Duel

A terrible incident happened to me when I entered university. A new city, new friends, a new life in a one-room apartment—everything was just wonderful. But it didn't last long.

I was in my second year. One autumn night, my friend (let's call him Oleg) called me and asked if he could stay the night. It was around 1 a.m. I said, "Come over." A couple of minutes later, he was standing on my doorstep. He was wearing only a T-shirt and sweatpants, no shoes. All his clothes were torn, his body covered in cuts and scratches. After taking a bath and drinking two shots of cognac, he finally told me what had happened to him while I was bandaging him.

Oleg was sitting at home, watching TV, and around midnight, he fell asleep in his chair (which was common for him). He woke up from a nightmare—he dreamed that he was sleeping in the chair in front of the TV, and behind him stood a naked man with a knife. He jumped up from his chair, turned around, and saw him in the TV light—a naked man with something resembling a knife in his hand. He was breathless, unable to utter a single word—he only grunted through clenched jaws and pressed himself into the corner. The man didn't move, didn't even breathe. His friend could see his face clearly—twisted, stretched into a smile, but it didn't even look like a smile: teeth bared, eyes bulging, white and shining.

The television brought his friend out of his stupor, suddenly hissing, as if there was no signal. For Oleg, it was like being shot on a treadmill. He darted forward with all his might, raced past the creature, and jumped out the window, shattering the glass with his body (he lived on the fourth floor of a five-story building). Grasping the branches of a young poplar tree outside his window, he somehow managed to climb down, scratching his face and arms. He ran to me, since I live close to his apartment. He always carried his phone with him, even in the apartment, so he was able to call me.

After listening to him, I advised him to go to bed—the morning is wiser than the evening, and so on. The next day, we went to Oleg's house (I had a spare key to his apartment, as he did to mine). When we entered, we found the TV still on and shards of glass littering the floor in front of the window. We found no trace of anyone else, as if he had been there alone. We tidied up, boarded up the window with plywood, went out for food and drink, and settled into the room—me on the couch, my friend on the bed. After eating and drinking a little, we fell asleep.

A little after midnight, I was awakened by Oleg's weak, muffled cry. He sat in the corner of the bed, looking at me with fear. I couldn't see anything; even my friend's terrified expression had no effect. Thinking, "Well, now I'll..." I pulled out my knife, stood up, and turned around. And then horror washed over me. I still couldn't see anything, but I distinctly felt something so terrifying literally inches away from me that I almost dropped the knife. I could feel it on my skin—a sensation like cold, damp air. Swinging, I slashed the air several times at the supposed location of the creature. After a second's pause, I felt a powerful blow to my chest, causing me to fall to my knees. The blow seemed to pass through my entire ribcage. I felt in my lungs the sensation you get when you've run ten kilometers—the air seems to penetrate every corner of your lungs, but you can't take a full breath. Then I felt a sharp pain in my chest, and I vomited. Oleg jumped up with a scream and turned on the light. There was a small pool of blood in front of me—it was my blood. I was even bleeding from my nose. We called an ambulance. At the hospital, they diagnosed me with esophageal bleeding and a mild concussion.

I recovered within a week. Oleg also gradually returned to normal. There were no more mishaps in his apartment. We're still good friends, but we don't like to remember that incident.