Gazeb

Masha was drawing. One of the pictures struck me as very dark. It depicted a dark figure.

"What is that?" I asked, pulling back the curtain—there was a snowstorm outside, and the window was vibrating slightly in the wind.

"That's Gazeb," Masha said. The answer probably didn't require any explanation.

"What's Gazeb?" I asked, mechanically continuing the conversation.

"He'll come and eat us. That's what they said on TV," Masha explained, still in the same expressionless tone.

I looked at the broken television in her room and shrugged. The television with the convex screen was my grandmother's. I left the room, shaking my head to the rhythm of some thoughts I no longer remember.

***

Around midnight, there was a knock on the door. I woke up and stared at the TV for a few seconds, where some actors were silently grimacing. The knock came again. I got up from the couch and headed for the door.

"Who's there?"

"Gazeb's arrived," came a quiet reply from behind the door.

The kitchen window, thrown open by the snowstorm, slammed. I flinched as if stung, but decided to look through the peephole. For a moment, I thought I'd fall through the eyepiece and find myself behind the door. But the momentary weakness passed. No one was visible outside. The hallway, illuminated by bluish lamps, was empty, and dark patches loomed in the corners. I went to the kitchen and closed the window. On the way back, I peeked into Masha's room – it was dark, and only the rectangular window glowed pink.

***

I woke up a second time, closer to three. At first, I didn't understand why. Then I heard heavy footsteps from above. We live on the top floor, so someone was walking around the attic. I lay in the darkness, waiting for them to stop, staring at the alarm clock's digital display. The footsteps would fade, and then I'd fall into a kind of slumber, then resume. The unknown person seemed to be pacing. Finally, I got up and turned on the light, deciding to call the police.

He followed me, retracing my steps up there. There was no doubt that it was that same Gazeb. The phone was silent, only a faint crackling sound could be heard somewhere in the background. I froze in the dimly lit kitchen, holding the receiver. The footsteps stopped. I don't know how much time passed, but I stood there, staring out the window in a daze. The snowstorm had stopped, and beyond the glass was only the winter darkness, broken by the occasional light. I moved cautiously back toward the bedroom, convincing myself with every step that what was happening was just a cruel joke of my imagination. The floor beneath the door to the main room was yellowed by the light...

Masha was asleep. I remembered that moment—her hair on the pillow, one arm raised, the other resting on her stomach. The light didn't bother her. A dark figure hovered over her bed. Here my memory fails me. The figure's features blur, blending into one another. Was he tall or short, fat or thin?

"Who are you?" I asked, knowing the answer.

"I am Gazeb," he said, adding calmly, "But you are no longer here."

With these words, he stepped toward me (he was tall, after all, he was tall, barely fitting under the ceiling) and easily bit off my head.

***

Gazeb lied. I am still somewhere. On windy days, I throw open the window frames, and on rainy days, the floorboards in the old village houses creak. Sometimes in winter, I peer into the windows of my top-floor apartment. Masha has grown up and graduated from college. I'm probably happy. Maybe not. It doesn't matter.