Night smoker

As a child, I wasn't afraid of anything, not even spiders. I only learned the word "phobia" after I was twenty. Soviet people weren't afraid of anything irrational, and I started out as a future builder of communism, so I had no fears or anxieties (except for wondering where to get money to buy a jar of almost whole hogs at the metro, or whether the woman at the store would give me Alushta port on credit 24 hours a day).

But as I got older, I finally got my share of anxiety-ridden crap. Basically, I'll be honest: I'm deathly afraid of fires.

No, I've only seen these fires from afar and on NTV, so to say that the fear is logical doesn't really apply. But I, the bastard, panic at the first whiff of something burning. Whether it's a trash bin near the metro where some scumbag threw a burning cigarette butt, or the bonfires lit by obsessive barbecue enthusiasts on the Gulf of Finland. And they burn leaves, they burn leaves... In Che Boyar's song, it's a farewell salute, but I'm a complete and utter fuck.

A grown, healthy hulk, but when I smell smoke, I go wild.

It so happened that I moved from a decent apartment in Kupchino, where everything was electric, to a rented apartment on Tramvayny Prospekt. If anyone knows, it's a Khrushchev-era panel building, with a gas water heater for water and a gas stove for food. Flames were everywhere. But I had no choice; the price for the apartment was paltry. So, I steeled myself, buckled my balls, and moved.

That water heater is hellish. For those who don't know, it's a horrible machine that makes a thumping, rumbling noise when the water is turned on. It feels like everything's about to explode.

Obviously, I had a nightmare that very first night. I woke up, and the room was pitch black, and right in front of me, a cigarette lighter was flickering. And it felt like someone was staring at me. But the worst part was the smell of smoke. And not tobacco smoke, but regular smoke, like rags were burning. I jumped up, cursing, almost shitting my pants, and the guy smoking in the dark suddenly threw his clod right on my bed, and everything burst into flames as if on cue: the curtains were on fire, the stupid carpet, my underwear was already on fire...

So, I woke up looking like I should have. My hands were shaking, and I was covered in sweat. You know, the kind of sweat that smells so bad from fear that it makes you want to puke.

 I was in the shower, and then this water heater went boom... Anyway, I nearly passed out in the bathroom. And when I came to my senses and washed myself with cold water, it seemed to ease up. But only for a couple of minutes.

As soon as I left the bathroom, I immediately smelled something burning. I went everywhere, checked everything. Nothing anywhere. And even gas, if there was a leak, smells completely different... So, I realized it was a hallucination.

Well, I'm a normal guy; I didn't really have any problems with my head. But Svetka, my ex, got worried and dragged me to get checked. They found nothing. Even though they almost cut my skull open.

I was just starting to calm down when the nightmare returned, and that invisible asshole with his cigarette appeared again, only now he turned on the radio. The smell of burning, the static, the glow of the cigarette—I honestly shit myself. Not literally, of course. But almost.

After that dream, the burning smell in the apartment never left me. I only came home to sleep, but my nerves were still shot. At some point, I realized that this damn gas would explode one day, and I would burn down along with the apartment.

I called the landlady and told her, "Well, I'm moving, I need to move now." I quickly found myself a place on Grazhdanka Street for $200 more, but it had ELECTRIC stove, damn it, and proper water.

So, I breathed a sigh of relief. And then about a month later, my former landlady called me and asked:

"Vital, did you by any chance notice anything unusual in the apartment?"

Well, I hesitated, of course, but I couldn't tell her about my hallucinations. So, I told her I didn't notice anything unusual. "So what?" And she tells me: the apartment burned down. And the girl who rented it died.

I was really floored, of course. I'm thinking. Holy shit, a battle of psychics! I knew that damn gas water heater was going to blow!!!

And then the woman suddenly says:

"The reason I'm asking is because the cops and electricians say it was the wiring. We replaced it, but apparently one of the outlets shorted out, and that's how it all started."

And then I sat down.

"So," I say. "What, it wasn't the water heater?"

She tells me:

"No, what are you saying? Water heaters rarely explode, and ours was a modern one, with leakage fuses."

And all that. So I hung up, sat down, and just sort of sank.

Then I suddenly heard a strange sound. Like a clicking sound somewhere in the wall. I listened closely—it was chirping, iron-clad, unpleasant, even though it was quiet...

My point is: now I have no idea what to do, because the chirping won't stop, and yesterday I woke up to the smell of burning...

If I don't go crazy by Saturday, I'll be looking for a new place to live. But how can I find one without gas or electricity? And also... That jerk in the dark is smoking again, smoking, and watching me.