:
He wasn't thrilled with the idea. In fact, he didn't like it at all. Well, the school principal was sending him to that stupid conference, and he didn't really have a choice.
Although, in reality, he did have a choice: he could go or live on unemployment benefits, which, unfortunately, he couldn't afford, if only because keeping a head living in a jar can be quite expensive.
So it was decided. He was going to the conference. However, this presented him with a dilemma: what to do with the jar? Theoretically, he could take it, but if customs started rummaging through his bag, questions would arise. The questions would turn into accusations, and accusations into convictions.
However, if he left Fred, he would definitely not be happy and would yell at Stanisław when he returned for not feeding him. Well... Fred didn't care that he no longer ate because he had no digestive system... Since moving in with Stanisław, he had become more polite and likable. He was taking Fred with him. It was decided.
Two days later, he was packed and ready to go.
"You won't do that to me!" Fred yelled. "And if you do, I'll bite off your finger at the first opportunity! Two fingers! The whole hand!
" "But understand, I can't hold you on my lap on the train... some people might..." Stanisław searched for the right word. Fred was very sensitive about himself - he couldn't react appropriately.
"You devalued me yourself!
" "They say 'you decapitated me,' Fred
. "What difference does it make?! And don't call me FREDZIO! I'm SERGEI!
" "I have an idea... but I'll only implement it if you behave like a good little boy on the train."
Fred responded with a few Russian expressions, the meaning of which Stanisław could only guess.
"So, if you behave, I have an old bowling bag here somewhere... only the jar won't fit in it, so I'll just put your head in there
." "That's fine."
"But you'll have to be quiet, because while the jar muffled your chatter, you'll be heard on the train.
" "You have my word," Fred said, then smiled suspiciously.
And so, an hour later, they were on the train to Ukraine. Stanisław managed to find an empty compartment, even though the rest of the carriage was quite crowded. For some reason, people were bothered by the lack of a window. It was a shame, because the snow falling into the compartment gave off a charming effect.
Unfortunately, after about an hour of riding, a problem arose. A nun entered the compartment and took the seat opposite Stanisław. The nun, however, pulled out a Bible and became absorbed in this fascinating reading. She didn't even notice that a bowling bag was lying on the seat next to Stanisław.
"Bitch!" a voice rang out from the compartment.
The nun looked up from her book and looked at Stanisław.
"Uh... This weather's strange, isn't it?" he replied nervously, patting an old bowling bag.
"Yes. Like December." Then she went back to reading.
"Harlot!"
The nun looked up again, this time blushing slightly.
"Spring's coming soon, isn't it?" Stanisław said quickly, patting the bag a little harder.
The nun ignored him and was reading again a moment later.
"Satan's servant!" The nun looked at her with murder in her eyes this time. This really annoyed her.
"Where the stream flows slowly..." Stanisław began very nervously.
However, the nun had already taken out a crucifix.
"I'm casting you out, you demon!" she screamed.
"Perhaps we should discuss this? I understand. You have the right to be angry..." He didn't finish because he was hit in the head with the crucifix. "But we can't play like that!"
He stood up and with the nun's next blow (and it must be admitted that she had considerable strength), he twisted her arm and kicked her in the back.
"Throw the crucifix, woman!
" "Et dominicus sant patri..." she began.
Stanisław knew the spell. She was summoning an angel to help. He didn't want to do it, but he had no choice. He grabbed the nun and threw her out the window through the frost-proof plastic
. "She wants an angel to help her, so let her help her. Hitchhike," Stanisław commented.
"Hehehe," Fred burst out laughing, "that's good. I was just starting to believe you were a good person... And then suddenly, this nun!"
Stanisław didn't comment. He wanted Fred to be a good person someday. But since he saw him throwing nuns out the window of a speeding train, he probably would never believe Stanisław was once a decent person. Too bad.
They reached the Polish-Ukrainian border without any problems.
Unfortunately, at the crossing, another episode of "Borders" for TVN was being filmed, and customs officers were checking every piece of luggage for anything that might be smuggled. A drunken Ukrainian with a red rag tied around his forehead Rambo-style burst into Stanisław's compartment. A cameraman followed him.
"Nio tio Tiowarzysiu, open your bags," the customs officer said. Stanisław wasn't sure if his voice was so thick with drink or if he was just trying to sound like a real tough guy.
"Uh... is that necessary? I'm just an ordinary passenger... And those in the next compartment look like they're smuggling something!
" "Open it, open it."
So Stanisław opened the large suitcase in which he carried all his clothes.
"What about that bowling alley bag?
" "What bag?" the customs officer pointed to the bag tucked under the seat. "Aaaah, that bag! This... this... I'm carrying hermetically sealed vaccines there... if it opens, this... they won't be hermetically sealed anymore... So you can't open it.
The customs officer adjusted the rags stuffed into his jacket sleeves, which were meant to imitate muscles. He thought about what to do. Normally, he would have punched Stanisław in the face so that a few of his teeth would fall out, or taken a bribe and let him go. But there was television with him, and that made his job more difficult.
"No, open up! What are you afraid of? You don't have a head there," the customs officer started laughing.
"Heads? Ha ha, that's a good one... heads..." he started laughing nervously. He
seemed to have no choice. Stanisław handed him the bag, which the customs officer opened and quickly closed so the cameraman couldn't see inside. He quickly handed the bag to Stanisław, then left the train and ran home. He never returned to work.
And every time he remembered the head smiling and winking at him, he started drinking more than usual.
So Stanisław arrived in Ukraine. He only had to check into a hotel that day, and the conference was tomorrow. It turned out the hotel was actually quite luxurious for a conference a teacher would be sending to, and by Ukrainian standards. Well, maybe it wasn't exactly luxurious, but the beams supporting the balconies to prevent them from collapsing looked quite sturdy. Besides, the newspapers used to seal the holes in the windows weren't just any newspapers, but more expensive ones. Or at least Stanisław hoped so. He went inside and approached the reception desk.
"Get the fuck out, you filthy bastard, begging on the street!" the receptionist yelled.
"Uh... I came for a conference..." Stanisław began timidly.
"Oh, right!" The receptionist's face hid behind a terribly insincere smile.
It was the kind of smile you don't want to see on the face of a doctor saying, "Everything will be fine."
"And as for what I said earlier," the receptionist began to explain, "it's a traditional Ukrainian folk greeting. "Before I escort your body away... I meant you!" So before I escort you to your room, you must sign this small form. It concerns your participation in the conference.
The receptionist pulled out a piece of paper with something written in very small print. So small that it would be practically impossible to read it before signing.
"Is it just me, or does it say 'I also consent to the donation of my internal organs...' It's still blurred...
" "You know... Hmm... Why read that? It's legal jargon. The point is that you agree to participate in the conference and to a FREE room." He practically screamed the word "free" in Stanisław's ear.
"That's what I thought. These lawyers use strange language..." Something about this really stinked in Stanisław's mind.
And it certainly wasn't the socks he'd sweated through during the trip. It also wasn't the smell of the mold that covered the entire hotel ceiling. Something was very wrong here...
"And stop complaining!" Stanisław concluded his rather lengthy monologue. "This hotel may not meet EU standards, but so what? Does anything bother you?
" "Starting with the stench and ending with the sounds of one massive orgy coming from behind the wall?" Sergei asked sarcastically.
"Some people will never be pleased! You should be grateful I took you at all because..." Stanisław didn't finish, as a knock sounded at the door.
"Dinner!" came the call. However, the call was more along the lines of, "Open up, or I'll come in anyway, and then you'll regret it."
Stanisław went to open the door and let the butler in.
"Ugh!" a muffled sigh could be heard from Sergei, who was covered in pillows.
Meanwhile, the butler entered the room and slammed the door so hard that only a miracle prevented it from falling out. As for the butler, he looked remarkably un-butlerlike. He was more like a cross between the hitman Ivan from American movies and a man standing in a marketplace selling weapons. Seeing such a figure made you want to eat everything he brought, just to get out as quickly as possible without causing any harm. The problem was, he didn't seem like a butler at all.
"You go to the conference!" he snapped at Stanisław, leaving no doubt as to whether it was a question.
"Uh... Now? It's midnight!" Stanisław said indignantly. He was starting to dislike the situation.
"You have no choice. You go." He pointed to the door, then made a menacing expression that meant he wanted to hurt someone.
"Actually, I was going to take a walk anyway..." and Stanisław headed for the door.
Theoretically, he shouldn't be complaining or afraid yet... Because what else could he be? Some nice man who's just having a bad day wants to take him to the conference room. And as we all know, you can't be fooled by appearances, even if someone has scars from knife cuts on their face and prison tattoos on their neck (quite large, by the way). Because, after all, people go to prison to change and resocialize. And the fact that he just pushed him into the basement doesn't prove anything... And the fact that he pulls out a large butcher's knife, and on the bloody floor stands a table as if from an operating room...
"What's going on here?!" Stanisław yelled.
"You sign at the reception desk that you're an organ donor. I'll take the organs.
" "I understand, but... Don't you become an organ donor after you die?" Stanisław expressed some diabolical ethical doubts.
"Yes, but we'll take them now. You don't have to be afraid if we take them, so you can move on with your life."
"I understand..." He didn't seem very convinced by such assurances, so he decided to finally dispel all doubts. "And which organs do you want to take from me?
" "My heart, lungs, and liver, if you don't drink too much alcohol.
" "But I'll die without those organs!"
"It's none of our business whether you prefer to live or die!" the butler apologized.
"I really wanted to be peaceful... But you don't seem to leave me any other option! And I'm naturally so calm..."
Stanisław overturned the table in the middle of the room, distracting the self-taught surgeon (which no one seems to doubt) just enough for the history teacher to knock the scalpel out of his hand. However, he wasn't an overly brutal person (meaning he tried not to murder more than two people a month), so he quickly ran out of the basement. He had to escape eventually. Fred remained, though. He might have been a grumpy, blockheaded man, but he was also, in a way, his friend. And you don't abandon friends at times like these. So he quickly ran up the stairs and through the corridors, trying to recall the route he had taken. After a few minutes, he managed to reach the door of his room. He burst inside, quite out of breath, while Fred had managed to roll out from under his pillow and settle comfortably on the bed.
"What, Stasiu? Do they not like us here?" he asked with as much venom in his voice as he could muster.
"Shut up, Fred, we're leaving!" he panted, packing his bag.
"Not Fred, but Sierg..." Stanisław shoved him into the bag, which he hurriedly closed.
There was time to think and time to escape. This time, however, belonged to fleeing in panic. So the history teacher gathered all his bags and set off in a panic. However, as soon as he reached the stairs, he saw his failed doctor [presumably his last contact] already climbing up. He had to escape, and extremely fast. He tried not to kill too many people because he left his address at the reception desk, and common sense told him that people who organize massacres in hotels are usually looked for.
He turned and ran down the corridor. In such grand hotels, in movies, there are always stairs on both sides of the corridor. But what was this? Here, instead of a red carpet, there were newspapers, and instead of a second staircase... A hole in the floor. Correction: a several-story hole that meant death for anyone who tried to jump into it, and who wasn't Bond. He had to find another escape route and take into account that this unpleasant man was getting closer and closer. Suddenly, a thought occurred to him. Although this man, who had turned out to be his enemy, was certainly accustomed to death, he probably wasn't accustomed to talking heads. He slowly unzipped the bag, turned his back on the invader so he wouldn't notice the contents too soon, and then tossed his head [expressing displeasure with the idea in Russian during the flight]. The butler acted like a typical human being. He caught what was flying towards him.
"What are you looking at, ugly guy?! Didn't you see the head?" Now, put me back in it..." The butler threw his head back and ran down the stairs. "Don't think you'll get away with this! You've given me a headache!"
Stanisław ran, scooped up his friend's head, and stuffed it into his bag without wasting time listening to the grumbling. He had to get out, and as quickly as possible. He ran down the stairs, hoping no one would be waiting for him. Fortunately, he was right. He ran out of the hotel and jumped into the first taxi he came across. This taxi was no different from the hotel, meaning it was so rusted that it was a miracle it hadn't fallen apart. As for the driver... he seemed slightly intoxicated. It was actually a good thing he was holding on to the steering wheel, otherwise he would have collapsed long ago.
"Where should I take you gentlemen?" he gasped.
Stanisław considered changing taxis. However, two men had already emerged from the hotel and were running towards them. And they certainly weren't rushing to say goodbye to him.
"It doesn't matter where! Forward!" Stanisław yelled.
"Okay, Captain!" Then the taxi started to reverse. It traveled a few meters and hit a garbage can. "Ah! That complicated gearbox," the driver laughed nervously, and they moved forward.
A moment later, a speeding car was following them. Although, compared to this taxi, it was a true spaceship. However, despite the speed of their pursuers, they still couldn't catch the taxi. The driver was so drunk and so determined to pretend to be sober that there was no room in his rather simple mind to concentrate on staying in one lane. They sped through narrow streets, swerving from one lane to another, often hitting curbs, telephone booths, and other objects. Every time they ran over something (and Stanisław silently prayed that the thing they were passing hadn't made any sounds indicating it had been alive for the last while), the driver would shout, "Who put that here?" or "It's their fault they're putting it in the middle of the road!" Stanisław, however, didn't have the courage to tell him that the sidewalk wasn't the middle of the road. After about fifteen minutes, they lost the pursuit. No one could predict which alley the taxi driver would turn into. The teacher decided there was no point in tempting fate, and the weather was nice enough to make it better to walk.
"I'll...thank you, and I'll get off here..." He didn't want to be rude.
"But sir! There's nothing here! It's a complete wasteland!" the driver began to protest. He was starting to enjoy this ride.
"Yeah...but that's what I meant." The driver didn't argue any further and let him go.
And so Stanisław found himself in the middle of an unfamiliar city with his head in a bag, hoping no one would slit his throat... However, what was about to happen next exceeded Stanisław's own imagination...
And so our good friend found himself stuck in the middle of the city with his head in a bag, in a place where surviving for five minutes was a miracle, and staying there was utterly foolish. Stanisław, however, didn't know this, because he probably would have tried to get out of there as quickly as possible. Instead, he headed down one of the alleys... Unfortunately, he chose an alley from which he was being closely watched... Observed like an antelope on Animal Planet just before a lion attack... So he wandered deeper into a dark alley until he realized something was amiss. The alley was silent—though no—it was actually Silence, not silence. That particular kind of silence that heralds something is about to happen, and it will definitely be one of those things that won't make you smile, assuming, of course, you live to see the aftermath. He could smell the scent of someone lurking for his precious life... He tried to move confidently, like a tourist, but at the same time, he strained all his highly developed senses.
He walked slowly until a figure emerged behind him.
"Your money or your life," said a dispassionate voice, indicating he had experience with this line.
"So if I give my life, I don't have to give you money?" Stanisław turned around as best he could, which didn't work out and almost fell over.
Unfortunately, his interlocutor was prepared for the traditional handover of money without the slightest discussion and didn't quite know what to say. He scratched his slightly balding head and smiled. Although thinking clearly caused him pain, he had just come up with an answer.
"Intellectually... intellectually..." he unfortunately overestimated his abilities when it came to using long words - "smart guy!" In that case, smart guy, money AND life!
" "Well, yes... But since you're going to kill me anyway, it seems logical that I'll fight for my life and not give it to you right away... You might be defeated, so the theoretical gain from me - which, incidentally, might turn out to be minimal - might be completely incalculable.
Consternation and concentration. That was the expression on the attacker's face. He had been subjected to the most serious intellectual effort in his rather long life as a bandit. He tried to think of something as quickly as possible that would sound both serious and terrifying.
"Give me your money or I'll cut your stomach and those funny things inside...
" "Internal organs," Stanisław suggested patiently.
"Exactly. And those internal organs will be splattered all over the street," he finished with undisguised pride in his voice.
"Dear friend, if I may address you that way, of course," the thug nodded in agreement, "you don't have a knife, or at least you haven't shown me one. If you want to scare an intellectual, you've chosen wisely—physical violence terrifies us—however, you should show me some sharp instrument with which you intend to commit this brutality in order to frighten me."
This was no longer a matter of consternation. Within minutes, he had developed several nervous tics. Desperately, he began searching his pockets for something sharp that could inflict harm. Unfortunately, he found nothing.
"I... I don't have anything sharp... if you could lend me one for a moment...
" "Friend!" You're a bandit, so I'm not at all certain you'll return the sharp object...
"Well, in fact... maybe I'll... go away..." He turned and ran away crying. To make matters worse, his head was starting to hurt.
"You're vile! A pig! An idiot! A jerk!" Sergei started yelling from the bag.
"Be so kind and stop yelling... I just saved our lives.
" "By driving the poor guy to the brink of a nervous breakdown... He probably has a wife and twenty children to support, and you've abused him! Intellectuals for the ages...
" "It's good that I have you, Fred... No one supports me like you do...
" "I've said it a hundred times! Not Fred, but Sergey..." Stanisław kicked the bag lightly. He didn't feel like arguing, but rather getting home quickly.
Stanisław continued down the alley. The landscape was rather monotonous. Dilapidated apartment blocks and slightly dirty streets. Although the term "somewhat" is very relative. Some of the puddles gave the impression that if you stepped in them, you wouldn't be able to get out quickly. Some of them even seemed to be excessively lively, as if they were moving towards Stanisław. So he quickened his pace and soon emerged into a larger street.
It wasn't a very large street, but at least there were streetlights. True, they weren't working, but the mere fact that they were there made for some sense of comfort. So now, somehow, he had to find transportation to the Polish border. Unfortunately, transportation—like many things—has a tendency to always be where you aren't, meaning you can never get where you want to go quickly. It's even possible that there was some physical principle to this. The more you care about getting somewhere, the less likely you are to get there relatively quickly... Life itself.
The situation was as follows: Stanisław was standing on a street with a large square in the middle. To get to the other side, he had to go around it, as it was surrounded by a fence. It would take ten to fifteen minutes, so Stanisław came up with the idea of going through the fence and then through the square, which would take him about five minutes in total. Maybe he could get home before Monday.... He decided to tell Fred what he planned.
"You savage! You're going on a visit and you're going to represent your country anyway?! What a bunch of riffraff! Didn't it occur to you that that fence is there for a reason? Like, to keep people from ENTERING!!!!" he yelled at Stanisław.
"I'm tired of wasting time, besides, there could be a psychopath waiting around the corner... in this country, as you can see, anything is possible.
" "Will it be safe behind the fence? Don't think I'm worried about you... but if you die, I won't get to my body! Then I won't know where it is!"
"Of course you're not worried about me," Stanisław smiled. "Time to get going!"
And so Stanisław slowly clambered through the fence. Or rather, he struggled to the top, only to fall back down the other side. For an exorcist, he was rather clumsy...well, but then he was a history teacher after all! He stood up, brushed the dirt off his clothes, and looked around. Then his eyes widened and he groaned.
"What? Where have you gotten us again!" Sergei yelled. "Let me see!
" "Shut up... we're in a cemetery..." Stanisław said with horror in his voice.
"Now you've gone too far... you're not afraid of the corpses! They won't get up!"
An awkward silence fell. Stanisław said nothing.
"They won't get up, will they?" Fred was losing confidence.
"Theoretically, it's impossible. There's nothing to worry about."
"Theoretically? But we live in PRACTICE, not in theory! We're getting out of here immediately!"
He shushed Sergei and headed deeper into the cemetery. He was a little apprehensive, because usually, various minor demons and not-quite-dead corpses didn't like exorcists in their territory. Even part-time ones. But he wasn't known in these regions yet, so he had nothing to fear. He walked with a calm, confident gait. Something hit him hard on the head. He took another step, started to turn around with interest to see who was trying to stun him, took another blow, and fell.
"Ahem... By the power of our wonderful Satan! By the power of the damned! By..." the figure began to cough. "Forgive me... he always gets an asthma attack when he gets nervous... By the power of... Oh! Our victim woke up.
Stanisław clutched his head. It hurts a bit when someone hits you twice with something heavy.
" "My head..." he panted.
"It's good that you're worried about me!" "Fred began to shout. "I'm fine, except that we're in trouble again! As soon as we get out of this, I'm announcing it to everyone and everything..." A gag was shoved into his mouth.
"Since we're all conscious, allow me to congratulate you," said the figure standing over him. "You were chosen, or rather, you chose yourself by entering here for the first sacrifice to Satan... Such luck! And Mommy said I'd never cope with a cult..."
The figure burst into tears. This was all Stanisław needed for happiness. A cult of whiny Satan worshippers. What a shame for an exorcist to be captured by such a bunch of losers.
Stanisław looked around. Everywhere stood people dressed in dark robes with some kind of belts at the waist, while the central figure...
"A FLOWER-PRINTED BATHROBE?!" Stanisław screamed.
"Well..." the figure became a bit flustered. "I don't earn much, and unfortunately, a black robe is quite expensive..." Besides, it's the atmosphere created by us, his true worshippers, that counts, not the clothes. But getting back to the most important thing, Izrahim, do you have a dagger for sacrifices?"
Complete silence fell. Apparently, no one felt like Izrahim.
"Izrahim! Do you have a dagger?!" The figure in the flowered dressing gown was clearly starting to get nervous.
"Uh..." one of the people broke away and dared to speak to their leader. "But who exactly is Izrahim?
" "You, Dimitri! You!
" "Oh... well... I have a dagger... But why can't you use our real names?
" "I've already explained it a hundred times! Do you think Satan will make an archdevil out of someone like Dimitri or Sasha? The names have to be appropriate!"
- I don't want to interrupt – Stanisław loved to disabuse people – But Satan, contrary to appearances, doesn't turn people into archdevils or devils if he feels the need…
- SILENCE! – the one in the dressing gown interrupted him – what are you, an exorcist, that you think you know anything?!
"It just so happens that it is.
" "Hmm... well... who would want to hear your stupid opinion! We believers know better! Izrahim, pass me the knife for sacrifice!" Dimitri looked at him, and he nodded that he meant him.
Stanisław looked at Izrahim tensely, waiting for what kind of sacrificial dagger he would pull out.... Dimitri reached into his pocket, and the knife blade slowly revealed itself to the world....
"You damn fool!" the figure with flowers screamed. "A cheese knife?! And what am I going to do with it? Chop it into slices?!
"I... I... don't yell at me! I'm trying my best! You demand I come here in the middle of the night, even though I go to work in the morning - I come! Buy a robe - I buy it! Kill someone - I kill! You're unfair! I've had enough of this!"
Then the figure fled, taking two others with it, leaving Stanisław with only five people left, including the gang leader. There had to be a way to escape them.... Although, it was true, half of them would surely faint if they saw the blood leaking from the cut.
"Maybe we can come to some kind of agreement? Because, you know... This Satan of yours doesn't like people being sacrificed...
" "What?!!" the gang leader said in surprise.
"Well, you know... Maybe it was good in the Middle Ages, but ever since hamburgers, sugar-free Coke, and mint drops came along, Satan has become quite picky...
" "You mean we would..." Then he realized that by asking his future victim, he was undermining his already rather tenuous authority. "Of course I know that! That's exactly what I intended! We're just a bit short on money..." And... that... I didn't mean to kill you at all! Not at all! Because I know what Satan likes!" I only tied you up to...
"To scare you into voluntarily giving up your wallet..." whispered Stanisław.
"To scare you into voluntarily giving up your wallet!" the Satanist concluded confidently.
"You've convinced me. Untie me and the wallet is yours."
Five minutes later, Stanisław, head under his arm and bag in the other hand, was running as fast as he could from the cemetery.
"May I ask," began Sergei after Stanisław had removed the gag from his mouth, "why are we leaving so quickly when they're busy with candy and the rest of that crap?"
"Because I don't want to see Satan's face when he finds out he dragged himself from his throne in hell for a pack of mints..."
They walked a short distance down the road, certain their journey was far from over, when things took an unexpected turn... A black, rather expensive car pulled up beside them, the rear window cracking open slightly. Of course, his face wasn't visible, as that would have spoiled the atmosphere.
"You do something for us, and you'll be home before dawn..." a voice could be heard.
"In a box, in pieces, or in a plastic bag? Thank you from the bottom of my heart, but enough excitement for one trip."
- You have no choice... either get in the car or the hotel guys will catch you because they're waiting for you across the street... - then the car door opened and Stanisław jumped in - Well, first we'll go back to Poland because you have a little task waiting for you there...
And that's how Stanisław's trip ended... And you'll find out who the mysterious man was and what he wanted from him next time...
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