suitcase

1. That day's walk through the forest wasn't exactly pleasant. Cold gusts of wind bit straight into his face and peeked under the collar of his raincoat. Luckily, at least it was doing its job. Noah had resolved that morning to gather a whole basket of mushrooms for dinner. He'd been wandering through the damp forest for about four hours, and the basket contained only half of his resolution. "It's enough for a small evening feast anyway," the man consoled himself. He could already feel a cold brew brewing between his eyes. Unfortunately, he was one of those people whom a simple cold can effectively knock out and shut down for a good few days. Of course, homemade recipes, almost entirely based on alcohol, always helped him get through such times pleasantly. "And this time won't be any different, for sure," Noah confirmed in his thoughts.

He began imagining new remedies he could prepare in case of a cold, while the crackling fireplace played, the pleasant music flowing from his 120-watt speakers, and the loud snoring of his German Shepherd, Sam. He loved that dog with all his heart, perhaps more than any woman he'd ever known. It was probably for this reason that he'd never gotten involved with any of them. He adored Sam, even though he could snore so loudly he'd wake every proverbial dead person in the neighborhood. This dog was truly capable of so much. Especially in his sleep, which always amazed Noah. Sometimes he'd jump up in the middle of the night, suddenly jolted awake by Sam's barking at his doggie nightmares.

Noah looked around. "Where'd that mutt go?" he thought. Every time he took Sam into the woods, he'd run off as soon as he passed the first trees, but he always stayed relatively close to his master. He'd sometimes disappear into the thicket for a few minutes, only to emerge from a completely different spot a moment later with a happy smile on his face. But Noah realized he hadn't seen Sam in over half an hour, and such long walks on his own weren't in the dog's nature.

"Saaam!" the man called, lifting his head so his voice could carry as far as possible. He waited a moment, then whistled, drawing air through his teeth. In the distance, he heard his dog barking. Alarmed, he moved in the direction of the sound. Sam had never behaved like this before. Occasionally, he would bark at suspicious walkers, but most of the time, he paid them no attention. This was the first time Sam had responded to his call with a bark. He always came running to Noah immediately, with only one exception, when four years ago in winter, he had become entangled in the traps of one of the poachers, several of whom hunted in this area. Fortunately, Sam is a smart dog and didn't force his paw from the steel wire. He simply lay down and waited for his master, and when he approached, the dog whined, signaling him exactly where to go. Noah was troubled by the thought that something worse than a snare might have happened to the dog this time, since he'd started barking. He quickened his pace and broke into a light jog. At the same time, he began whistling and calling out alternately. Each time, Sam barked back. After a few minutes, Noah realized the dog was barking in a rather cheerful tone.

He ran a few more steps and spotted his dog between the trunks of three massive pine trees, near a lump of some kind. As he approached, Noah recognized the enormous lump as a rock. Sam was running around the object behind the rock, wagging his tail as if he wanted to mow down everything behind it.

"Sam, you rascal, come here," Noah said. The dog barked at him, jumped up, and turned on its hind legs. It took two bounds toward the man, then returned to its find.

"What did you find there, you shaggy face?"

Sam ran up to him, jumped up, placed his paws on the man's chest, and began licking his face. Noah ruffled the fur on the dog's neck.

"Good dog... What have you got there?"

The man walked over to where Sam had been barking. Behind the rock lay a suitcase. An ordinary, single-compartment one. The kind you'd take on a short trip, three days at most. Noah looked around for the owner of the lost suitcase. Apart from himself and Sam, there was no one there. He looked again at the suitcase.

"How did it get here?" he said to himself. He looked around again. "Maybe someone will be looking for it..." he thought.

"What do you advise, smartass: should we take it or leave it?" he asked the dog.

Sam stuck out his tongue and walked briskly around the suitcase, then stopped and barked loudly in its direction, as if to say, "We're taking it home, it's my find."

Noah smiled at the dog.

"You know what I think, Sam?" he asked loudly. "I think we should take this suitcase home with us. We won't even open it, we'll just take it to the police station first thing tomorrow morning..."

Sam sat politely beside him. In response to the man's suggestion, he barked twice briefly, which Noah took as an acknowledgment.

"...I'm sure someone's looking for it..." he finished, a little quieter.

Indeed, the suitcase didn't look deliberately abandoned; it was well-cared for and undamaged. Only the latch showed some light scratches on the silver-plated metal clasp.

Noah picked up the suitcase. It was quite heavy, much heavier than he expected. He took the basket of mushrooms in his other hand and headed for the house. Sam, tail wagging happily, ran eagerly ahead of his master.

2. It was already approaching evening when they reached the house. The sun, which had emerged from the rain about halfway back, had just dipped below the horizon.

Sam, as always, ran toward the house the moment he caught sight of it with his weak, canine gaze. He'd run to the door, sit down by it, and wait for Noah.

As he passed through the gate, the man glanced at the shed where his car was parked. After returning from a walk, he always checked to see if the old junk was still in his barn. Of course, it was always parked in the exact same spot. Jeremiah, Noah's friend, always teased him: "I bet you wish someone would finally clear that pile of junk out of your barn, huh?" Truth be told, Jeremiah was absolutely right about that. For a long time, Noah had been considering buying a new car—one with four-wheel drive, so he wouldn't have to call for help when he got stuck in the mud or a snowbank. However, the old car evoked a strong sentimental attachment, which kept him putting off the idea of ​​replacing it.

Noah climbed the steps leading to the porch and set both pieces of luggage down by the kitchen window. He opened the door and let the dog in, then went inside himself. He undressed and headed for the living room. As he passed the kitchen, Sam was already halfway through the meal the man had prepared for him just before heading out into the woods. Noah went to the fireplace and began arranging logs. He enjoyed preparing a fire. He carefully arranged logs of well-dried wood, starting with the smallest pieces and working his way up to the thickest. When everything was ready, he lit the fire with a single match. He always needed only one match. And so it was this time. He watched the fire slowly consume all the pieces of wood. He warmed his hands by the fresh fire for a moment, then stood up, dusted off his pants, and headed for the kitchen. On the way, he passed Sam, who had decided to change his master and enjoy the fire, which, of course, meant a carefree doggy nap on the soft rug beneath the fireplace. Noah began preparing dinner, watching his dog stretch in every imaginable way, then perform his obligatory toilet, before settling down for a nap in the warmth of the fireplace.

After about thirty minutes, the pleasant aroma of stewed mushrooms filled the house. He reached for the top shelf of his massive kitchen cabinet and pulled down a half-empty bottle of spirits. This "divine balm," as his grandfather used to call it, was almost fifty years old and was probably the best alcohol Noah had ever tasted. Of the entire trunk of sixteen one-liter bottles of this liquid, left in the basement by his grandfather, only half had survived. Noah treated the bounty of this exquisite spirit like a lottery ticket and was determined not to squander it. He poured a little of the spirit over two generous spoonfuls of honey, which he had received earlier this year from old Mr. Brucker's widow for helping him repair the damaged roof. With the feast over, he retired to his armchair by the fireplace. Sam lifted his sleepy head briefly to check if the smell of food might also portend something good for his canine throat, but smelling only mushrooms, inedible to him, he returned to his interrupted nap.

Noah slowly savored his meal, occasionally taking a sip of hot tea. A glass of honey and spirits warmed quietly by the fireplace. After dinner, the man sighed, satiated, and settled comfortably in his armchair. He remembered the suitcase he'd brought from the forest. What could have been in it? He suspected it was simply a pile of its owner's personal belongings. "What do I care..." he thought. Yet, involuntarily, he wondered more and more about its contents. He pictured neatly folded clothes, a few items—a comb, a toothbrush, perhaps a notebook, or a calendar...

"What if there's something inside that shouldn't normally be in a travel suitcase?" Noah suddenly thought. "Like a corpse chopped into pieces, or drugs? A knife, and next to it a severed finger, or an ear. Nice things..."

"Holy shit..." he cursed under his breath. Sam lifted his muzzle and looked at the man. Noah leaned over and patted him on the head.

"Drug dealers in the middle of the forest? You've got some imagination, you old fool..." he said to himself, smiling indulgently. "But that corpse..." he continued in his thoughts. He remembered that the suitcase was heavy, but was it heavy enough? "Maybe I should open this thing and see what's inside... Damn it! I needed that..."

After half an hour of pondering, Noah was certain that the moment he opened the suitcase, his eyes would be met with a neatly chopped-up corpse, carefully packed in identical plastic bags. He could already see the newspaper headlines about the discovery of a body hidden in a suitcase. One of the main, but not entirely fortunate, heroes of the whole affair turned out to be Noah Benton—a humble "hermit" from the small town of Mailbanks. The opening paragraphs would contain a detailed description of the entire situation, a brief interview with him, a description of the suitcase's contents, and the police's suspicions. The newspapers would then write that the "lucky" finder had paid for the entire ordeal with hours of federal police interrogation and a mild mental breakdown. Not to mention the fear he endured throughout the entire ordeal and the trauma that would remain etched in his mind for the rest of his life. Of course, he'd always be known in town as Noah the Corpse Man, and he'd never be able to shake off the stupid bar jokes.

As soon as he realized he was clutching a long-empty glass, he dashed to the kitchen for a refill. Filling the vessel, he doubled the amount of alcohol. He returned to the fireplace, set the glass aside, and began to add more.

"I'm so cooked..." he muttered. "Like a complete idiot. This will haunt me for the rest of my life. I'll be thrown in jail for this suitcase, if I'm unlucky..."

This time, Sam only opened one eye to see who Noah was talking to.

"Jeremiah will have a laugh at me..."

The man got up and went to the hallway to get his suitcase. "I'll open it and see. If there's a corpse or some other filth inside, I'll bring it back today," he decided. He returned to the living room with his luggage and placed it on the wide, pine bench that still recalled his father's youth. He sat down on the couch opposite the suitcase. The dog, clearly interested in the new situation, eagerly ran up to the table and began sniffing the suitcase again.

Noah grabbed the clasp between two fingers and froze.

"One goat's death," he stated, exhaling deeply, then pulled up the buckle and closed his eyes. Sam watched his master's actions with rapt attention, his tail wagging slightly.

Noah opened his eyes and looked at the lock, which refused to yield to his attempts to open it.

"Hmmm, locked..." he stated.

3. The man sat down heavily in his chair. He wasn't at all pleased that the suitcase hadn't opened. Now he desperately wanted to know what the item inside was.

"What if there's a reward for this suitcase?" – he thought – "After all, not far from where I found it, there's a road, even a well-traveled one…" In reality, it wasn't a road at all, just a packed gravel road leading from Mailbanks to the neighboring town of Ivory, half the size. Traffic was limited to a mail truck passing through twice a week, a few occasional tourists in the summer, and a snowplow that came a few times in the winter, depending on the need and the sobriety of the Rent who operated it. However, Noah decided that frequency would be sufficient. "I could discreetly find out from Robert if anyone had placed such an ad…" he thought.

Robert Milton had been the chief sheriff of Mailbanks County for a dozen years. He had started working in their town right after graduating from police academy. He was a principled man and never engaged in unnecessary conversation. He was also very observant and incredibly clever. Everyone in Mailbanks knew that Milton could spot any attempt at deception a mile away.

"No... Robert's out. He'll immediately start suspecting something..." Noah dismissed the idea.

He wondered how much such a reward could be. How much a person would pay for their belongings (or a chopped-up corpse...). Maybe he could renovate the front of the house, and who knows—maybe even enough for a small contribution to a new car? He'd finally get rid of that old barn rattle...

"What if there's money inside?" it suddenly occurred to him. A suitcase full of cash. "That might be possible..." he picked up on his own idea. Every man's dream. A twinkle appeared in Noah's eyes. "It would have to be a fortune..." he thought, captivated by this new vision. He would live like a king for the rest of his life. He looked at Sam.

"You'd get it too, sweetie! Hot dogs the size of elephants!" he shouted at the dog, grabbing the back of his neck. Excitedly, Sam resumed the game and tried to catch Noah's hands in his teeth. Noah slid off the couch and began rolling on the floor with the dog. After a moment, he regained his composure and decided to return to the suitcase, especially since Sam had already thoroughly licked his entire face and could now feel the dog's drying saliva beginning to form a light shell. He wiped his face with his shirtsleeve and sat down on the couch. The dog, completely alone, continued the game, rolling from side to side across the carpet.

Noah decided to open the suitcase at all costs. As a child, he often played lockpicking in sheds and garages around town. The most common picklocks were, of course, paper clips straightened with pliers, stolen from his father's desk drawer. Noah, with intense concentration, could shape a paper clip until he deemed the resulting pick perfect. Of course, minor adjustments were always necessary when picking a lock or padlock. For this purpose, he carried small pliers with him, which he bought with money he had saved from his allowance. Strangely enough, he managed to open the vast majority of padlocks and a good portion of locks with his own unique method. He wondered if he had a knack for it. Who knew, maybe he could become a "professional lock picker"? He wondered if his puritanical father would have liked that...

He went to the closet where he kept his tools and took out a small wooden box. He took it to the table and set it next to his suitcase. He opened it and rummaged through its contents for a moment, then happily pulled out a piece of wire. Slowly, he began bending it with the tools from the box. Every now and then, he glanced at the suitcase lock and adjusted his pick. When he felt ready, he put away all his tools and closed the box. He measured the wire in his hands for a few moments.

He approached the suitcase and inserted the pick into the lock. He turned it gently, and… the lock gave way! The sound of the lock opening echoed through the air, accompanied by the crackling of the firewood in the fireplace and the growling of Sam, still rolling on the floor. The dog suddenly got up, quickly, and ran to Noah. He put his muzzle to the suitcase and sniffed the lock.

"Do you smell anything in there, Sam?" he asked calmly. Sam licked his lips and yawned nervously.

"Oh, I think there's something interesting in there, huh?"

The dog yelped softly and sat down next to the table. He waited to see what would happen.

Noah unfastened the clasp. He placed his hand on the suitcase, closed his eyes, and waited. He lost all the confidence he'd had before. In an instant, he lost all desire to look into the suitcase. He didn't want the next few days to be filled with confusion over its contents. Still, he found himself slowly lifting the lid of the suitcase. In his mind's eye, he alternated between a suitcase filled to the brim with money, a suitcase full of old clothes, and a suitcase in which some sick psychopath had hidden a dead body.

The lid of the suitcase moved upwards millimeter by millimeter, and Noah's eyes remained closed.

"No point," Noah said, and with a decisive movement, he closed the suitcase. He slammed the lock shut and placed it on the hall cabinet. He picked up the toolbox and carried it back to his place. Sam stared at him, wide-eyed in surprise.

"We're going to bed, Sam." "—he called to the dog. "That's not for my nerves..."

Before going to bed, Noah made himself another drink. This time with triple the amount of alcohol.

4. The night passed restlessly. Rest came only in a series of short naps, interrupted every few dozen minutes. When he woke up, he thought he heard strange purring or moaning sounds downstairs, sometimes resembling conversation. He got out of bed and went to the door, listening intently. Each time, he realized that his dog was making the exact same sounds while sleeping. Shaking his head pityingly, he returned to bed. "I fall for this every time..." he mentally scolded himself. One winter, Noah even chatted with Sam for nearly ten minutes. That morning, Jeremiah dropped by and talked him into going ice fishing in the nearby lake. Of course, as always, Jeremiah's company meant that such an escapade involved the consumption of the gut-busting moonshine that Jeremiah and his brother had been brewing together for many, many years. As one of the more outspoken patrons at Homer's bar once remarked, "Brewing moonshine is the only proud tradition in this family."

After a whole day spent on the ice, without a single drink, freezing cold, yet thoroughly drunk, the two men returned to Noah's house very early in the evening. In an instant, they decided how to spend the rest of the day, and everything would have been fine if they'd understood each other even a little. Noah decided they'd settle down in front of his fireplace and warm up with the rest of the moonshine, and if necessary, they'd surely find something else, while Jeremiah decided it was time to go home. They both agreed and set about putting their plans into action: one headed for the kitchen, the other made the arduous trek back to his house. Noah began preparing food, fully convinced that his devoted friend was already sitting in front of the fireplace. He asked a question and heard a slurred reply. "But Jeremiah's drunk, damn him..." he thought. "He'll regret this trip tomorrow!" Not particularly concerned about his companion's poor condition, he continued his conversation. Only when he entered the living room with a plate of sandwiches did he see Sam sprawled blissfully on the rug by the fireplace, purring in his sleep, did he realize it wasn't Jeremiah he'd been having this interesting conversation with after all.

Noah sighed and returned to bed. "I don't intend to talk to the dog again at night..." he shook his head. "By the way, my Sam is a very strange dog..."

The dog was sleeping peacefully, but upstairs, under Noah's bed, making no sound.

5. Throughout the next day, Noah wandered around the house, unable to concentrate. His thoughts constantly revolved around the contents of the suitcase. He found himself sitting and staring off into the distance, losing touch with reality. He casually ate a late breakfast, then dinner. He mindlessly cleaned the entire house thoroughly, unknowingly avoiding the hallway where the suitcase lay. Instead, he eagerly went for a walk with Sam—his thoughts flowed more easily in the fresh air. The two of them wandered along the edge of the woods, venturing nowhere deeper for nearly three hours. Noah kept wondering what to do: open the suitcase or simply take it to the police station. When he was tempted to open it, the fear of discovering something unpleasant would set in. Conversely, when he decided to take the find to the police station, his imagination conjured up images of Milton opening the suitcase with the assistance of some newly minted cadet, their faces peering curiously into the mystery, and finally, the sight of the suitcase stuffed to the brim with neatly stacked banknotes. The law prohibited a finder from keeping any property found on municipal, private, or forestry property, as was the case with him. By revealing the find, he would forfeit any right to any benefits. He would immediately award himself the title of "Sucker of the Century—Mailbanks Ignorant." There would certainly be absolutely no problem in legitimizing such a title; he could count on the full support of the entire town, and Jeremiah would surely be the first to do so. Even Sam would then support him.

Around six in the afternoon, Noah called his sister. He wanted to invite her and her son to his place for the weekend. Sarah lived two hundred kilometers east of Mailbanks, in the much larger town of Forley. They visited Noah about once every two months. He enjoyed spending time with them, and he absolutely adored little Mike. They always came up with a thousand ways to annoy his mother with their games. Running around the house, pretending to be hunting, was always a surefire way to do it. Michael would wrestle with a wooden rifle, while Noah would run between the antler-trimmed furniture, hiding first behind an armchair, then behind the couch. They would both scream mercilessly, so much so that Sarah would eventually flee to the porch and, from there, with well-feigned anger, shout all sorts of strange things at them. The boy would reel with laughter. Sarah had once admitted that the little Mike smiled almost exclusively in his presence. Apparently, Noah had that spark that made children feel comfortable in his company.

Sarah answered the phone with a trembling voice.

"Hello?" he heard.

"What's wrong?" – he asked.

- I don't know, there's something wrong with Mike… – she replied nervously.

"What do you mean, did something happen to him?"

"Yesterday, in the middle of the day, he suddenly fainted in the middle of the room. He was unconscious for an hour, babbling wild stories, screaming and crying alternately..." Sarah began.

"Christ...

" "He regained consciousness after an hour, but from then until now he's had a constant high fever and is still babbling..." Noah, I don't know what to do! I love him so much! I don't want anything to happen to him!

" "Calm down, Sarah..." he tried to steady his sister's nerves. "Did you call the doctor?

" "Yes, I immediately grabbed the phone," she replied. "He came almost immediately...

" "And what?

" "He said it might be some kind of virus..." Mike was given injections, after which he fell asleep peacefully. However, the doctor wasn't sure what it was. He said they needed to run a series of detailed tests as soon as possible; he was talking about terrible diseases, Noah!"

"Calm down...

" "I'm trying... Oh, if only you could see him... How he was raving and screaming..." Sarah said, and Noah knew immediately that his sister was covering her crying eyes with her hand.

"What was he screaming?

" "Meaningless words... He was screaming about the forest, something about your Sam... He was squealing and crying as if something terrible had happened. After the shots, he calmed down, but several times in the middle of the night I heard him talking in his sleep, as if he were talking to someone... And this morning he's calmer. He's lying there with a high fever and mumbling...

" "Oh my...

" "The worst was that hour he was unconscious; I thought...

" "Stop it, Sarah...

" "Listen, as soon as he fell to the floor and started screaming, I thought he was kidding, but when I saw him... He was completely blue... His eyes were bloodshot... He was screaming as if... someone... I don't know... like the skin was being ripped from him! Terrible!" Even when his voice failed, he still tried to scream… Noah, he's just woken up. I have to go. I'll call you later.

The man heard a crack in the receiver. He sat down on the stairs, stunned. A machine suddenly activated in his head, spewing out thoughts at lightning speed and bombarding his brain with them. Another thought flashed through his mind at lightning speed.

"Soooo!" he suddenly shouted. "Come here!"

He listened for a moment, but couldn't hear anything.

"Sam!" he repeated after a few seconds. He heard the dog slowly rise from the floor and trot toward him, claws tapping against the hard oak boards. The dog quickly found itself in front of him, attentively awaiting further orders. Noah held out his hands to him.

"Come here, little dog..." he said, and when Sam approached him, he hugged him tightly and immediately began examining him, checking if he was okay. The delighted dog wagged his tail and licked his master's face with joy. He didn't know what Noah owed this sudden surge of love to, but he didn't care; he was content with the current state of affairs. The man examined his dog carefully. He looked the same as always. Noah went to the hallway and brought back a suitcase. He placed it on the table, just like the day before. He sat down in front of it and pulled Sam close. The dog began to sniff the object curiously. At one point, as he put his nose close to the straps on the back of the suitcase that served as hinges, Sam began to whine, jumped away from the table, and began nervously scratching his muzzle. Suddenly, Noah felt a gust of air coming from the suitcase. It wasn't a movement of air, but a feeling as if the object were about to speak to him. A chuckle, a completely alien cackle, passed through the man's head. Frightened, Noah leaned back, stood up, and looked around the room. There was no one else in the room but himself and Sam. The mocking laughter repeated, and in a second, Noah knew where it was coming from. Sudden fear gripped his entire body. The cackle in his head grew louder, mocking him. He knew it was mocking his fear. It was laughing at him, at his sister, at little Mike, even at the dog. The man began to slowly back away toward the stairs. After a few steps, he found himself at the dresser. He grabbed a blanket from it and, with great haste, ran to the table and covered his suitcase. The laughter in his head faded. Noah put his ear close to the object under the blanket. He couldn't hear anything now. When his head was less than an inch from the blanket, the laughter rang out again. This time, however, he wasn't alone. With it came whispers, pleading, terrified moans. It all grew louder and louder. Suddenly, the noise in Noah's head became too loud, and the man collapsed unconscious to the floor.

6. When he awoke, it was completely silent. He sat up and looked around. Last night had turned into broad daylight. "I wonder how long I was unconscious?" Noah thought. He looked ahead. A suitcase lay on the table. The blanket covering it was gone. It wasn't on the table, nor anywhere near him. The man whistled for his dog. He immediately heard scratching at the front door. He jumped to his feet and ran to it. When he opened the door, a terrified Sam ran into the house and began crouching at his feet. Noah wasn't going to wait any longer. The latest incident had given him an incredibly clear answer as to what he was to do with the item.

He had to get rid of it, and as quickly as possible.

He ran to the hallway and grabbed his father's old felt coat. He remembered it well from winter hikes in the woods with his father. After hours of walking, his teeth would begin to chatter. His father would then pull him close and cover him with a flap of his coat. Within minutes, Noah had warmed up enough to continue walking freely, unmolested by his teeth.

The man entered the living room at a brisk pace. He walked to the pine table and quickly wrapped his suitcase in his coat. He then placed the package on the couch and began dressing.

After a few minutes, his head buried deep in the collar of his jacket, he headed into the forest. He clutched the bundle tightly in front of him. He would throw away that damned suitcase. Throw it away and forget about it once and for all.

Each step brought him closer to the forest wall. He was getting closer. But with each step, the thing that had most likely fallen asleep since morning began to awaken again in the suitcase. Voices began to reach Noah's ears again. Screams. Moans. In disgust, he clutched the package tighter to himself and accelerated.

When he reached the first trees, the suitcase's interior suddenly fell silent. In an instant, all voices died away. The man looked at the suitcase in surprise. He stopped and rolled up a section of his coat. "It's just a trick..." he thought. He moved forward. Three steps, four... He passed the first tree.

The suitcase came to life at that moment.

The pleading whispers began to turn into wails. Those screams... Screams that would normally make one lose one's voice. Such desperate shrieks would tear the blood out of any person's throat. How much suffering one must endure to utter such a thing...

Something began to scrape and thrash inside the suitcase, making sounds like the wheezing of a dying man. The blows against the sides of the suitcase grew louder and louder. Noah was secretly glad he hadn't opened the suitcase. He didn't even want to imagine what lay inside. Another blow nearly tore the object from his hands. He clutched the bundle tighter and began to run.

Anything to reach the rock where Sam had found it. He would leave her there. It wasn't far…

He ran faster and faster, ignoring the branches that kept striking him in various parts of his body. He already had a dozen small scratches on his face, some of them beginning to ooze blood.

The forest was beginning to darken. It was as if the trees were trying to block the light from entering with their canopies. The undergrowth grew thicker as Noah approached his destination.

Noah heard a voice coming from inside the suitcase.

"IT'S TOO LATE."

Hundreds of other voices formed into one voice: whispers, moans, and screams. All of them agreed. It's too late…

Of all the voices, Noah recognized one. He'd heard it many times and knew it well. Mike's voice. Full of pain and fear. He was moaning as if in a fever, just like Sarah had said. Noah stopped in surprise and looked at the package he clutched to his chest. "What's going on?" he thought. His nephew's voice turned into a scream of agony.

"Mike!" Noah whispered in horror. From inside the luggage, another boy's scream answered him. The man started forward. He ran blindly, trying to get there faster, ignoring the voices in the suitcase. He didn't know why, but he felt he had to leave it where he'd found it. He ran as fast as he could. He muttered various things under his breath—whatever was swirling in his head. He certainly gave the impression of someone deranged, a madman chasing through the forest with a purpose known only to himself. Rivulets of unswallowed saliva dripped from his mouth, and his wide, absent eyes searched nervously for direction. Leaves and twig fragments were stuck on his clothes and in his tangled, disheveled hair. His face was flushed with exertion and damp with sweat. People who see someone like this usually cross the street, and the more "responsible" ones notify the appropriate authorities. In any larger city, he would have been admitted to a psychiatric facility by now. But here, the situation was different. He was alone in the forest. Here, no one could help him in any way.

He was getting closer to the rock. He could already see it in the distance, but only now did its loneliness strike him. There weren't even any erratic boulders anywhere around. The entire area was flat. No rocks. The nearest hills were about a hundred kilometers away. Why hadn't he considered that rock then?

He didn't have much left to go. Only fifteen, twenty meters. As he ran, he grabbed his luggage with one hand. He intended to throw the suitcase under the rocks and escape as quickly as possible.

Suddenly, he felt the handle of the suitcase heat up. In a split second, it was as hot as a piece of metal just pulled from a fire. He felt an incredible pain in his burning hand. But he couldn't let go of the suitcase. He had to get rid of it as quickly as possible. The palm of his hand began to burn with a terrible pain, and the scorched skin hissed slightly.

He found himself within throwing distance. He swung his hand, then with all his might, jerked his arm, the end of which held the suitcase, forward. In the final phase of the throw, he released his grip, intending to release the object. At the same moment, however, he felt the suitcase pulling the skin of his hand with it. He couldn't get rid of the cursed object. The suitcase's handle dug into his hand, burning it from the inside. Noah fell to his knees. He began to scream in pain. He repeatedly slammed his good hand into the suitcase's compartment. The voices inside laughed at him now, over the earlier groans and his own scream. "It's too late..." he remembered.

He knew that all of this was somehow connected to what was happening to his nephew. He was certain that as soon as he got rid of the suitcase, Mike would be healed. He had to get to those damned rocks. He didn't care how he got the suitcase out of his hand. If necessary, he would get rid of both: the suitcase and his hand.

Noah began to crawl toward the rock. He thrust his good arm out in front of him, digging his fingers into the earth, then pulled himself up, and with all his might, he pushed against the roots and depressions with all his might. He tried to ignore the searing pain in his right hand, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. The suitcase was adept at inflicting suffering. The thorns protruding from the handles moved in all directions, tearing every muscle in his hand and causing unimaginable pain. Something had penetrated his arm, paralyzing his entire arm. Noah felt he might lose consciousness. This would jeopardize any chance he had of helping his nephew and condemn himself to certain death.

"YOU CAN'T DO ANYTHING ELSE!" The voices grew louder again, alternating between whispers and moans and screams. "NONE OF US HAS EVER MANAGED TO DO ANYTHING... THIS IS OLDER THAN YOU THINK. IT'S THE PAIN AND SUFFERING OF HUNDREDS OF YEARS OF HUMAN RAGE AND HATRED. THERE'S NO STORY BEHIND THIS THAT YOU COULD UNDERSTAND. THERE'S NO EXPLANATION. PURE EMOTION!"

There were only three meters left to the rock, but Noah was completely exhausted. He rolled onto his back and began to cry. He couldn't move.

"I'm sorry! Michael, I'm sorry!" he cried through his tears.

The voices turned into mocking laughter, in the background Noah could hear the desperate cries of his nephew.

- Sorry, Mike... I can't do it...

Sam barked somewhere behind him. He must have been close, because Noah heard it clearly. He propped himself up on his left arm and looked around. Sam came running out of the trees, right at him. The dog, at full speed, lunged for the suitcase. He grabbed it tightly in his teeth and pulled. A wave of excruciating pain shot through the man's arm. The skin that had clung to the handle of the luggage now pulled away from his hand with incredible ease. Black spots appeared before Noah's eyes. Hooked blades pulled at the muscles in the man's arm. Sam tugged at the suitcase again. This time, Noah felt nothing. It was as if the suitcase had taken his entire arm with it. He looked ahead and saw that Sam had managed to wrench the suitcase free. At the end of his right arm, he saw the shreds that remained of his hand. But he no longer felt any pain. The dog dragged the suitcase toward the rocks, letting out a furious growl. The mocking laughter still hung in the air.

Sam reached the rocks and dragged the suitcase. He leaned against it with his front paws and began tearing at the fabric with his teeth. He threw the torn pieces aside. After a moment, he began using his claws.

"Sam, leave..." The man crawled toward his dog. Suddenly, he saw the suitcase slowly opening. Some liquid was leaking from the opening. As Noah got closer, he realized it was blood. His dog's paws were already soaked in it. Tentacles emerged from between the luggage compartments and began wriggling sideways, blindly searching for the attacker.

"Sam...

" The dog tore at the fabric of the suitcase with increasing ferocity.

"Sam!" Noah shouted with all his might.

Sam raised his head and looked at his master eagerly. The suitcase opened fully. More tentacles emerged from inside. One of them grabbed the dog by the front paw. Sam yelped. Amidst the still-laughing voice, a voice rang out.

"WE ALWAYS TAKE SOMEONE WITH US." IT DOESN'T MATTER TO US WHO…

Noah summoned the last of his strength and threw himself at the suitcase, covering it with his body. He glanced at the dog, who was freeing his paw from its injurious grasp. With another snap of his teeth, Sam bit through the tentacle's slimy flesh.

The man wrapped his arms around the suitcase with all his strength. Dozens of tentacles wrapped around his back and neck. He felt blades, similar to those that had previously slashed his hand, pierce his entire body. The suitcase pulled him in with full force, crushing his bones and tearing his muscles.

"Sam… run…" he managed to whisper with his last breath.

Suddenly, everything in his head went blank. Darkness and a deafening silence filled him. He was inside. Even though he couldn't see anything, he felt figures moving before him.

"Mike?" he whispered.

"WE ALWAYS TAKE SOMEONE WITH US!" he heard all around him. The darkness vanished in a split second, and his eyes were filled with suffering he had never imagined. Now he was at the center of the screams, which he joined in a moment later.

7. All the voices in the forest suddenly fell silent just as the suitcase, having pulled the man in, closed with a loud slam. Traces of a struggle and crawling remained around. The blood that had leaked from the suitcase had disappeared, probably gone with the voices. Sam, muzzle on the ground, less than two meters from the suitcase, stared at it, whimpering softly…