Tea

 

I dipped my hand into the sticky goo that oozed from the metal container the woman in the green coat had carelessly placed. She sat me down on a chair next to the stove and told me to make myself comfortable. I unbuttoned my jacket and carefully tucked my gloves into my pocket. A gray rain had been drizzling outside for hours, evoking melancholic memories and sadness. Tea would have been appropriate on such an evening. But what I touched wasn't tea. It was blood, slowly beginning to congeal. Small bubbles formed on the surface, tearing at the delicate scab that had formed in a matter of seconds. The blood was fresh. I withdrew my hand and returned to my seat.

The woman returned two minutes later, humming a strange, foreign song to herself. She seemed to ignore me; I was just another useless chest of drawers, broom, or coat rack.

"Excuse me," I began hesitantly. "Why did you bring me here?" The old woman

didn't even look up. She grabbed increasingly larger logs of wood and added them to the fire, humming the same song. Her voice didn't waver for a second. After several attempts to ask the same question, I decided to wait. Maybe older people don't like being interrupted while they work?

There were no paintings on the walls, and only photographs on the tables. The empty space gleamed clean and somehow exuded a cool, austere quality. I stared at the old-fashioned desk, the pine wardrobe with ornate doorknobs that antique connoisseurs would immediately associate with post-war Moscow furniture. Old, highly valuable pieces, and almost no electronics. Incredible, considering the state-of-the-art technology reaching even the farthest corners of the poor backwaters. Truly strange.

"Would you like some tea?" the old woman's voice was rough as sandpaper. She looked

down at me the way adults usually look at children. It was good, at least, that she hadn't added the word "small."

"Yes, ma'am, but then I'll have to get home. Mom's probably worried, and I don't see a phone here so I can call her.

" "Ha! Why would there be a phone here, boy?

" "Everyone has a phone," I replied in a choked voice, afraid I might offend her.

"Apparently, I'm not 'everyone.' Now go to the second floor and get me some sage leaves. You'll find the pot on the window in the room behind the bathroom." She lowered her voice to a hoarse rasp, "and you better not go in there if you want to survive."

I didn't know what to say. Had she committed a murder, and in the bathroom lay the disemboweled corpse of a man, his eyes open and a trickle of blood drying around his nose? I opened my mouth a fraction and then closed it immediately. The woman's gaze pierced my insides, her blue eyes boring into mine, and I felt a shiver run down my spine. I moved quickly toward the redwood stairs.

I felt her eyes on my back, and I couldn't do anything about it. I had to bring her those damned leaves, whether I wanted to or not. That's the role of little boys.

I grabbed the rough wooden railing and, taking tiny steps, careful not to trip and knock out a few teeth like I had at Aunt Eskarina's party last spring, set off up the hill to the woman's house. I stepped in my worn-out sneakers as if I were walking on hot coals, watched from every side by a wild pack of cannibals. Goosebumps covered every inch of my youthful body; I wanted to run up the hill as quickly as possible and finally rid myself of the burden that lay over me like a dark shroud—a simple task, seemingly exceedingly difficult under the circumstances, requiring a tremendous amount of courage. I barely managed to restrain myself from running, which I could have started to the beat of my tireless heart. A terrifying cry of madness rose from within me. "Calm down," I repeated the mantra in my head as my heel lifted from one step and climbed higher, to the next, and the next. Before I knew it, I was on the first floor, even more austere and dingy than the ground floor.

I glanced around the hallway. On the ground lay a hideous, pink-and-orange carpet, partly eaten by moths and partly by time. My mother had a penchant for such tacky materials, having amassed quite a collection. Before she committed suicide, of course.

I longed to escape this claustrophobic room as quickly as possible, where my gaze lingered only on cracks in the wall plugged with damp cardboard and on makeshift household fixtures like an umbrella rack. I felt every object watching me with its sterile, tiny eyes of infinity. I felt the hatred permeating the stale air of an old woman's cottage, probably unventilated for decades. Like a witch who wanted to eat Hansel and Gretel.

I walked slowly, head down, in the direction the woman had pointed. My shoes scraped against the bright material, one after another. I began to feel sorry for my soles.

The doorknob was made of brass, typical of such places. It gave off a phantasmagorical impression, as if it had been plucked from some ancient ballad. The tiny carvings on the metal surface seemed to gleam faintly. They were three-headed bats with gaping mouths. The suffering they displayed was palpable. True creatures of hell. I raised my hand and was about to open the door when the old woman's terrifying voice came from below:

"What are you poking around in there, you brat!? You didn't go into the bathroom, did you? Just try it, and I'll hope your eyeballs are on a wire, and I'll eat them at the next opportunity!"

"I'm just opening the door, ma'am!" I replied. Fortunately, my voice sounded relatively normal. I hesitated a bit and added, "I'm definitely not going into the bathroom! Take my word for it!"

I pushed the door open. I stepped into the darkness and tripped over something lying just beyond the threshold. It could have been a large pillow, a chair, or a travel bag, but to me it seemed like the tail of a monster lurking, ready to pounce at any moment. Witches like to have magical creatures, and magical creatures, as everyone knows, have to eat something. Little boys are very suitable.

A vague sound of fear, panic, and momentary madness escaped my lips. I fell thud-dead on the hard floor and began flailing with my fists in a frantic defense against the Very Hideous, Ugly, and Sharp-Toothed One. After a long moment, I realized I was alive, breathing, and all my limbs were intact. Except perhaps for my shoulder, which had been rather painfully bruised, but I wouldn't find out until a dozen or so hours later. Nevertheless, I didn't dare open my eyes to see what my legs had actually caught on. Besides, that wasn't the most important thing anyway.

I crawled blindly up the room. I planned to feel the eastern wall, stand up, and search for the windowsill, and consequently, the damned plant. Maybe it was a hopeless plan, but something was better than nothing. I was baffled why the old woman hadn't reacted to my perversions... Hell, to this day I can't explain why I'd agreed to that damned tea.

For the first few meters, the crawling went quite smoothly. My emotions subsided, and I even felt like walking the rest of the way normally, with my eyes open. But it's better not to chase the wolf out of the forest, as Aunt Esk used to say. It's always safer for the senses.

I encountered an obstacle in the form of a bed. I was convinced it was a bed because it had no knobs, which undoubtedly disqualified a dresser or wardrobe. I was secretly happy because that meant I only had to turn a little to the left, then to the right, and I would hit a wall. However, that wasn't the case. Behind the bed was only an empty space.

I touched another bed with my hand about ten "crawls" away. Desperate and a little nervous, I attempted the same maneuver as before, but it also failed. Behind this piece of furniture, there was only emptiness. "The room can't be that big," I thought. I also considered praying.

The third time, I couldn't take it anymore. I got to my feet and, still keeping my eyes closed, kicked my feet with all my might. The result was a throbbing pain in my right big toe. I opened my eyes.

I was standing in a tiny room, about five meters square. The only furniture in the entire room was a dilapidated couch with rusty springs sticking out of the top. I went over to it to see if it was real. It was. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a strange shape in this strange room. I turned around and lost consciousness.

Congealed blood stains, and scattered among them were the remains of a creature. White bones, including a skull, and some guts, sealed in huge jars. All of this was just beyond the threshold. It was hard not to vomit, but I managed. The witch probably loved dark rituals. But why did she want to show me all these horrors? I couldn't understand it.

I ran back to ask the woman about it.

"Why, you old rag!? You floor mop! Are you trying to kill me or something? I'll tell you what: I'm not afraid of you! You can jump me with those wrinkled girths!

" "What?"

"What you heard, you dried-up broom!" I grabbed an axe hanging on the wall and

ran towards it, swinging it with a mighty swing. With one powerful swing, I decapitated it. Then I ripped open its stomach and spilled out its entrails. The twisted intestines, a disgusting bluish hue, I hung around my neck.

"NOT A BIG LOSS!" I screamed, massacring body parts one by one. "NOT A BIG LOSSNO MAJOR LOSSNO MAJOR LOSS!"

Sweaty and exhausted, I sat on the floor a few centimeters from the ripped-out heart. I noticed it was still beating. Impulsively, I grabbed it and ran (slipping for the first part of the way) towards the stairs. I decided to put the heart in one of the jars as an act of redemption for the lost souls.

I opened the door. The entire interior was cluttered with useless junk and debris. There was no way to get even half a meter into that space. A terrifying scraping sound reached my ears...

The moment my heart sank with the farewell "pub," a figure with a scythe leaped from the bathroom...

EPILOGUE

- Mr. Król, will you finally finish writing?

- Yes... I think I've finished.

- Excellent. I assure you, I could lose my job if I allow such deviations from the regulations. A mental hospital is not a hotel!

- I'm sorry.

The orderly left. The middle-aged man reached under the bunk and pulled out a thick rope...