The New Year was inexorably approaching. The owner decided to organize a small party for the guests at his inn. Nothing special, maybe he'd invite a few people from outside, and he'd say others were welcome to join them. They'd sit in pleasant company, listen to classical music. And everyone would be happy. So it was decided – a New Year's party at the inn!
"Wonderful!" the countess shouted. "I'll invite my friends! But don't worry! They're all celebrities! You know, poets. Nice people.
" "You know..." the owner was more than afraid of the countess's "acquaintances." "But not too many. Three at most...
" "Of course! I'll choose the best!" and she trotted upstairs to inform the right people.
However, the owner was already beginning to regret his decision...
"Did you hear?" the receptionist asked.
"Sorry, I have stomach problems today...
" "No! I mean the New Year's party! Isn't that wonderful?!
"I... I think... I have to go make the beds!" – Boj knew perfectly well that the receptionist gets so excited when he has a brilliant idea.
However, the receptionist's brilliant idea means pain and suffering for the boj.
- But wait a minute! This time it can't fail!
- Like last time? And before that? And before that?!
- You can't be so bitter... Progress, my dear! That's what distinguishes us from the living!
- And I thought that the fact that we're no longer alive...
- Well... - the receptionist felt disconcerted. - that too, of course, that too. But let's focus on progress! Here's my plan for a perfect New Year's Eve...
The owner was sitting in his office, writing down things he needed to buy. It was a bit too expensive for his budget, so he started cutting back. After all, balloons drawn on cardboard are better than real ones because they don't burst. Old, cut-up newspapers will do just fine for streamers... you just have to dig them out of the trash...
- Hello, owner. "—said a rather formal, clerical voice.
The owner raised his head and saw that the voice had its owner. It was a short, thin, and well-groomed devil. More than one person could envy his wrinkles.
"Oh! Good morning!" The owner assumed smile number 23: Visit from an Official from Hell.
"There's no time for pleasantries, and time is running out. I've come to inform you that in two days, on New Year's Eve, the Apocalypse will take place. Any questions? None? Excellent, I'll move on...
" "Wait! What do you mean, the Apocalypse?
" "No, the Apocalypse. The end of everything, the final battle, the closing of the hypermarkets... That's going to terrify people.
" "But that's impossible!! I haven't seen any signs that the Apocalypse is coming..."
"That's because last month the Hellish Council chose new ones. And they all came true: Mrs. Barbara from Warsaw got a flat tire on her way home from work, Ian from Scotland got his second cold...
"It's some kind of fraud!"
"Are you accusing Hell of cheating?" he thought about what he said. "Anyway, it doesn't matter... Everyone's tired of waiting in uncertainty for the Apocalypse and decided to take matters into their own hands...
" "But you don't understand anything!" the owner said, indignant. "If what you're talking about comes to pass... It will dramatically reduce business...
" "To zero," the clerk interjected. "We know that. But Satan wants to rule the Earth right now. He's always wanted to go to Hawaii, and because of his... distinctive appearance, that's impossible. You understand!
" "But I don't want to go bankrupt!
" "And you think I want to torment all those people on Earth?" They're incredibly annoying... They have a strange habit of bursting and spraying their guts everywhere when you inflate them even a little... It's so unhygienic!
And he disappeared.
Boj was already carrying his fifth crate marked: FLAMMABLE. DO NOT MOVE.
"This is very dangerous... Be careful, or before you know it, you'll be in pieces.
" "Instead of giving me advice, you'd help me carry this," the boj growled, then added, "What do we need this for? You could blow up the entire inn with this...
" "If you weren't careful, yes. But we are, aren't we?" Then he hid behind the wall a few meters from the buoy again.
Carrying the crates was certainly tiring. But carrying crates with something that could easily blow you up was very, very stressful. But five more rounds and he had moved all the crates, then hid behind the wall with the receptionist.
"So... why... do we... need this?" he panted.
"Fireworks!" the receptionist shouted with delight, and headed towards the Inn.
Boj wasn't sure if, in his lifetime, he'd used fireworks called napalm, ground-to-ground missiles, or the Great Rift in the Earth. Well, a lot could have changed since he was alive....
Meanwhile, two gargoyles approached him and began to grope each other obscenely. Of course, unless two stone statues, imprecisely crafted by an artist who didn't bother to reproduce them with any great detail, can grope each other obscenely.
"Listen... If the Countess hasn't invited you yet, I'd like to extend an invitation to the New Year's party on her behalf..." Boj then returned to the Inn with a smile.
It's worth mentioning that the Countess absolutely hated those gargoyles, and that was probably the only reason the owner hadn't dug them up yet. Nevertheless, when they arrived at the party and approached the Countess to thank her for the invitation, while she entertained her distinguished guests... it would be truly amusing.
The Admiral, however, had found a gift. Someone had bought him artificial legs. Or at least that's what he thought... These legs had been made for him by the receptionist. His latest invention. Perhaps if the Admiral had known, he wouldn't have put them on, aware of the inventions the receptionist was making. But he didn't know, so he put them on. A magic spell was cast on the legs, causing them to become real, once put on, and the wooden legs would fuse with the stumps. However, due to a lack of Oak—which, according to the recipe, was what the legs were made from—the receptionist made them from Dancing Birch. And from that moment on, at any moment their feet deemed fit, they were to dance until they got bored.... However, the Admiral hadn't yet discovered this... small flaw, so let him enjoy his gift.
"So I'm off!" the owner shouted to the receptionist. "I have to pay a visit to hell! You, meanwhile, keep an eye on the Inn... And if I return and even a single chair, a single board, is out of place... Then I wouldn't want to be you."
And before the receptionist could say anything, the owner was gone.
"Whatever!" he shouted as the other man left.
Then he grinned from ear to ear. Now nothing stood in the way of the fireworks... The party was about to get fiery.
"You're an asshole yourself!" exclaimed a corpse entering the Inn.
Three more followed. They were all swaying a bit, which might have caused the commotion outside. However, after the door closed, they were still swaying. And their vision was rather blurry. They even stopped talking, focusing – I think – on the eternal struggle of a drunkard against gravity, which could be ruthless.
"And the bums... I mean, who are you going to, gentlemen?" asked the receptionist.
"And we're going to the countess! Our beloved Vrakula!" one yelled.
"To her health!" another shouted, and then they all began drinking from bottles pulled from their breasts.
"Come on," he turned to the aforementioned man, "go get the countess... Or not. Take the guests to her room.
Meanwhile, somewhere in hell..."
The train, as usual, was late, and every compartment was locked. Therefore, the owner arrived quite late, and his luggage was stolen just outside the station. Perhaps to make him feel bad that he almost didn't lose it. Nevertheless, it was very cold in hell, and the jacket was in a suitcase now carried by someone else. So the first thing the owner did was head to the shop "Diabelne Tekstlia Braci Sulczanych" (Devilish Textiles of the Sulfur Brothers).
The name was completely inappropriate. Which, according to the principles of hell, added to the nuisance. Instead of the persistent smell of sulfur, the shop smelled of violets. And at its worst.
"I'd like to buy a winter jacket..."
"Unfortunately," the brothers replied simultaneously, which was very irritating, "we've run out of winter clothes! We only have summer ones!
" "Can you tell me why I need an undershirt in winter?!
" "To wear under a jacket?!!
" "But I don't have one!
" "That's not good. You'll freeze. It's better to go to a store and buy one..." "It's very cold outside!"
"Then I'd like some undershirts, please. Five of them.
" "They're all gone!"
The owner, furious, took to the street. He wondered how local shops operated if they never sold anything, only irritated customers... They probably got subsidies.
He headed for the Infernal Ministry building. Unfortunately, he had to walk because no taxis stopped. The walk took him twenty minutes, and he fell countless times along the way because the sidewalks, which were clear of snow, were now covered in ice. Nevertheless, when he reached the Ministry's doors, a taxi stopped beside him.
"Can I give you a ride?" the taxi driver asked.
The owner looked at him with murder in his eyes and went inside. There was a huge line in the lobby at the information desk, which had five windows. Of course, only one was open. After about fifteen minutes of waiting, he finally reached the window.
"Your number, please," the clerk said in a bored tone.
"I don't have any.
" "So, please take it and go to the end of the line."
"But what number? Where can I get it?!
" "See that big flower with nothing behind it? Behind it is a machine dispensing numbers."
Another twenty minutes passed, but he finally found himself back at the window.
"Number, please," the same bored voice said.
"Please.
" "Sir, to the Apocalypse Department?" You should have gone straight away. We're going there without a line. Six hundred and sixty-sixth floor.
Funny, but it always turned out that everything in hell was on this floor. Nevertheless, the owner headed for the elevator. It was broken.
Three hours later. After climbing [and, in the final stage of the ascent, crawling] upstairs, he did what everyone, living or dead, promises themselves after intense physical exertion: he made a solemn promise to himself that he would start exercising regularly tomorrow. Nevertheless, with considerable effort, he reached the door of the Apocalypse Department. It was closed. They're always closed on Tuesdays. He had to come back tomorrow.
Meanwhile, at the Inn, preparations for the party had begun. Of course, everyone tried to help, especially the Admiral, who wanted to use his new legs to their fullest potential. Unfortunately for him, it was then that a rather peculiar flaw in his legs became apparent.
He was affixing colorful decorations with thumbtacks when his legs began to dance a lively oberek. The poor fellow scattered all the thumbtacks, driving most of them into his body. He spent the afternoon removing them.
The Countess, meanwhile, did what she does best – making life miserable for others. At one point, the nervous cook asked her to bring him something from the pantry. When she went inside, he closed the door behind her, and everyone thanked him.
Suddenly, Boj ran into the Inn, his clothes blackened and his hair singed with tufts of hair. Because that was all that was left of his lush mane – a tuft of hair.
"No more! You... you... you... PYROMANIAC!" he yelled at the receptionist, who ran after him with a big smile.
"Don't exaggerate! It was quite fun! And certainly spectacular!
" "SPECTACLE? That squirrel running around on fire probably didn't think so.
" "But it finally died...
" "Because it was a skeleton!
" "But you have to admit, she was a bit too fat... She should thank you. Ungrateful, that's what she was."
Boj went to his room to wash up and tidy up.
The receptionist, meanwhile, was writing the script for the Big Evening. He was planning which fireworks to set off first. The Admiral came down from upstairs and approached him.
"I have a question... Who are those bums sitting in the dining room?" he asked.
"They're the countess's guests. Pin.
" "Excuse me?
" "The countess's guests.
" "The other one.
" "Pin," the receptionist explained in the voice of a patient father explaining to a child why he can't put butter cookies up his nose.
"I don't understand.
" "You have one stuck in your forehead.
" "Oh, thank you." And he left for the dining room.
By afternoon, everything was ready for the next evening's party. The countess was let out of the pantry and quickly believed the story about the door being locked and unable to be opened. It was not proper for a lady to argue over such trivial matters... Or perhaps she was simply certain that no one would deliberately lock her in, thus depriving themselves of her company.
Meanwhile, in hell...
The owner arrived the next day. The department was open today, but when he climbed to that high floor, it turned out they were on break. After waiting, he went inside.
"I'm here about the Apocalypse.
" "It's tomorrow! Isn't that exciting?!" the beaming clerk exclaimed.
"Couldn't we somehow postpone this? It will significantly reduce the traffic in my business...
" "Oh! Sir! We are incorruptible," he clearly emphasized the end of his statement.
"A weekend at my inn in the company of... a charming lady?" he asked hopefully.
"Actually, I shouldn't... But a thousand years one way or the other is insignificant. So be it. I'll be there this afternoon."
And so it was. Unfortunately for the clerk, the lady in question turned out to be the countess. She, in turn, was delighted to have the official's company, as she was tired of explaining that the drunks she had invited were actually well-known figures who couldn't talk about their work because it was secret. And that was precisely why they drank – living under constant pressure was tiring.
The official tried to seize every opportunity to distance himself from the countess. However, it wasn't easy, as she was already battle-hardened. When he tried to get some arsenic, she followed him, stepping away "just for a moment." He also found it impossible to go to the bathroom frequently – he was caught in the Iron Grip of the Vrakula Under the Arm, a legend about which – as the official could see – it was true that it was impossible to escape.
In any case, midnight was approaching, and with it the time for the fireworks. Everyone went outside. At that moment, a courier arrived, handing him a combat letter. It turned out he had won the annual lottery – a trip to Corpse Peak. He certainly wouldn't have failed to rejoice at this fact if, at that very moment, the receptionist, with a strange twinkle in his eyes, hadn't lit his fireworks....
At this point, let's fast-forward a few moments to the future, when the owner arrived in front of the inn, so we can fully capture what he saw. Namely,
the inn was on fire. Its entire eastern part was ablaze with a truly hellish flame. Boj and the receptionist tried to extinguish it, but considering they had two buckets at their disposal, they weren't very successful. Behind them, the Admiral was performing lively obereks, crying and begging for someone to chop off his head. Suddenly, an official ran past him. Behind him, the countess called out to her lover. As you can see, he took advantage of the confusion to break free from the countess, but she was determined to correct her mistake and catch him. Behind her, two gargoyles ran – one patting the other on the back, the other purring. The Countess simply couldn't stand it.
"Happy New Year..." the owner gasped, and headed toward the buoy and the receptionist, first to yell at them, and then to find out what had happened.
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