Great, they worked some magic

**"!"**

Have you ever had a dream like this: it’s night, you’re alone in your own apartment, standing in the hallway in complete darkness, all the doors to the rooms are closed, and you’re trying to find the light switch by touch to finally turn on the light, you finally locate it, flip it to the "on" position, but nothing happens, and you run back and forth in the hallway trying to find another room’s door to at least turn on the light there, you open the door, find the cursed switch, but it still doesn’t work, and the darkness begins to press down on you with ever-growing force? At that moment, a clear feeling creeps into your soul that you’re far from alone in the darkness and that a pair of eyes is watching you from the darkest corner of the room. And just when the pressure on your psyche becomes unbearable, you wake up in a cold sweat, lying in your bed in the same darkness, jump up, and rush to the switch. You turn it on, finally, and the blessed light comes on, but you still can’t calm the trembling in your body for another half hour, and the aftermath of the nightmare stays with you all day.

I’ve had this. I know what it’s like. But the dream isn’t the main point in my story.

It all started when I was twelve. Back then, I was heavily into all sorts of mystical nonsense—I would try to summon a swearing gnome, the Queen of Spades, and other little entities. My efforts were unsuccessful. I never once heard the promised curses late at night from the internet, never saw the Queen of Spades in the mirror, no one ever dragged me into oblivion or slit my throat while I slept. The only result of all this nonsense was the dreams described above. After a year of fruitless attempts, I gave up on all that mysticism, got my head straight, and turned my attention to more useful things like studying and sports.

Time passed, and here I am, a seventeen-year-old teenager, alone in the apartment because my parents went to the country house. Saying I was overjoyed would be an understatement. This happened very rarely and was accompanied by a grand celebration on my part. And this time was no exception.

As soon as Mom and Dad left and the door closed behind them, I grabbed my phone and started gathering people for a party.

By two o’clock, seven people had shown up, each bringing their own “fuel.” I won’t go into details, but we had a great time. The guests stayed until late evening. I remember it was a quarter to midnight when one of the guys said:

— “Hey, it’s St. John’s Eve tonight! On this night, the supernatural is especially strong. We could try some fortune-telling, summon some spirits; today they must appear. Remember when we tried as kids, and nothing happened? Maybe this time it’ll work, huh?”

The group supported the idea, and I joined, though without much enthusiasm because, first, I hadn’t believed in all that nonsense for a long time, and second, I was terribly sleepy—thanks to all the alcohol.

So, at midnight, we each tried once to summon the swearing gnome, the drunken hedgehog, the Queen of Spades (the girls especially wanted this one), the ghost of Stalin, Lenin, Pushkin, Baba Yaga, the house spirit, and who knows who else. And what do you think? Did we summon anyone? Of course not! Because it’s all nonsense and superstition. Under the chorus of groans and sighs, the disappointed guests slowly started leaving.

By one o’clock, everyone had left. Closing the door behind the last drunken guest, I immediately went to my room, undressed, and went to sleep.

And I had that dream again. That pressing darkness, that feeling of hopelessness, that sense that someone was watching me.

I woke up, drenched in sweat and shaking from fear, and ran to the light switch. But it didn’t work! Then I noticed another strange thing: the darkness around me was absolute, just like in my dream, and there was no light outside either. Not a single streetlight worked, not a single window in neighboring houses was lit, and you couldn’t see the moon or stars in the sky. Hoping for even a tiny bit of light, I went to the hallway to check the fuse box by touch. The fuses were fine, so the power outage was probably at the level of the whole building—or maybe even the street. Waves of panic rolled over me one after another—everything reminded me painfully of my own dream. I desperately wanted to see at least a sliver of light, even from the tiniest 40-watt bulb, but there was none to be found.

Shaking and almost crying from fear, I crawled back to my room, when suddenly I heard a sound behind me. I listened carefully. Yes, there it was: in the complete silence, besides the thump of my own heart, I distinctly heard heavy, intermittent breathing, wheezing and whistling. Someone was breathing right in my neck. I froze in horror, but a second later, my body moved automatically toward the door. But… it was locked! The handle wouldn’t budge, even though there were no locks on my door.

I yanked the handle with all my strength—same result. Then I heard it—a nasty cackling, like some crazy old woman or old man… or a child… well, something in between: “Hehehehe.” And the laughter alternated with heavy, wheezing breathing.

I started feeling for the door to another room, then the third—everywhere was locked. The bathroom and kitchen were also locked. Each failure was accompanied by this disgusting cackling. And when the door to the stairwell didn’t budge, I felt a painful pinch in my leg, as if someone grabbed the skin on my calf and squeezed it with their nails. Startled, I jumped aside and fell, then began crawling and curling into a corner.

Finally, I saw it—or rather, just its eyes, burning in the darkness as two white dots at the level of my calves. Then the eyes blinked and disappeared, after which I was pinched again, this time much worse; and again it laughed. I barely got up when someone stomped on my toes with a huge foot in a heavy boot.

That’s when my vocal cords finally let out my first coherent scream, accompanied by the now ridiculous cackling of the unknown creature. And again, I fell. I wailed, crawled, and cried, while my legs were subjected to more and more blows and pinches. Suddenly, the creature jumped onto my shoulder and hissed directly into my ear a phrase I will never forget:

— “Well? Did you work some magic?” — and sank its teeth into my ear.

I tried to get it off, even grabbed it (it felt small, furry, covered in some slime, and wriggled like crazy), but immediately let go because it latched onto my hands. Blows, pinches, bites, scratches rained down on my body, leaving no part of it untouched. I can’t say how long it lasted, but it felt like an eternity.

Exhausted, I practically stopped resisting, just occasionally rolling to one side or another to “give it a rest.” Crawling and curling up in another corner, I saw those two fiery eyes again. They emitted the same cackling:

— “Hehehe. You’re interesting. Though if you resisted, it would be even more fun. They told me to drive you insane, and I will, they said to take your soul and send you to hell. I will take it and send it. Hehehe.”

The eyes came closer slowly, the creature had no need to rush, since its victim wasn’t running anywhere, so it could prolong the pleasure. The eyes were now almost in front of my nose, and I could smell the death stench coming from its mouth, when suddenly the light came on. I was half-sitting on the floor, curled into a corner, all torn and battered, in a puddle of my own blood and urine. No one was there. Apparently, the light scared the creature away. Not believing my luck, I immediately fell asleep right where it had tried to kill me.

I woke up in the afternoon and first called my parents, saying I had been attacked. A few hours later, they arrived, confirmed I was safe, interrogated me thoroughly, and then took me to the hospital, where I received about seventy stitches.

**Great, they worked some magic!**