People have it too good these days. They live in all their luxury and can't imagine anyone living in such a shack. But you didn't come here to listen to the ramblings of an old madwoman."
"As you guessed, I wanted to ask you about this church," Tomasz admitted. "But maybe first you could tell me something about yourself. Who are you?
" "As I said, I'm a crazy old woman. "
The man looked at the old woman.
"Please don't talk about yourself like that.
" "When it's true," the woman giggled. "Okay, ask whatever you want, but I have one condition. "
Tomasz looked at the woman in surprise.
"Don't be afraid; it's not an unreasonable request. I'd be happy if, after we've finished this whole interview, you'd sit and talk with me for a while. About nothing in particular, just to give the crazy old woman a few minutes of your time.
" "Of course I'll stay," he promised.
He took a notebook out of his pocket.

***


"Ha! He's screwed you again!" The slightly overweight man handed Katarzyna the bill.
"You know what, Mateusz," the woman said, grimacing. "He'll get his way someday. She'll simply kill him someday." (As she uttered these words, she had no idea they were prophetic...).
"What's that sly bastard up to this time?" Mateusz took the calculated sum of money for the meal from Katarzyna. "And where's the tip?
" "You know what, you're being mean," the woman feigned indignation. "Do you know how much an archaeologist earns now?" "Pennies, and besides, I've been feeding this freeloader for three days. Where have those gentlemen gone?
" "Apparently they heard about the feminists and ran away," Mateusz continued, sneering.
"You mean creature," the woman smiled, shaking her fist at the restaurant owner.
"You'd be mean too if you wore such a stupid jacket." The man gestured to his work clothes. "But wait, you are mean."
"You really do look stupid in that reflective jacket. But no one's forcing you to wear it." You're the boss here, you're in charge.
" "But you know how he attracts customers.
" "Are you surprised? People like going to the circus.
" "Now I feel really offended, you witch!" This time the man feigned insult.
"Okay, it's nice talking to you, but I have to go." Katarzyna rose from her chair.
"Exactly!" Mateusz made one last attempt to stop his friend. "What have you dug up recently? Some mammoth. You never brag about anything. What are you working on, some secret government projects?
" "Nothing interesting. Some fairy tales about vampires.
" "Or maybe werewolves?
" "I've heard that somewhere before." The woman burst out laughing. "Believe me, you won't deny knowing Tomasz. Well, I have to get to work.
" "Goodbye then.
" "See you later."
She put on her coat and left the restaurant.

***

"What?" Tomasz jumped up from the small bench he was sitting on. "He was your... I mean, your brother."
"I knew this would surprise you," the older woman smiled. "Yes. Father Karol was my brother. His funeral was yesterday.
" "I'm sorry," the man sat back down.
"Me too." The woman lowered her gaze and pondered for a moment before adding. "Karol was an unhappy man."
"Will you tell me more about him?" Tomasz asked cautiously. "We found some strange old tablets with legends in the church."
"Legends..." the old woman fell into thought again. "Karol knew many legends. He often told them, but it had been so long since he'd been here. He'd become somewhat nervous. The last time he visited me was a year ago, he was exceptionally restless. He wasn't the same man. I remember him jumping from tree to tree as a child. He was so happy and carefree then. Something had changed him, frightened him to the point of shaking his sanity. I saw the fear in his eyes. This wasn't Karol.
" "What could have happened to him?" Tomasz looked at the woman curiously. Something told him this woman possessed the information he was now beginning to desire. He didn't know where this feeling came from, but it was incredibly strong. It burned with some primal urge. He had to have this information; he was ready to crack the woman's skull if it would help extract it from her mind. These thoughts frightened him. A chill ran down his spine. His head spun. He shuddered.
"Did something happen to you?" The woman sensed something was happening to him. "
Everything's fine." He stood up, resting his hand on the rotten table. "I'll go outside and smoke."
The woman watched Tomasz go.
He stepped out onto the veranda and leaned against the beam supporting the veranda roof. He was breathing heavily. What he had experienced a few seconds ago was terrifying. He felt someone interfering with his mind. This person he had become, for a split second, was capable of killing. Death was his entire being. He shuddered again at the memory of that terrible feeling. He reached for a pack of cigarettes and lit one. He leaned against the wall of the house and took a drag.
His hands were shaking.

***

"But what exactly is wrong with you?" Katarzyna asked.
"I don't know," came the voice from the receiver. "It's the first time I've ever had anything like this. I'm telling you, it's like something's on my mind. A terrifying feeling.
" "I see that too much work isn't good for you," the woman laughed. "You pulled a few all-nighters and your little brain is already picking up the satellite.
" "Very funny," the man said, not laughing at all. "I hope you're right and it's just exhaustion.
" "What were you thinking? You have to pay for the satellite; it's bad enough you're already eating for a sucker.
" "I'd rather pay our bills for a year at the most expensive restaurant in town than go through the same thing again."
"Oh my! That really sounds serious," Katarzyna laughed into the receiver. "You need to get some good sleep.
" "And how's the translation coming along?" Tomasz changed the subject. "Are you managing without me?
" "I see your spirits are returning," Katarzyna said happily. "I managed to translate less than the first three lines of the next table. They say something about some rituals. About human sacrifice. Give me a few more hours. I'll call you back when I figure it all out.
" "Okay!" came the voice from the receiver.
"Could you tell me exactly where you are now?" Katarzyna asked.
"In that old cottage you missed," Tomasz explained. "With the sister of that priest who's been lost under the rubble.
" "In the old cottage..." the woman thought for a moment. "...there wasn't any cottage there.
" "Please, don't joke!" the voice in the receiver grew serious. "Are you trying to scare me? You won't succeed; I'm immune to your jokes."
"That's nothing." Katarzyna was deadly serious. "Father Karol's sister has been dead for fifteen years. That's what the locals said.
" "Stop it.
" "I'd give anything to see your face right now. You're probably shaking like jelly." Katarzyna burst out laughing. "You fell for it like a child."
"You know what? You're cruel." Tomasz exhaled. "And I didn't believe your story for a second."
"Yes, yes... you coward." The woman was still having a good time.
"Okay, I'll stop," the man announced. "I'm going back to the ghost house." He tried to make a joke.
"The landlady might actually be offended by the lack of attention.
" "So call me if you find out anything. "
She heard a beep.
Tomasz hung up .

***
"About vampires?" The older woman was surprised. "No. He never mentioned anything about them. Although... He told all sorts of legends. But about vampires? I don't know."
"I'm asking because the stone tablets found in the ruins of the church speak of these terrifying creatures, straight out of horror movies."
"Oh yes!" The older woman slammed her hand on the table. "I remember. He used to scare me with a story like that when we were kids. No... I think it was about werewolves. I guess I can't help you after all.
" "Well. Thanks anyway." Tomasz smiled warmly. "I'm sorry to bother you and make you talk about your brother, who died just a few days ago in such tragic circumstances.
" "For me, my brother died a year ago," the old woman said sadly. "The person who visited me last year wasn't my brother anymore. He looked like Karol, but as I said, he was changed. "
"I don't understand.
" "Me neither." The woman wiped the tears welling up in her eyes with her hand. "But there is someone who should help you."
Tomasz looked at his interlocutor curiously.
"Karol mentioned something about a nearby estate. Apparently, some wealthy man lives there. Karol once mentioned him as some eccentric scientist. I don't know where the house is exactly, but it can't be far.
" "Thank you for the information," Tomasz said, rising. "I'll go now."
"You promised you'd talk to me."
"Indeed, I'm sorry," the man sat back down.
The sun was slowly sinking below the horizon.

***

"There's something on the map," Katarzyna said into the receiver. "I think it's this house. Apparently, the guy doesn't like visitors. He built the house right in a clearing in the middle of the forest. You can't get there by car. There's no road on the map. You'll probably have to wade through the forest. I doubt you'll find it—you'll get lost faster.
" "Trust my instincts," she heard the reply in the receiver.
"Wait for me," Katarzyna said in a tone that brooked no argument. "I'm getting in the car and I'll be at your place in an hour.
" "Come on. I'll manage. I used to be a Boy Scout," Tomasz boasted.
"You have to wait for me there."
Tomasz hung up.
"Idiot," Katarzyna muttered under her breath.
She put on her coat and ran down the stairs. She got into the car.
The tires screeched.

***

"Where is it?" – he whispered the question, even though there was no one nearby to answer. He looked around. Trees and other lower plants surrounded him. The rustle of trampled leaves came from beneath the soles of his boots. Besides his heavy breathing, it was the only sound reaching his ears. No birdsong, no wind rustling. Only that eerie, silent darkness and fog. A thick fog spread just above the surface of the forest floor. Tomasz stopped and took a deep breath. He realized he was lost. The day was drawing to a close, and he was wandering alone through an unfamiliar forest. A flat stone lay before him. He walked over to it and sat down. He felt the chill radiating from the boulder. He took two deep breaths, trying to overcome the instinct to panic. It was the last thing he needed right now. He remembered his uncle's house. It was huge, with many rooms and nooks. As a little boy, he had gotten lost there. With tears in his eyes, he searched for the room he always stayed in when staying with a relative. His uncle found him sobbing in the corner of one of the many corridors. This adventure had taught him that sometimes one gives in to panic too quickly. There's always someone to help, someone who will search for him and eventually find him. He was no longer a child; he tried to be and seem independent, but now he had to admit he couldn't do it alone. He could get up and wander the forest all night and maybe find the house he was looking for, or at least a way back. But Tomasz remained sitting on the rock. He knew that if he didn't return or say anything, Catherine would start looking for him. "She'll probably wake up the whole town looking for me," they smiled at the thought. At the thought of Catherine, he felt a sense of relief, an indescribable warmth in his chest. Suddenly, it dawned on him. With a quick movement, he yanked the phone out of his jacket. "What am I thinking?" he chided himself and dialed a number. Catherine's number.
"Fuck!" he cursed. "No signal? I can't be that far from the city." He began to pace around the neighborhood, his eyes glued to his cell phone's display.
"One bar!" he exclaimed, almost at the top of his lungs. He was as happy as a child. Like the time his uncle had found him in the huge house. He didn't change direction, even though he stumbled over the protruding tree roots almost every step.
"Go ahead, little one," he said to the second line on his phone's display, which appeared and then disappeared. He spoke softly, almost in a whisper, as if he might startle it. Suddenly, he stumbled. He lost his balance. He hit the ground. The phone slipped from his hand and rolled several times, coming to rest in a pile of colorful leaves. But the man didn't look at the phone. A large shadow caught his eye. The shadow of a huge house. For a split second, he unconsciously compared the image before his eyes with his uncle's house, which he remembered from his childhood. He often recalled that beautiful, bright house. Beautifully woven curtains gleaming in the sunlight. Plants climbing the walls, whose names Tomasz never learned, but whose beautiful flowers bloomed in spring, remained in his memory. The building before him, at that moment, seemed to be the polar opposite, a distorted reflection of the warm, cozy home that would remain etched in his memory for the rest of his life.
He propped himself up on his hands and stood. He moved toward the terrifying structure. He stopped before a carefully carved door. Carved into the wood were bas-reliefs depicting repulsive, humanoid creatures. Their distinctive feature were their distinctly oversized fangs.
"Vampires," he whispered, grasping the massive doorknob. The door opened with an unbearable screech. Tomasz crossed the threshold.
He felt a jolt. Something lifted him from the ground and threw him with full force towards the wall. He hit it, feeling a searing pain shoot through his skull.
He lost consciousness.

***

"Answer the damn phone!" she screamed into the receiver. But her screams were useless. All she got was an automated system informing her that the caller was out of range. Angrily, she threw the phone into the glove compartment. She gripped the steering wheel with both hands. She pressed the accelerator. She had a feeling Tomasz had found something. She wasn't sure if it was anything significant, yet she always liked to stay informed. She pulled onto a narrow road, the car barely squeezing between the bushes growing on either side. She didn't care about the paint, not in a car she could afford on her meager archaeologist's salary. The road became bumpy, yet she didn't slow down. Water from the puddles, displaced by her tires, drenched the plants growing alongside the road. The thought that Tomasz might have found something important in the case they were now investigating bothered her.
"Why do others always find things? Why not me?" she tormented herself with these questions.
The road seemed endless. It stretched for several kilometers now, bordered on both sides by dense vegetation along its entire length. She constantly monitored her location on the map; the road she was currently traveling on was marked as a thin line, barely a centimeter wide. In reality, it was completely different. As usual, the shortcut turned out to be longer than the main road. She cursed loudly and increased the vehicle's speed.
The moon was bright high in the sky.

***

"What happened?" he muttered quietly. Consciousness slowly returned to him, and with it a terrible pain in the back of his head. He opened his eyes. The room he was in was half-dark. He couldn't see anything in front of him; whatever was there was lost in the darkness. He tried to stand up, but something prevented him. He jerked his body. In vain. Something held his legs and arms. He lay on a stone altar, his limbs tied to it. He noticed several thin, long channels near his body, which, he realized, led to a single spot. He had to raise his head to see them.
"A chalice," he said, surprised. The channels merged into one and led to a beautifully
ornate golden chalice. "What the fuck is going on?" he exclaimed, jerking his body again. This resulted only in pain in his wrists and ankles. The bonds were truly solid. Someone wanted him to have no chance of escaping.
"Okay, psychopath!" Tomasz shouted through gritted teeth. "Did you try to scare me? You succeeded. Untie me. Do you hear?"
No one answered him, but the man knew he wasn't alone in this dark chamber. He sensed a presence. Fear gripped him. Various thoughts raced through his mind. The situation he found himself in was far beyond his previously orderly life. He rose at six in the morning every day. He washed up and ate breakfast, so he could be at the lab by eight and begin his daily dose of banter with Katarzyna. But now he was certain he wouldn't start tomorrow this way. He wasn't even sure he'd live to see the next day.
"What do you want from me?" he asked, hoping for an answer. "You can't kill me! A friend is looking for me. She knows where I am—she'll notify the police."
Suddenly, from where he'd been sensing someone's presence all along, he heard the sound of footsteps. Someone was emerging from the darkness.
"We're waiting for her," the figure's voice had a strange accent. "She's the one I'll kill you, and I assure you, she'll do it very slowly. "
Ominous laughter echoed through the room.



"Where are you?" she asked, as if Tomasz could hear her. She slammed the car door and headed toward the trees. She unfolded the map. She was on the yellow trail. It ended only a dozen or so meters before the house where Tomasz had gone, and where he was presumably currently staying. She wondered who the owner of the house built in the middle of the forest could be. Tomasz probably already knew this and was learning the answers to her questions. She couldn't bear this uncertainty. She quickened her pace. She could barely make out the white and yellow rectangles painted on the trees. She glanced at her watch. The hands read twenty minutes past 10 p.m. The stars twinkled high above, piercing the cloudy sky and the spreading treetops. Suddenly, the trail ended. Katarzyna glanced at the map. According to her calculations, she had to walk another two hundred meters north. In the open, she would probably have seen the house, but the dense growth of trees prevented it. Having chosen the right direction, she continued on her way. Her chosen path proved to be the right one. An old, dilapidated house emerged from behind the trees. She broke into a run, pausing only at the large door. The door opened, and she stepped inside. She found herself in a grand hall. Before her was a wide staircase covered with a red carpet. On either side of the walls hung paintings depicting elegantly dressed people from bygone eras. Between them hung pieces of armor and a multitude of bladed weapons. Catherine set foot on the first step of the stairs. At the end, two doors stood side by side. They looked identical; the differences between them were apparent only in the wear and tear of the paint over the years and the rust that had formed on the metal parts. Without hesitation, she turned the handle of the left door. She heard the grinding of metal.
She activated the mechanism.

***

"No!" he exclaimed, struggling to free his hand as the sharpened end of the metal rod approached his. It emerged from the darkness seconds after Tomasz heard a sound like the scraping of metal on metal. The point touched his skin. A shiver ran through the man's body in response to the sting. His hand instinctively clenched as the rod slowly pierced his skin. Tomasz began to struggle, but the bonds that bound him still held him.
"So your friend is already here," announced the figure standing before him. Despite the darkness in the chamber, Tomasz could clearly see the face of his tormentor. He would have given anything at that moment to spare him this sight. The eyes of the distorted face stared straight ahead, as if dismissive of him, but Tomasz knew this creature was there specifically for him. In other circumstances, he would have welcomed such attention, but this terrifying creature was there to torment him, to take pleasure in his suffering, not to care for his well-being. He lacked attention; for many years he had been alone in the world. He had a few friends in whom he could find support in difficult times, but there was no one close to him. He had indeed encountered Catherine along the way; she was the ideal woman—beautiful, intelligent, witty—but she always remained to him only a friend with whom he shared common interests and passions. A
piercing pain tore him from his thoughts. A rusty rod passed through his clenched hand. Drops of blood, drawn by gravity, dripped onto the slender trough and slowly began to flow down it.
"Who the hell are you?" The bound man looked at the terrifying figure standing
before him.
"Devil," the creature repeated after Tomasz, baring its oversized fangs. "You think I'm Satan? Fool!"
Tomasz dropped his head to the stone table with a feeling of helplessness and averted his gaze toward the trough, where his blood was flowing in a thin stream. He felt nausea, then vomited. Half-cooked scraps of food he had eaten just a few hours ago in the company of his two friends landed right next to his face. He felt the stench of vomit creeping into his nostrils.
"You're so weak," the creature brought its hideous face closer to Tomasz. Their eyes met. "Do I scare you? I feel every cell in your body tremble before me. What a beautiful feeling. It's been so long since I've enjoyed that. You asked who I am. I think that, though you are a miserable creature, you should know who feeds on you. You call me many things, but I think the term vampire should mean a lot to you.
The creature reached out and took the cup filled with Thomas's blood. It
brought its rim to its blue lips.



"Is anyone here?!" Katarzyna exclaimed as she walked down the corridor she found herself in after crossing the threshold of one of two identical doors. She kept hearing the sound of gears moving inside a giant clock somewhere behind the walls. She had no idea that she had triggered the mechanism, or that it was connected to the metal rod currently in her coworker's hand. Unconscious, she walked across a soft crimson carpet spread along the length of the corridor, at the end of which she saw another door. This time, only one, but identical to the previous two. Reaching the end of the corridor, she gently pressed the doorknob and pushed the door open. She encountered resistance. The door was closed. She knocked softly and waited for any response from the other side. She waited a few seconds and knocked again. No one answered. Catherine turned on her heel and headed back down the hallway, intending to return to the hall, where another door waited, the only way she knew to access the rest of the house. She quickened her pace and soon found herself at the right door, which was open. When she turned its knob, she heard the sound of a mechanism being activated. The sound was identical to the opening of the left door. She found herself back in the same hallway as a few moments before. This momentarily disoriented her, so she paused for a few seconds before continuing. The door at the end of this hallway was open. She was blinded by the glow of lit candles scattered throughout the vast chamber she found herself in. Only one spot in the room was dimly lit, precisely in the center. She stared at that single, dark spot. She couldn't believe what she was seeing. In the center of the room, on a catafalque, lay an open coffin, weathered by the ravages of time.
Something moved behind her.

***

"Your bride is getting closer," the vampire commented as the sound of gears releasing reached his deformed ears. From the darkness, above Tomasz's right hand, a rod emerged, looking like an exact replica of the metal in his left. The man was slowly losing his senses, which dissolved into a blissful state of unconsciousness. The will to survive, engraved in every human's consciousness, gave way to this sensation. As blood flowed from his body, so did his life. The rod sank into his bound hand. A wave of pain returned, reminding him that his soul was still trapped within his body. He screamed at the top of his lungs. Blood flowed into the gutter. The monster, watching this scene, wiped its bluish lips with the back of its hand and, before the first drop of blood could fall on the rectangular stone, placed the chalice it had emptied beneath it.
"You humans have delicious blood," the vampire licked the back of his hand. "Not like those rats or other animals I've been forced to feed on these past few years. What good are the rodents the priest brought me? Karol was a good man, but he was too stupid to bring me a human. I regret not feeding on his blood instead of enduring his human frailties. You're probably wondering what will become of you now." The creature grabbed the already-filled cup and took a sip. "Surely you have enough sense to know you won't see the sunrise again. There's not much blood left in your body. Soon you'll meet this creator you humans love so much. You are vanity, but I envy your faith, that there's someone looking down on you and listening to your wails about how bad things are for you on this earth.
" "Catherine..." Tomasz stammered, gathering his last strength.
"Do you care about her?" A mocking smile appeared on the vampire's face. "Don't worry.
She's here. I think my brides will take good care of her, so that she will soon take her place among them, as Charles called it, in the harem. I will give her happiness so sublime that you could never offer her."
After this speech, the monster approached Tomasz and leaned over his head. He was close. Incredibly close. The man felt the vampire sink its fangs into his artery.
Tomasz left, never to return.

SPLINTERS IN THE DOOR


The lights flickered painfully across the eyes, and the music writhed mournfully and romantically between the dancers' ears. The room was muggy and stuffy—hot whispers and breaths couldn't escape through the closed doors and windows, and heat radiated from the scantily clad bodies milling around, warming even the coldest hearts.
Or so it might seem at first glance. Only after a second and third glance did one notice the tables set around the dance floor, half-full of students huddled in groups, whose biggest concern now was to do something boring and wait out the next few minutes without attracting anyone's attention. Someone was fiddling with a purse, someone was sipping Coke or apple juice, cold and refreshing as a mountain waterfall. Chilling out absurd hopes.
"Hey!" someone said in disbelief. "Dyra's dancing with that French guy!"
All eyes involuntarily drifted to the grinning second-grader and watched for a moment as he playfully swayed the principal. They couldn't look at the dance floor for long, however, because next to the amusing scene were the less innocent ones, with a pair of embracing teenagers as the main characters.
Or perhaps not everyone was so concerned. Perhaps they didn't care at all that so many people were dancing in the middle of the room, while they sat there like those thugs, eating peppers wrapped in yellow cheese and some cold cuts. Perhaps they treated the traditional slow song as a moment of respite for their legs, parched throat, and aching head.
Baśka began tapping her fingers nervously on the table. "And again, no one asked," she thought, allowing herself another glance at the dancing couples. "And like a fool, I thought that if I showed up dressed like a goddess, I'd sweep everyone off their feet and a line would form. And that's it. Now I'm sitting there like an idiot, I probably look like the seventh misfortune, and everyone knows exactly how much I'm struggling with it."
She took a sip of juice and regained some composure. "Stop talking nonsense," she scolded herself. "Not everything revolves around you. We know perfectly well that everyone around us is more interested in themselves, and no one's looking at you. As usual."
The singer blaring from the enormous speakers wailed with a slightly more cheerful tone, but only the director and her diligent French student changed her dancing. Everyone else continued to sway, perhaps hugging more and groping each other here and there. But those were the more advanced couples. The ones who came here together. Those who didn't come, but did gather the courage to nod, were usually a bit more reserved in showing their mutual interest.
Baśka looked away and began to stare at her beautiful black skirt, which was supposed to be her ticket to happiness at this particular party. It was supposed to ensure, along with her tight blouse and boldly feeling the rhythm, that the halfway point wouldn't go unnoticed. That something would finally happen and break her current bad luck in the love department.
It was four hours into the halfway point, her legs were already aching from jumping in high heels, her carefully styled hairstyle had fallen apart, and all her high-flying dreams were turning to bitterness. She no longer had the inspiration or the joy to dance any longer. So, when the free period ended and the DJ played some techno track, Baśka, instead of jumping like a diva into the middle of the dance floor, stayed where she was, sipping her juice.
"What good is jumping?" she thought ruefully. "Anyway, no one's going to notice me, and I think I've lost all desire to dance... Nothing makes sense anymore. Nothing ever changes."
She probably had a pretty good theory as to why no one ever asked her to slow dance. She was slowly growing out of the belief that any stranger, if they caught his eye, would just walk up to her and, out of sheer arrogance, start wandering romantically into the middle of the room with her, leaving only the clatter of dropping jaws behind them... It didn't work like that. Nothing in life ever worked like that – people don't just walk up to you for no reason and start hitting on you. As wonderful as that sounds, it simply isn't true, period. You should look for a dance partner among people you already know in one way or another.
It's worse if everyone you know doesn't care about you.
Much worse if you think you don't and someone brutally corrects you.
Then even the most wonderful party turns out to be a complete failure, leaving you wanting to get out of there as quickly as possible, eat something sweet, and go to bed. And then, in the morning, you'll be moping in front of the TV, watching some romance with a hopelessly brilliant ending, which not only fails to lift your spirits in any way, but actually depresses you even more.
"Why do I even care so much?" she asked bitterly. "If it weren't for some stupid slow songs and stupid intentions, I could be having a great time. After all, I'm halfway through high school!"
But she couldn't stop worrying. Lately, worrying had become her sole obsession. "Why doesn't anyone want me?" she asked. "Why do I seem to push everyone away?" Through worrying and brooding, she slowly began to realize that no matter what she did, nothing would ever change and everything would remain as it was—sucks. And yet, she searched everywhere for some kind of escape, anything. Snooping around and seeing the strangest things in the most unlikely people, she amassed a long list of guys who might have once wanted something more. She quickly realized that none of them truly wanted anything from her, and what she saw was either a hallucination or an exaggeration. And she grew even more bitter. She couldn't accept it, thinking she deserved more, that someone would finally come along.
Until finally, she realized that with her behavior, she was ruining herself and her chances. She was unpleasant, distrustful, unnatural, joyless, and she also lacked everything else that could attract another person. And she knew that if she continued like this, she would never be able to open up to anyone again. And no one would want to open up to her. Because discovering another person's secrets was a lie. No one wanted to bother with some stressed, loud-mouthed, and irritated girl just because she held wonderful secrets. To encourage someone to open a closed door, you first had to make sure the wood was shiny and beautifully polished. No splinters or flaking varnish to snag and cut yourself on. Smooth and cheerful. And pleasant.
"Now that's a kick in the ass," she thought to herself and stood up, leaving the plastic cup on the table. She strode confidently into the middle of the dancing crowd, avoiding flailing hands and sharp elbows. Once she was among her classmates, she once again plunged into the techno-jumping and danced, smiling, though she felt empty and inadequate.
The next two hours passed long and arduously. The DJ played two more slow songs; she really liked one of them and hummed it to herself for a full five minutes. No one asked her out. No one spoke to her, no one asked for her number. No one smiled at her unmistakably.
At midnight, just like Cinderella, only still with two slippers, she returned from the ball in a hurry and without a lovestruck Prince Charming hot on her heels.

Meeting after many years III



The next day dawned full of surprises. Wiktoria had completed all the necessary morning chores. When she looked at her watch, she realized she still had plenty of time. She had over an hour before she had to leave. She decided to relax a bit. She sat on the couch and closed her eyes. Suddenly, she heard voices... Voices whose owners lived somewhere far away, in the distant past...



"Do you know what my dream is? "

The girl looked directly into Mark's blue eyes.

"What?

" "I'd like to live in Paris. Together with you. We would see that wonderful view from the Eiffel Tower every day... Together."

The blonde girl giggled.

"I thought you had a more down-to-earth dream," she replied, brushing her lips against his.

"Down-to-earth? My dear, there are no down-to-earth dreams. A dream is..." He paused for a moment, lost in thought.

"A dream is a secret request to fate, one that will never be fulfilled.

" "Do you think dreams are meant to remain unfulfilled?"

"Yes... Why do we need dreams? They're for having them, not for fulfilling them.

" "Or maybe they're for striving to fulfill them?"

"But once we fulfill them, they won't exist. They won't be dreams anymore. You understand me, right?"

Wiktoria smiled and looked passionately into Marek's eyes once again.

"So you don't want to live with me in Paris?" she said. Marek laughed and kissed his beloved on the lips with great tenderness.



Wiktoria opened her eyes and felt a tear roll down her cheek. She immediately wiped it away with her hand.



"Now, on your lips."

Wiktoria, surprised, pulled her head back.

"If you want..." the girl replied, slightly embarrassed, but carefully concealed this by fixing the boy with a passionate gaze.

"Do you want to use your tongue?" he said, touching her hand and looking straight into her confident eyes.

"I do," she replied, smiling.

"But Klaudia won't find out?" he asked, bringing his face closer to hers.

"Not from me." Wiktoria shifted her gaze uncertainly from his lips to his eyes... Lips, eyes, lips, eyes. After a moment, their lips unexpectedly connected in a passionate kiss. Seventeen-year-old Wiktoria felt a pleasant thrill.



No, enough of this, I'm leaving, she thought, and abruptly rose from the couch. She wandered into the hallway, where she put on black leather high heels.



She arrived at Krucza Street fifteen minutes early. She scanned the building where she would potentially spend the next few years of her life, where she would work and earn a living. A tall red brick building. Clearly very old. Wiktoria counted the floors—four.

Without further hesitation, she headed for the main entrance. The building's doors were very heavy, though Wiktoria managed them quite well. She climbed a few stairs.

"Excuse me!" She heard a voice behind her. She turned around. A tall man in a black uniform appeared before her eyes – a security guard.

"I have an appointment with the principal..." she replied immediately.

"What about?" he asked, glaring at the girl.

"Is it that important? Do you absolutely have to know?" Wiktoria was slowly becoming irritated by this inquisitive security guard.

"Important! It's my duty to maintain order in this school. I need to know why you're going to the principal," he replied uncertainly, eyeing the blonde.

"Do you think I could destroy order in this school?" she stated more ironically than asked.

"I don't know! Anyone can destroy order... Even someone as inconspicuous as you."

Wiktoria's eyes widened. What an impudent fellow, she thought, turning on her heel and dashing towards the office. She heard the security guard following her. When he caught up, he grabbed Wiktoria's arm.

"Listen..."

Wiktoria wrenched herself free from the tall man's angry grip.

"I'm here about a job, sir! And please don't touch me again," she replied, giving the security guard an angry look.

When she finally reached room thirteen, she stood right by the door. She took a deep breath. She knocked. Hearing a curt "Come in!", she pressed the doorknob. A tall, black woman sitting behind a desk, shuffling through some papers, immediately caught her eye.

"Good morning," Wiktoria said, smiling uncertainly at the black woman.

"Good morning. You'd probably like to speak to the director, wouldn't you?" the woman behind the desk replied.

"Yes, about a job.

" "Please wait a moment." "After these words, the secretary typed something on the keypad of the telephone that sat simpering in the very center of the wooden table.

"Yes, yes... I'm here about a job." There was a momentary silence as the woman listened to the voice on the other end of the line. "Okay..." She hung up and looked at Wiktoria.

"The director is waiting for you. Please enter through this door," the woman in black said.



Wiktoria sat down right next to the director's desk. The girl tried to appear confident, though in reality she was quite nervous about this meeting.

"So you're saying you graduated from the University of Gdańsk and want to teach Polish at our school?" said a rather tall woman with a menacing gaze. She was around forty years old, with red, dyed hair that reached her shoulders. Thick, black-rimmed glasses adorned her nose.

"Yes," the fair-haired woman replied, smiling gently.

"And do you have any experience in this field?

" "Of course, I worked in Gdańsk, at one of the high schools."

The woman placed her elbows on the desk, clasped her hands together, and looked at Wiktoria carefully. Their eyes met.

"Please answer me honestly," she began. "Did you derive any satisfaction from this profession?"

Wiktoria considered for a moment whether to tell the truth, that she never wanted to be a teacher, hated it with all her heart, and was only doing it to earn money to support herself. However, she decided that telling the truth in this case would be absurd and could hinder her chances of getting the job.

"Hmm... I won't deny that this job is sometimes extremely tiring, but I like it," Wiktoria replied, trying to cover up her little lie.

The woman looked at her with a faint smile.



Wiktoria left the director's office, said goodbye to the black secretary, and headed for the main entrance. She passed a very inquisitive security guard. He merely gave her a menacing look. Wiktoria, however, ignored his rather foolish behavior. She walked past him, completely ignoring him.

A tie with a very original design



This story begins with my passion for football. My favorite team was supposed to play on Saturday. I'd been rooting for them since I was eight, when, upon seeing a brilliantly simulated foul, I nearly fell off my chair. I was such a bright child that I quickly realized why that team had only lost once in their entire career. I didn't understand the simplicity of referees who fell for such tricks. I decided to practice the Ariel CK method, and to this day, I'm perfectly capable of faking both minor and serious injuries. Unfortunately, I didn't become a football star because, lacking peers, I was forced to play with older teammates, who were only encouraged by my simulated fouls – they themselves played dirty, sometimes using sharp objects (ouch! that hurts!). So, all that was left were unfulfilled dreams and monthly trips to matches.
I wanted to get a good seat for Saturday's event, so I rushed to buy a ticket a week in advance. I got into my green car and headed to my destination. Imagine my surprise when I noticed the cash register was missing! Nothing! Empty! The cashier wasn't there either. Where else could she be, since her job didn't exist?! Everything around me remained unchanged. Only the cash register had vanished. Just when I wanted to buy a ticket to the match... I must have looked strange, because I stood rooted to the spot for about three minutes. It probably would have taken longer, but an elegant man in a black suit caught my eye. He was leisurely strolling from left to right along the sidewalk, repeating his activity several times. I decided that since he wasn't busy, I'd ask him about the ticket office's location (I had to get it!). He might know something about it.
A moment later, I was right next to him. I glanced up, about to start a conversation... Then something caught me off guard. The man was wearing a tie with a very unusual design, quite hideous in my opinion—it depicted a child with a severed head. I wanted to slowly back away, turn around, and run as fast as I could, but the dapper weirdo stopped and said,

"What do you wish, dear lady?"

I looked around. We were alone. He was talking to me!

"Excuse me, but... ahem... I'm a man... You know, a guy, a boy... Surely you can tell a man from a woman?

" "It's possible, quite possible... Your frail build, your feminine features, that hair... But it's irrelevant anyway! Woman or man? What do I care?! As if you worked so hard... Ugh... It's not worth talking about..."

I became a little offended. I might not have been significantly muscular, but I certainly looked like my gender.

"You're not doing anything," I said after a moment, looking at him with a madman's gaze.

"Oh heavens! I'm doing nothing?! Who works harder than me? Only God, I guess! As if you had..."

"SIR! I'M A MAN!" I was getting really angry.

"...if you had as many things on your mind as I do, you would have long ago confused a nine-pointer with a ten-pointer."

I opened my mouth to ask about concepts I didn't understand, but I couldn't get the words out.

"Get out of my sight, you simpleton! You'll regret not respecting the efforts of an honest man!"

A moment later, the man took a handkerchief from his pocket and—to my surprise—a wooden stick, then folded everything into a rather large flag. However, it wasn't a white flag of peace, as it might seem. There was no question of any kind of ceasefire. On the handkerchief was the red inscription "GET OUT OF MY EYES!" I preferred not to wait any longer. Who knows what else could have happened? I fled. I heard a loud, shrill laughter behind me, but to this day I'm not sure if it wasn't just my imagination

Aga3



She knew she had to learn from others by watching. Because that's life's best teacher. Others. After all, it's people who teach you the true lesson of life. They teach you resilience by mocking you. They teach you strength by kicking you. They teach you patience by monotonously sniping at you. That's the real lesson – another person. A neighbor.
Only when they threatened to transfer her to a special needs school did she begin to control her emotions. However, thanks to her outbursts, she quickly gained friends, much older ones. Aga became a favorite of the eighth and seventh graders. The little, unassuming girl could talk back to them equally. That's what mattered. And even more respect was aroused by the fact that she talked to every mentee, drunk, and drug addict. To her, these were friends, people she met every day. Family. Lost in a drug-induced trance. The lesson of life she'd received in her neighborhood was now a welcome addition. The little nine-year-old girl was talking back and swearing like a drunk outside a convenience store.
She drank her first glass to her health on her tenth birthday. No one remembered her previous birthdays, but this one wasn't forgotten by the kind, alcoholic old man outside the store who called the ambulance when the baby was about to be born. He remembered that date, and the sight of the young mother carrying a tiny bundle in her arms. He approached them then. He thought the little one would be frightened by his bloated and worn-out face, but she only smiled at him with her brown eyes. He liked her at first sight. He wanted to help her somehow, so he raised a toast on her tenth birthday. Aga wasn't thrilled with her first glass of straight vodka, but she liked the warmth that spread through her body on a cold winter evening. She also liked that she was so cheerful, and that she fell asleep that night without any problem. She became friends with Mr. Mieć, who became her surrogate grandfather. From then on, it became her habit to occasionally stop by the store to see him and have a drink or two with him. She didn't know, or perhaps didn't want to know, that it was wrong, after all, everyone did it—in her neighborhood, everyone drank to excess. Why shouldn't she try? She learned how to hide her drinking from her teachers. She knew she had to either brush her teeth or give up gum, otherwise she'd smell of alcohol. She also remembered that she couldn't drink on an empty stomach, because it would make her feel sick. So, on her tenth birthday, Aga began to record her adventures with alcohol. And she earned the "Life" award at school. She had already ruined her life. She would become a master of this game for a while longer. Because what does life lead to? Death. Our only task is to travel this path effectively. Through a glass. Alcohol kills. It's just a small contribution to the world. One less person. And no one will regret it anyway. Who? Her?! And so he is a nobody.... To that Somebody. Equality doesn't exist. It's just a fairy tale for good children. Oh, so believe it, my dears. Until life convinces you otherwise... But we like to cling to the illusion

Sign It


was a few minutes after six, and almost an hour remained before the church closed. The cause of the parish priest's concern was a poorly dressed middle-aged man who had been sitting in a pew under the choir for two hours. The priest knew his parishioners well and was certain he was not one of the flock entrusted to his care. He could count those who could devote so much time to prayer on the fingers of one hand.
The newspapers were constantly reporting on attacks on rectories, so he was cautious. He walked down the aisle again and again, even peering into the choir, clearing his throat loudly, but the stranger was unfazed. He continued to sit in the semidarkness, and the priest wasn't even sure if the man had even noticed his presence. The priest finally called the sexton and whispered in his ear to keep an eye on the stranger. Then, from behind the slightly open sacristy door, he watched the sexton, carrying a broom and bucket, wander between the pews lined up in the wide nave. Sweeping the floor, he approached the stranger. The broom even caught his legs once, only causing him to shift to the edge of the pew, which was plunged into even deeper darkness. Finally, the sexton gave up and retreated to the sacristy.
"I'm going to my room, so please pay attention to what's happening here," the priest told him.
In his apartment, as he did every evening, he sat in the armchair by the window and opened his breviary. He tried in vain to concentrate on prayer. The stranger's presence still haunted him.
"Who could that be? What does he want?"
By seven, however, nothing had changed, so he returned to the church. The sexton was sitting in a chair in the sacristy, observing the interior of the church through a crack in the door.
"He hasn't moved," he informed the priest.
The priest pointed to the clock.
"Seven o'clock."

He remembered words from years ago, the catechist's words, from his last religion lesson.
"Don't forget about God, and then God won't forget you either. He's always with you, you just have to know how to read His signs."
This was once his town. He went to school here, took his First Communion in this church, had a girlfriend here, friends here. Then he left the town that seemed too small to stay. When today, after so many years, he walked the streets, at first it seemed that everything was the same. The same houses, the same trees, even at the school, which he had stopped at for a moment, the doors creaked the same way. He had come because a chapter in his life had closed, so he decided to start anew, and he thought it would be best to do it here, where he had once begun his journey.
"Exactly, signs," he thought. What should I do with myself? Will you give me a sign?"
He heard the door creak. A priest emerged from the sacristy and headed towards him. He stopped a few steps in front of him.
"Sir," he heard a soft voice.
"Yes, I'm listening," he replied.
"It's late. We're closing. You have to leave.
" "Oh yes, leave..."
He rose from the pew and slowly walked toward the exit. At the door, he knelt and crossed himself. Then he rose and quickly ran down the stairs. Once on the other side of the street, he glanced back and looked back again.
Just to be on the safe side, the priest waited until the man had disappeared around the corner and only then reentered the church, locking the door with two sturdy locks.
"Troubled times, oh, so troubled," he said to himself as he walked toward the side exit, keys jingling softly.

THE NIGHTMARE IS COMING part 1

___________________________________________________________________________

A NIGHTMARE IS COMING
____________________________________________________________________________

The black cat meowed softly. He approached, intrigued.

A little girl lay against the wall. She had short, dark hair and a pale, triangular face. She was dressed simply: jeans and a baggy green sweatshirt. A drop of saliva dripped from her half-open mouth onto the ground.

The girl's fingernails were dirty and broken, drawing blood.

The cat meowed softly again.

Suddenly, the girl opened her eyes and, with incredible speed, lunged at him. The black cat was faster. He jumped and climbed the fire escape. Animal instinct told him to flee, but curiosity won out. He perched on the iron step and glanced down, ready to flee at any moment.

The girl looked at him, and the cat saw the red, inhuman irises in her eyes. Then she turned and walked away, and the black cat trembled for a moment with fear and tension.

She didn't like cats.

She'd eat something else.
__________________________________________________________________________________

Tommy Sparks lay in the parking lot of Grandy's, bleeding and screaming unthinkable things.

"They're comin'! Beware, they're comin'! It's all true! All human nightmares are true! Beware!!!"

Someone called the police. A police car arrived almost immediately. A fight had just ended at a bar a block away.

Two middle-aged cops got out of the car, one fat and bald, the other a little thinner and mustachioed. Both were very tired. It had been a rough night.

They walked slowly up to Tommy.

"Hey, Sparky," the fat and bald man said. He looked at the mangled arm and face of the man lying on the ground. "Who did this to you?"

Tommy looked at him blankly.

"Monsters! Beware! They're comin'!

" "Yeah, right, monsters," the mustachioed man muttered, trying to pick Tommy up. The man lunged at him. He dug his fingers into the policeman's hair and brought his bloodshot eyes close to his face.

"Run, the nightmares are coming! Run!!!"

The bald man pulled Tommy away from his partner, barely knocked him to the ground, and twisted his arm behind his back.

The mustachioed man took a deep breath and scratched his head. The areas where the hair had been ripped out itched like hell.

"That such a weakling has so much strength," he said. Tommy gurgled something incomprehensible. He couldn't do anything more. Not with his face pressed against the concrete.

The bald man groaned and shifted on Tommy's back.

"Call the mental hospital and tell them we found their missing body."

Fifteen minutes later, the ambulance arrived. Two crew-cut thugs stepped out. They were wearing white coats. Typical orderlies from a psychiatric hospital. They expertly put Tommy in a straitjacket. He tried to resist, but with little conviction. They were bigger and stronger than he was. And they knew what they were doing.

"Come on, Sparky, we'll go home. They'll feed you there and bandage up those nasty cuts," the orderly said soothingly as he loaded Tommy into the ambulance. The second one approached the police.

"I'm sorry about him. This is his third escape this month. Everyone's wondering how he manages it. He always finds a way to get out and have some fun.

" "That's how it is with crazy people," the bald man smiled understandingly. "And Sparky is an old friend of ours. He always starts causing trouble on our shift.

The bald man overdid it a bit." Tommy never caused any trouble, at most he'd accost people and try to convince them to leave. The paramedic knew this, but for the sake of formality, he said,

"If he caused any damage, the hospital will pay for it all…"

"No, there wasn't any damage. He just lay there, shouting nonsense about monsters."

The paramedic nodded in farewell and got into the ambulance too. They drove off, and the police returned to their duties.
____________________________________________________________________________

The ambulance reached the gates of John Brown Psychiatric Hospital fifteen minutes later. A guard opened the gates when the paramedic showed his ID, and the car pulled into a park surrounded by a high concrete wall, dotted with trees and wooden benches. In the center of the park, well hidden under a cloak of wild vine, stood the large, clunky hospital building. The building was one hundred and fifty years old, and from the outside, it resembled the forgotten residence of some wealthy, lonely old gentleman, with its many rooms full of cobwebs and old, threadbare, once-expensive carpets. However, appearances were deceptive. Inside, it housed one of the most modern, best-equipped psychiatric hospitals in the country. The interiors were sterile, decorated in optimistic colors, and completely safe for patients. No sharp edges, no glass, no nails, all the furniture was plywood, and the floors were soft, blue carpeting. The treatment rooms were white and clean, like those in a regular hospital, except that all medications and instruments were locked in cabinets. The psychiatrists' offices and consultation rooms were spacious, welcoming, and elegant, decorated by top interior designers. The common rooms were well-equipped, and the patient rooms were cozy and safe, with a bed, a nightstand, and a light bulb protected by a special shade. There were not even bars on the windows. They were replaced with a thin titanium mesh, which was only noticeable upon closer inspection.

Tommy Sparks used to actually like this place. It was quiet, the bed was warm, the food was good, and the so-called treatment wasn't too bothersome. That was before they started this new treatment. That was three years ago, when he was first given Neopsen. The medication seemed to be working, and his schizophrenic symptoms disappeared. Tommy stopped hearing the voices telling him to hurt himself and began behaving normally. But after a week, the voices returned.

And they weren't the only ones.

The paramedics brought Tommy in through a side door. The fugitive was calm, having long since stopped resisting. He looked exhausted.

Blood was dripping from the left sleeve of his straitjacket.

"Give him something to calm him down, just in case," one of the paramedics said to the red-haired doctor when she took over. She'd only started working here a week ago, and although she must have heard Sparky's story, she might not have believed the rumors.

Unfortunately, they weren't just rumors.

The paramedic decided he needed to inform the doctor.

"He seemed calm last time too, but as soon as we took off his straitjacket, he broke free and ran outside. Then we chased him around the park for an hour. Sparky is unpredictable. Besides, like all the crazy people here."

"I understand," the doctor smiled wryly. And yet, she obediently gave Tommy the injection.

The patient had completely mellowed.

"Take it off him," she ordered.

The paramedics freed Tommy from the straitjacket. The doctor leaned down and examined the wounds on his arm. She carefully cut away his torn shirt.

"Who did this to him?

" "Uh," one of the paramedics "answered.

" "We suspect he did this himself," another one rushed to his aid. "It's one of the symptoms of his illness, Dr. Reiner. Self-inflicted."

The doctor examined the wounds again and pulled a camera from a drawer. The paramedics looked at her, surprised.

"For documentation," she explained. She took several photos of the patient's arm and face. Tommy looked at her blankly and mumbled something. The sedative was working. Then she washed the wounds. Only now could their shape and arrangement be clearly seen. Dr. Reiner took the photos again.

"What did he do to himself?" she asked the paramedic, who seemed more intelligent to her.

He was surprised. This doctor was asking idiotic questions.

"Probably with his fingernails."

Dr. Reiner shook her head.

"No, that's impossible. It's true that these wounds here"—she pointed to his forearm—"look like nail wounds, but their spacing and width rule out self-inflicted wounds. The hand that inflicted them must have been much smaller than this one."

The doctor lifted Tommy's left hand, dirty and cracked, to confirm her theory.

"The wounds on his face are also spaced differently. Of course," she added, "he could have done it with some kind of tool, like..."

"But look," the other paramedic interrupted, the one she'd initially suspected of having a brain cell deficiency, "there's blood and tissue under his fingernails!"

"Hmm," the doctor muttered, "indeed."

She took a sample.

The paramedic grinned at her. He'd known from the start they were right. Self-harm, of course. That doctor might have been pretty and thought she was smart. Maybe she actually was smart. But she wasn't a psychiatrist and had only worked here for a week. He'd spent half his life with these lunatics and had seen all sorts of self-mutilation cases. Once, for example, one of the patients "drawn" a smiley face on his back with a razor blade, as straight as a compass. That was extraordinary, God only knows how he did it. Dr. Vernier, the chief psychiatrist, always said that the human imagination has no limits, especially when it comes to the imagination of the mentally ill.

Dr. Reiner seemed unaware of this.

"There's also the matter of those wounds on his arm. They look like bites. He couldn't have bitten himself on the arm. And the shape. The pattern of the wound suggests a human, but the individual teeth marks are more consistent with some animal, probably a carnivore. I've never seen anything like this in my life.

" "That's because," the orderly explained calmly, "you've never worked in a mental hospital before. Things happen here. It's best not to be too surprised. "

Dr. Reiner frowned.

"What are you suggesting?"

Sparky relieved the orderly of his duty to answer. He began thrashing on the couch, babbling.

"What's he saying?"

The doctor leaned forward. Tommy grabbed her by the lapels of his coat and brought his mangled face closer to hers.

"Get me out of here! They're coming!!!"
____________________________________________________________________________

In the kitchen of a single-family home in the suburbs, a woman was slicing bread. She was tall, slim, in her early thirties. Pretty. One might even call her very pretty, were it not for the expression of tension frozen just beneath her face. She was dressed simply but elegantly, in a light brown suit made of soft, flowing material. Her hair was dark brown, cut into a pageboy style. The hairstyle suited her face.

She was slicing bread.

Suddenly, somewhere above her, on the second floor of the house, a piercing scream rang out. It began, then quickly rose to a higher pitch, and continued like that for a moment. It ended just as abruptly.

The woman seemed to have noticed nothing. She calmly cut another slice, then carefully wiped a large kitchen knife on a striped cloth and placed it on a knife rack, along with the other knives.

She smoothed her hair with her hand and went upstairs.

She climbed the stairs, took a few steps, stopped, and smoothed her hair again. She smiled.

At least she tried.

She stopped before the door at the end of the hall. She hesitated. She muttered quietly, "Idiot," pushed the door open, and went in.

In the room, in a large bed, amidst a pile of teddy bears of all shapes and sizes, lay a boy. He looked about ten years old, slim, almost skinny, with dark circles under his large brown eyes.

The woman smiled at him. This time, she'd done a pretty good job.

"You had another nightmare."

She walked over to the bed, pushed the teddy bears aside, and sat on the edge. Right at the edge.

The boy nodded.

"Yes, Mom."

She sighed. He'd been having these nightmares for three months. Every night. The psychologists said it was the shock, they said it would pass. Someday.

"We'll visit Dad today," she said in a fake cheerful voice.

"Do we have to?

" "Yes, Sammy, we have to." Daddy misses us.

"I don't like going there, Mom."

"I know, honey. Now be a good boy and get dressed."

She handed him his pants, T-shirt, and sweatshirt, kissed him on the top of his head, and left. When the door closed behind her, she took a deep breath. Then she went back downstairs and finished slicing the bread.

Sammy came downstairs while she was spreading peanut butter on the last sandwich.

"I don't like peanut butter, Mom."

"I know, honey. These are for Daddy. I made pancakes for you. They're over there, on the counter. "

The boy grabbed a plate from the drainer and helped himself to two pancakes.

"Do we have to go there?" he asked after finishing the first one.

"Yes, honey, we have to.

" "I don't like going there.

" "I know, honey."

Before they left the house, the boy repeated his question six more times.

He repeated it another eleven times as they drove. He always got the same answer.

After a half-hour drive, they arrived. A man of indeterminate age, dressed in a dark uniform, emerged from the guard booth in front of the gate. He approached the car.

"Good morning. What's your business?

" "Visiting a patient. I had an appointment. Paulina Johansen.

" "Please wait a moment, I'll check," the guard flipped through the notebook attached to his belt. "Oh, indeed, Paulina Johansen with her son, Samuel Johansen."

The guard returned to the guard booth, and a moment later the gate opened. Paulina drove onto the grounds of the Johan Brown Psychiatric Hospital. She drove straight down the alley, turning into the parking lot in front of the clunky hospital building. She got out of the car, walked around it, and opened the door for Sammy.

"I don't like coming here, Mom.

" "I know, honey."

She took her son's hand and entered the building through the main entrance. Immediately, as always, she was struck by the sweet, cozy atmosphere of the place.

The plump receptionist smiled at her. Paulina approached. The receptionist emerged from behind the desk, crouched down in front of the boy, and asked warmly,

"Hey, Sammy, are you here to visit your dad?

" "Yes, Mrs. Jane."

Mrs. Jane patted his head.

She could afford the pat and the tone. They had been here often enough over the past three months to have become friends with the receptionist.

"Is Dr. Vernier here?

" "Yes, in his office. He had an appointment with you, after all. Will you come yourself?

" "Of course. Could you look after my son while I talk to the doctor?

" "Of course, I'd be happy to. Sammy is such a sweet kid.

" "Thank you," Paulina said, trying to mask the brief pause she allowed herself after Mrs. Jane's words with a pleasant smile. Fortunately, the receptionist didn't seem to notice. "You're very kind.

" "Come on, Sammy, I have some delicious chocolate candy in my desk. Do you like chocolate candy?" Paulina heard before turning the corner.
____________________________________________________________________________

Dr. Vernier's office was spacious and bright. The floor was carpeted with a simple geometric pattern in several shades of green. The walls were also a pleasant greenish color. Watercolor landscapes hung on them. The furniture was beige, all perfectly matched, from the heavy desk to the chairs and the inviting chaise longue against one wall.

"Please, sit down."

Paulina carefully perched herself on the edge of the heavy chair. Lately, she'd developed a habit of sitting on the edges of various pieces of furniture. It irritated her, so as soon as she realized what she was doing, she sat back and relaxed.

"Last time you talked about this new treatment," she began, immediately addressing what worried her most. "Why bother so much—about this drug, whatever it's called… Neo-something…

" "Neopsen.

" "Yes, exactly. Neopsen. You said it often helps in such cases and that the risk is small. That in only one percent of patients does it have the opposite effect than intended and cause symptoms to worsen. I was going to think about it.

" "And you've thought about it?

" "Yes. I understand this drug hasn't been officially approved yet."

Dr. Vernier nodded. He was a tall, well-built man, in his fifties, with gray hair and a short, wiry beard.

"Yes, the drug hasn't been approved yet. What we're doing here are so-called clinical trials.

That's why you need to give written consent to your husband undergoing this treatment."

Paulina sat still for a moment, but didn't hesitate. She'd made her decision long ago.

"I agree.

If there was any chance of returning to a normal life, she would take it.

Besides, the risk was small, after all..."

House of Death

...and there's a house there. A sanctuary of death. A cradle of fear and chaos. The house imprisons its master so that he becomes his se...