In the light of a candle

[kit7en]

Do you know which is the best place to tell a horror story ? Yes,you know. But which is it ? Maybe around the campfire,when everyone is holding their breath ,when the only light is from the fire and you don't know what is behind you ? No. Or maybe in the old ruined house around the corner. You know, with the broken windows , bad garden and a creepy tree in the backyard .Again,no. No,the best place to tell or listen a scary story is your own room.
So let's imagine.Imagine you are in your own room with some friends.Midnight has just passed.It is the time of the witches ,spirits and cursed souls . Not a wise idea to be awake in this hour.Who knows what would happen ? But you are not alone. There is music ,laughter and lights. But not for long. Now imagine that suddenly the electricity is out. The music stops,the light darkens. Silence fills the room. You know you have a flashlight. But where is it ? Are you brave enough to look for it in the dark house ? Yes. Can you find it ? No. Nobody has a phone,camera or i-pod because everyone left them in the other room. Now imagine all you have is one candle. Just one. And a lighter. Imagine you light the candle and put it on the table. Everyone is around it. It can't light the whole room. All you can see is the faces of the guests . And the shadows. The shadows that dance on the walls,on the furniture , everywhere. The whole house is dark and silent. All you can hear are whispers. Some are from your little group. But you think you can hear others. Breathing,quiet steps,scratching outside the window. But there isn't anybody there .You know it. But what do you feel ?
Now is the time of horror stories. So let's begin ...

[kit7en]

Greetings.And welcome.Have you brought a candle ? No ? Ah.Maybe one of your friends has ? Yes ? Light it,please.Thank you.
Now all we have to do is to turn off the lights.All of them. Now,why don't you put that candle in the middle of the room ? Far from the corners. Thank you. Now be silent for a minute.Do you see the dancing shadows ? Hear your breath ?Feel your heart ? Yes ? Good. So let's begin...
Imagine a road.It is barren and goes deep into a forest. It is good kept just empty.And the forest is silent.The night has fallen. A lone owl screams and then everything is just as silent as before.The stars are bright,there is no mist,the night is warm.The turns of the road make is difficult to see far .And the silence is deafening.
Now imagine a car .It is just an ordinary car.With an ordinary family inside.A man and his fiancee .They have been driving for too long and the girl is exhausted.And bored.And annoyed.
- You picked the wrong turn.Again ! You could've just stopped and asked for direction.
- I know where I'm going.We're not lost. - At least he hopes they aren't.He knows that this is not the right way but he hopes that they will see a road sign.The road is smooth,twirling and narrow.And silent.He is grateful for her pouting - she isn't silent when she's annoyed. And the sound is good.
Soon they reach a road sign.It says "Welcome to Ravehills ! The home of..." Here the sign is painted with red and someone had written over it " the home of the woman with the black raven."
- I don't like this.Let's go back !
- I's the middle of the night.Maybe there's a hotel in here. - He is not certain and she feels it.She isn't bored anymore,she is scared. There is something in the sign that creeps her out. And "the woman with the black raven" ? What is that supposed to mean ? Nothing good. And she could've been annoyed with herself but he is scared too. He tries not to show it but his fear is almost visible in the air.
They enter the town and...
- This is a ghost town ! Look I know I've been acting like a ...I don't know like what,but I don't like it here. Let's go back ! We can sleep in the car ! Please. - She is ready to beg.The streets are empty and there isn't anything in the shops.Not like the town was evacuated .No,more like they were leaving on groups...of haven't left at all. There aren't broken windows or doors to suggest thefts.It is like these who could've left had done it and the others...they've tried to live as they could.Why she thinks that not everybody left she doesn't know. She just feels like there are eyes that are watching every move and counting every breath.It isn't a pleasant feeling. And the town is lit by the moon and the stars,there isn't a creeping darkness.
- There isn't anything to be afraid of.See,it's just a street with houses. - She doesn't believe him. He doesn't seem to believe himself too.
- Empty street with empty houses.Let's go.
- No. - He sounds sure.He picks this moment to play the big,strong arm and that angers her.
- You know what ? Stop the car.I will walk.
- You can't walk alone here.
- Why ? It's not like there's something here,right ? - She opens the door and he has no choice but to stop.She leaves the car and shuts the door.He deserves it.He brings her to this awful place and ...she stops.And listens.She can't hear the car. He probably had stopped to sleep. Or to chase her on foot. She turns to face him and...there isn't anything behind her.Not him,not the car,nothing. But he was there a minute ago.She listens. There isn't a sound.Not footsteps,not the engine. And suddenly a movement catches her eyes.On a tree right in front of her is a raven.The black bird stares at her with an intensity that scares her. Just now she notices the birds.Or,to be correct,their absence.There isn't even a stray cat.Or a mice,sparrow or a frog. Not even a fly.Just this raven with its glossy black feathers and intelligent eyes.
- Okay,this isn't funny anymore.Come out. - She hopes her fiance is joking and has hidden somewhere.She hopes.And as her hope dies she thinks that if she doesn't escape this cursed place soon she would go mad.She feels like a heroine in a horror movie. She always thought that these girls need a brain transplant. They all did stupid things like going into ghost towns and wandering alone looking for their missing friend.She thinks about Mike.If he is alive he would find his way out of this place.Wait,why does she think that he could be dead ? This is completely irrational and...her senses tell her that this doesn't matter.She starts to run.And run. And run. The main street ends with a sign "You're now leaving Ravehills." .There is a board nailed to the sign."You can't escape" . And a black feather nailed to the board. On the feather there is...She faints right there.

She wakes from voices around her.
- She's awake ! Hey,what happened ? Are you okay ? - They look kind.Elders ,with a small car and concerned frowns.The old lady halps her to stand.The man hold something.
- Is this yours,lady ? - He gives her an engagement ring.It's just a band.she'd given it to Mike the day after he'd proposed her.It is clean. But lat night it hasn't .It's been bloody,like it 's been cut .She looks behind.In the sunlight she sees only the sign.The town isn't there.Only grass and some ruins.Nothing.
- Do you know what happened to this town ?
- Oh,yes.The people left. they said there was a curse.But of course that's not true.And there is a legend saying that if you see it they way it has been this is the last things you will see.Bu this is just a superstition .People thought they see houses and streets when the city is in this condition from over a half century. But,my dear,are you sure you are okay ?
- Yes,I am fine. - she turns and sees a raven.The same she'd seen on that tree.It is on the small car.
- You will ride with us ,won't you ?
- No. I prefer to walk.And maybe someone will pick me.
- But you can't walk here.There isn't anything here !
- I will. But thank you.

She is leaving her home.When she stays somewhere for long she sees the raven.On a house,a car,in a yard.And it brings death. She;d seen it enough.Now she stay 'till the first death.And then she leaves.But whereever she goes she carries a ring.Just a simple metal band.

So of you see a raven,think.Is it the one from Ravehills ?

[kit7en]

The Card

Hello again.Thank you for inviting me in your house.Do you have candles ? Yes ?Good.Is anybody else coming ? No ? Okay.Let's begin...
Tonight I will tell you the story of Queen of Spades.Do you know about her ? That is what I thought .In my country she is really famous.I guess here she is not.Yet.
Some people identify her as Bloody Mary.Maybe she is.Maybe she is not.Her legend says that Queen of Spades was a beautiful woman,lived in XIII century.Many admired her beauty until she was condemned to be a witch.Her punishment was awful - disfigurement.When her face was ruined she was banished in the forest.There she lost her sanity and died alone.But with her lost breath she cursed a mirror.Now her defaced soul is trapped in it .It is said that if you call her properly she will appear in the form of beautiful young woman.But do not be fooled - she is cold and merciless.Maybe evil.Others say that if you summon her properly you will see her real face.And this would be the last thing you would see.
There are thousands of myths about Queen of Spades and the way to summon her.Some say that there must be seven people in a circle - four girls and three boys.Some said that the Queen speaks only with individuals with dark hair and eyes.Some said you need a card, a candle ,a lipstick,a perfume...even a human skull and blood.Another legend defies all of this.It says that all you need is a mirror.Yes,just like that one in your room.The big one,which you pass by every time you enter or exit your room.
I have read a lot of stories about people,who have called her.Some said nothing happened.Others were terrified.And there is this real story about a little girl in a comma...
Most of the stories begin in the same way...
One dark,moonless night a few girls were having a party.They weren't drunk yet,just enough to loosen up.That was their first mistake. They didn't show the spirit respect.Only one of them really believed.And she didn't want to call the Queen.Her friends mocked her and she left.Here the legend divides.Some said that her leaving saved her,others - that her belief and fear did. Nobody really knows.
Just as nobody knows what really happened on that party.
When she left her friends decided to try the most popular way to summon the ghost - with a mirror,perfume and a deck of cards.To answer their questions,they said.This was their second mistake.They thought she would serve them.Foolish girls.
They linked hands and said "Queen of Spades,show yourself" three times.Then they put some perfume on the little mirror and set her card face down on it.And waited .Several seconds later the girl with the deck in her hand begun asking.
- Queen of Spades,are you here ? - And pulled the first card.The popular myth is that if the card is red,it means yes,and the opposite. But her card was not red.Or black.It was empty.Just a white piece of paper.She was puzzled.And that is when the nightmare begun.One of the other girls screamed.She was pointing to the big mirror on the wall.On it was reflected the room just as it was,except there weren't five people on the reflection.There were six.Behind the girl with the deck was a shadow od a woman with long dark hair that hid her face and long thin fingers,resting on the girl's shoulders.These fingers slipped up until they were around the neck of the summoner.The spirit raised her head.In the shimmering reflection her face was ruined.
They tried to run but couldn't move.Tried to scream but their throats were frozen.Each one saw on the others faces the expression she was sue she carried - terrified eyes on a calm face.And then the girl with the deck moved.The ghostly fingers forced her head back until she was looking in the cold eyes of the spirit.And in her disfigured face.She couldn't breathe,couldn't blink,couldn't speak.And suddenly she felt her hands move.She was pulling cards from the deck.And couldn't see what was causing the terror in the room.
She felt like slipping into darkness.Slowly at first but in the end she was fully unconscious.

On the other morning the girl who left early heard sirens.She was living across the street and when she heard the screams thought the worst.She got out her house in the T-shirt she slept and saw a crowd.The people were trying to see but the policemen weren't letting anyone near the house.There were ambulances and doctors everywhere.
- 'scuse me,sir,but what has happened ? - The officer turned and looked at her.
- A tragedy,miss.Some girls were together last night.One of them tried to kill the others.She didn't succeed but...
- What do you mean,tried to kill ?
- Well,she aimed at their necks.Tried to claw their throats open.Mystery is why they didn't stop her.They are unconscious and she is going to mental hospital.She is still trying to rip her own eyes with her nails.It's awful really...


Another myth is that if you stand in front of a mirror at midnight and summon the Queen of Spades ,she will appear and ask you three questions.Impossible to answer questions.If you do not give the right answers she will trap you in the mirror.Or she will claw your face.

So tell me,do you believe in ghosts ? Are you brave enough to call the Queen of Spades ? Think about this when you pass by your mirror at midnight.And do not look at it.You do not know what will stare back...

[kit7en]

The haunted weddings


It's been a long time.Too long, if you ask me.But come in, welcome. Tonight I have a special story for you.There is no need for darkness or candles tonight. The story isn't that scary, it won't make you look over your shoulder while walking down a street at night. But still.
The story about haunted celebrations, mostly weddings, is a common phenomenon in my country. Hundreds of people have seen them all over the land.Almost near every region with small villages. And that is a lot.
Haunted weddings come from the Ottoman Slavery. The darkest time in Bulgarian history lasted half millennium. And it was dark. It ended in 1878 – too soon for the living to forget and spirits to calm.
But back on the story.All reports begin in the same way. Someone was walking in the middle of the night on the forsaken road.I have to point that people say the haunted celebrations still happen. They are not a legend or a myth.Nothing old and forgotten.
So, someone was walking .He was alone.Or he wasn't. It had happened a whole group to witness this. They walked and suddenly heard music. Through the bare hills they could see a wedding. Like the ones in the past. Fires, loud music, native dances. Laughter. While thy went closer to the celebration, they could distinguish the faces of the people. This is when the witnesses understand something's not right. The people in the wedding are wearing native Bulgarian costumes. Nobody wears them on weddings anymore – this tradition died a long time ago. But the celebrating are wearing them.
And suddenly a lighting flashes.Or a thin,little forest gets in the way. Or a raven screams in the fields. And when the travelers look again, there is no wedding. Only one of those villages that could be seen all over the country – a few houses, all abandoned. Not a soul out there.
They say that if you are brave enough to go through the village, you could hear laughter …and screams. The screams of the slaughtered, who celebrated a wedding when the Turkish soldiers arrived and killed everybody. Just like that.


Like I said, haunted weddings are common in my country, because things like this were common for the times. A lot of legends tell about the deaths of so many people. For us, Bulgarians, these legends are true.

[kit7en]

The train

Hello.Are you in this compartment ,too ? Yes ? Okay. Just know,the lowest bed is mine. But come, don't stay outside.You know, I am a story-teller. Do you want to hear some of my stories ? Because the night is long and the trip to Sophia is even longer. Yes ? Okay. Let's begin…

Close the door. Thank you. Now,my stories are always told in the light of a single candle. Do you have candles ? No ? Good for you,then, that I carry some. Have you ever traveled into a sleeping compartment ? No ? Well,maybe you should know it could become quite scary. It's dark, the train does its unique noises,sometimes there a people walking outside in the middle of the night…

The story I will tell you happened some time ago. It doesn't really matter when. Last week,last decade…all the same.The train was full , all the people got in on the railway station in Povelyanovo. They left the fast motor carriage and went through the narrow doors of the fast train . And as ever there were children onto the train. They weren't in sleeping compartments,because then they should've been away from their parents – sleeping compartments have only three beds. So,there were four small children and two adults. The parents told the kids to stay inside as the train traveled at night and most of the passengers were sleeping or simply resting. But they were children,they couldn't stay closed into the tiny room. So they told their parents that they would look for the bathroom. Three of them left, one stayed behind. She was scared of the constant sounds of the moving train and was cuddled next to her mother. The other children left.

Fifteen minutes later their father begun to worry. He got out of the compartment and went to look for the kids.There wasn't much room for them to hide. There is only one narrow corridor and the sleeping compartments are locked. He checked all the compartments on his way. The children weren't there. He looked at the bathrooms.Empty. He went to the restaurant. Barren. He went through the corridor a couple of times. Even disturbed the motorman. He told his wife he'd do one more circle.

…

The woman got off the train with the girl on the other morning.Alone. She held her child tightly and left the train and the station without looking back.


…

Two days later the news showed a horrible thing – four bodies were found near the Iskar river. Three children ,one adult. The bodies were torn like they've been dragged on uneven ground with kilometers. Only the man was whole. He looked like he just fell. The corpses were near the railway.

…

Before the train left at noon a routine check showed that the place where the carriages connect was broken – the metal plates weren't tight enough and opened if someone stepped onto them. The damage was found on the station so nobody was injured.What could've happened if someone stepped onto them while the train was moving ? Imagine…

…

The train has been changed long time ago. This one,the one we're traveling in now,isn't the same. But that isn't the point,is it ? It is said that weird noises haunt this way. The line Varna-Sophia with a stop in Povelyanovo. At night,when the train is quiet and all you can hear is the natural sound of a moving train , you may hear steps outside your door. It could be just someone who has to get off the train in the middle of the night. Or,if the train is moving, someone has to visit the bathroom. Or stretch his legs. But maybe,just maybe,there isn't anybody outside your door. So,just in case,keep the door locked.Because the children were pure,clean,they aren't vengeful , but their father wants blood. Oh,and keeps the lids of the windows down… Just in case.

Good night.And sleep well.

[kit7en]

The Mermaids


Ahh ,summer . Hot days ,hot nights ,not enough time .Sun ,sea ,lots of people. The summer is the season of happiness. People never think about fear while resting on the beach. But the summer has another face…
This is the face of hot, sleepless nights ,open windows and quiet streets, when the air is heavy with expectation and wandering shadows creep around every corner. Have you ever went outside in the night ? About an hour past midnight, when the street is barren, there isn't even a stray cat and the mosquitoes had already hidden? No ? Well, you should try it. The silence is deafening and you try to hear something, anything. On the other hand, you dread that you will hear something. I wouldn't recommend staying more than a few minutes – something bad may happen. And I am not talking about a big bug landing on your nose. No. This should be the least of your worries.

So tonight we won't light a candle. We will just sit outside the house. If you hear something , please do not turn around. Because the cats are already sleeping, the dogs too. The children are in their beds, the teenagers are in the clubs and the drunks are somewhere comatose. There isn't anyone. So don't turn. It's for own good.

This night I will tell you a myth. A legend, ritual, superstition if you like. But it is not a good story…

Here, in my country, it won't surprise anyone if in a specific part of the year they see wormwood or chestnut leaves in your house. They should be placed in every room, on the bed if it's not used at the moment. Also, although the weather is warm and nice, there isn't anyone in the sea. People walk on the beach, but nobody gets close to the water. And at night ? It is a good idea to stay inside. You know, near the wormwood.
Are you okay ? You look ill ? What ? No, it's not that week at the moment. We're safe here. Well, maybe only from the rusali, but it's something, isn't it ?
Yes, there is a week, called "The week of the rusali" . The word rusali is really close to the Bulgarian word for a mermaid, but you won't meet anyone, who mistakes them.
The rusali are water spirits. The go out of their ponds ,rivers and the sea for a week. And if you meet one… well, nobody has survived to tell. For a week, when the borders between our world and the Underworld are thin. Really thin. So the rusali are what you should fear, but there are other things, that wander at night.
The bad part ?The water spirits don't go out only at night. There are so many places you could meet them, and so many things you could do to anger them. And people don't want to anger them.
If peeved, they send incurable illness. If really angry ,they deliver instant death. There are rituals to make the rusali heal people, but they are long, difficult and there is only a chance they will work. On the other hand ,if you enter the sea, the water won't let you out. Just not alive, anyway. There is red flag on the beach this week, which means it's forbidden to enter the water. The lifeguards are people too, right ? They are afraid for their own lives.
Heart attack you can win another way. If you have the bad judgement to enter a vineyard. Or wander on your own through the fields – you could interrupt the dinner of the spirits. A silly and useless death. Another bad idea is to choose this week for the spring clean. Or to make food for lots of people. Or do lots of laundry. The work offends the rusali, so you better keep it low.

If you are really afraid right now, calm down. The week of the rusali is the week that host the 50th day after Easter. It begins at midnight Saturday for Sunday and lasts until next Saturday night.
Oh, and as the other nations have mermaids, we have too. Do not mistake them with the rusali. If you go in a forest at night and you see girls around a fire, playing with flowers, dancing or just talking, get out of there immediately. Any time of the year. Because the rusali enter our world for a week, but the samodivis are here through the whole year. And if you see them and they see you, run. No matter what they tell you. Run. And stay away from the woods. Because they are spirits, they have long memory.

So do yourself a favour and think twice before going into that forest with you friends late at night. It your country you may not know about them, but they are there. Waiting.

Because you know, they are just bored girls. Cruel girls, who care nothing about the humanity. And they've been there long before you were born. Do not make them be the cause of your death.

Did you like the story ? No ? Why, don't believe in spirits. Just do me a favour. Go out now and stay on the street for half an hour. What time is it ? Two past midnight. Now go, and when you return, you will tell me again how you don't believe. If you come back.

[kit7en]

The photographer

Hello. It's been a long time. Too long, as someone may say. Do you remember the last story? No ? Too bad. But tonight I will tell you a story about someone I've met. Or I haven't . You will tell me. After.

Do you have a candle ? Yes ? I am flattered that you've remembered. Light it. Now, lets turn the lights off and begin…

The autumn has come. The trees are golden, the sunlight fades early. The time is perfect for photos. Once upon a time… no. Not like this. Once, it doesn't matter when, there was a girl. She lived in a small town near the sea. Her name is not important . I will call her number 1. Why number one ? I will tell you . Someday . Maybe. She loved photography. The play of light and shadow, the colours. But she , as every artist, had a weakness. Sin, you may call it. Her deadly sin was Pride. She looked at the photos as a challenge, not an art. She believed that she could make the best photos, but she didn't know what a good photo meant. Not really. For her it wasn't about capturing a moment and saving it for the future. No, it was about showing a technique, an understanding of the camera and it's qualities. People liked her photos, but there was something missing. The art was missing a soul.

First she didn't believe it. Her photos were professional, she had had courses, she had studied photography. But when she looked at her artworks, she noticed that they truly were empty. Staged. So she decided to do something, to give life to her photos.

. . . . . . .


Have you ever heard the superstition that a camera may catch your soul ? Yes ? Do you believe it ? That's what I thought . In the age of digital cameras and science progress it is just stupid to believe that a photo is evil. Right ? Let me ask you something else. If a stranger with a camera , a cute girl in her late teens, approaches you and asks you to take a photo, what are you going to say ? Will you deny ? Some may agree, some may not. But I should warn you. In the local newspaper there are a lot of suicide articles recently. Young people, who loved their live, who had a lot of friends and no secrets. People, that no one would ever consider suicide victims. They just start to wither one day. They lose will to live, lose desire to do anything. And the final phase is …the end. Only one girl left a letter. There she described her reasons.
She said that she dreamt. She was locked behind glass in a dark room. There were other people in the room. Put behind framed glass ,they were trying to escape. But it was pointless.
Her next words confirmed the suspicion that she had gone insane. She said that the other people were on pictures. Some were in the woods and looked like something was chasing them. She wrote that they banged onto the glass, screaming and pleading. Others were indoors. In something that looked like a classroom, in a cafeteria, in a nightclub. But they all had something in common – they were terrified and were trying their hardest to break the glass. Or at least this is what she wrote. Nobody believed that the letter was something more than a mad writing of a person too deep in his own fantasies.

Three months and more that fifty deaths in the whole area later another letter was found. The writer had drowned – jumped from the highest cliff right into the sea. It was July. While everyone was on the beach, one young woman has taken her own life. The really disturbing thing about her death was the letter she had left. It was signed and put in a envelope. The accept was the woman's best friend. The letter begged her not to allow anyone to photograph her. And if this was not disturbing enough, she wrote about the reason behind her actions. It was the dream of being in a forest and feeling the dread of something coming. Something bad. And all she could do was to try to break the glass in front of her.

She had been in this forest .There she had met a girl with a camera who had asked her to take a photo of her in the woods.

In the dream in front of her was a framed glass with a girl behind it. She was screaming. Three months earlier the girl behind the glass in front of her had stopped fighting. She had become a photo.

The police never announced the connections between the suicides. They spoke with friends and relatives, and found out that every single one had had similar dreams. Shared dreams.

Five years later the deaths had stopped. Or everyone thinks so. There are still the usual number of depressed teenagers that jump from balconies or swallow too many pills. All over the country.

I will let you make conclusions. Just do me a favour. Take your own photos. Otherwise you don't know where the copies are kept. Or who is keeping them.

Good night. And before you go to bed, think about every photo of you that is owned by someone else. Are you sure that all you've left there is an image, or it is something a little more ?

Sleep tight.

[kit7en]

The night

It was a night like no other…

It was a night like no other, but at the same time, just like every other. Just like tonight. Welcome.

How are you tonight ? Well ? I am glad. Come into the library. The story I am going to tell you is not a horror. Or maybe it is. I will let you decide. I will just light this candle… Now. Where were we…


. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

It was a night just like every other. The sky was dark ,the wind was cold, the streets were empty. Typical February night. Well, at least as typical as they come. It was truly cold outside, nut everything was where it was supposed to be – under the covers, under the empty ceiling or under the stormy sky.
It was a night just like every other. The town of Dobrich was sleeping peacefully. It was not a really big town. It was not even interesting. There was no crime in Dobrich – people were too busy to escape from it to have time for crimes. Just the occasional drunk or a car accident. It is a place, where if you hear scratching on the window in the middle of the night, you know there’s nothing to be afraid of. The elemental fear is there, yes, but you know that in Dobrich there just aren’t any crazy killers, evil ghosts or the crazy ghosts of evil killers. So you just go to sleep.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

It was a night just like every other. It was the 24th of February. It was yesterday. Nobody actually knows what happened that night. Just random people saw, heard or felt random things.
One girl was sitting in front of her computer. She was basically doing nothing, when she heard scratching from the window next to her. She calmly stood to open the door – it was her cat’s signal to let it enter. When the girl opened the door, she saw that the window was empty and the cat was nowhere to be seen. She shrugged and went back into the house. Things like this happened. The wind could do almost everything. But when an hour later this had happened three times more, she got a little scared. No. That’s a lie. She got terrified. A person who did believe in ghosts but who knew that she hadn’t done anything to anger one, she refused to look at the window. On the fifth time she went to bed. On the sixth she stared blindly at the TV screen until she heard a faint mewing sound. She got out of the covers slowly and opened the door. The cat entered the house and went to eat. The girl went back to bed, desperately trying to forget. To forget what, she wasn’t sure, but it was imperative.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Another girl was going home from a bar. She was walking alone, cursing herself for not taking the offer of her friends. She could have gotten a cab with them, but she lived close and didn’t want to waste her money. Now she was cold and angry. The terror hadn’t come. Yet. While she was walking, she felt the weird compulsion to look at one of the glass windows of the shops. And when she did, she stopped in her tracks. Behind her, on the opposite sidewalk, there was a giant black fox. The thing looked big as a wolf and the way it was staring was worrying the girl. She slowly turned … and there was absolutely nothing behind her. She started walking again. A little faster. She could see her door with the light on. The last meters she ran. Opened the door, flew into the house and shut the door. Breathing heavily, she leaned on the door. Bathing quickly, she went to bed. That night she dreamt about big golden eyes on a big furry face. The… thing… was chasing her. She woke up with a scream three hours later.
When the clock hit half past six in the morning, she got out of the bed. Since she’d woken up at two o’clock, she hadn’t slept anymore. She couldn’t remember her dream, but she remembered the terror. And those eyes…

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

And these weren’t the only cases. People told their friends about rats in houses where the hadn’t been any rats before. The animals had been huge. And they had been doing nothing except for the staring. Others claimed that a big bird had stood on their window through the whole night. Enormous dogs, howls echoing in the parks, owls, eagles and ravens, looking through the windows. Big mice, running from room to room…

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Nobody really knows what happened that night. It didn’t reach the news, internet forums or even the local newspaper. The people didn’t fit in any category – boys and girls, children and adults, people, living in houses and flats. This has never happened before. And everyone hopes, secretly, that it won’t happen again.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

What really happened ? I do not know. Really, I don’t. I just tell the story. But, a piece of advice. Because it is not clear what happened or why happened or when it will happen again, just, do something for me. Lock the doors, cover the windows and, whatever you do, do not go out of the bed if you hear the cat scratching on the floor, the dog barking or the canary flapping its wings. Because we know that you do not really have a pet. I know it. You know it. Now. And you will know it then. So be a smart person, cover your head and try to sleep.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Good night. Sleep well…

[kit7en]

The dinner

Dedicated to all who were there with me.


Hello. The night is amazing, isn’t it ? Spring is coming and the night air is warm and sweet. Lovely. You wonder why I called you here instead of a dark room ? Because of the weather. Tonight we will walk around the town centre. Why ? Oh, I will tell you a story. It happened in a warm spring night just like tonight…

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They are late. Two girls are standing in front of a hotel, waiting. It’s been more than fifteen minutes and the others still haven’t come. The reservation may expire and then what they are going to do ? All restaurants are booked, that’s why they had to reserve a table here. But at least it’s not cold – it’s the first warm night this March, even this year. It’s a celebration. People are everywhere – the centre is full of women , carrying flowers and presents, formally dressed and laughing. It is a beautiful night. The girls are dressed formally, too. With dresses and make up, they are lovely. And annoyed. They are supposed to be twelve, not only two. So, they are standing in the perfumed night, waiting. At last another girl comes. Now at least they will go and take their places in the restaurant. The stairway is narrow and dark. Marble. There is a mirror . And nothing else.
They reach the hall. It is big and well-lit . The tables are covered in white tablecloths, there are glasses and silverware, the napkins are beautifully folded. But something is in the air…

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They are the youngest there. Every single person in the hall is over forty, even fifty years old. This is a nightmare ! But, as they sit, they realize something – there are more men in there than women. And today is the celebration of the woman. Who brings their husband to her night with the girls…women…girls…whatever ? They should be alone, drinking and talking about the male strippers they are going to see, not sit and talk with their men. Weird.
But the real horror begins with the music. Really, who likes that ? Except, obviously, everyone here. But of course, since they are all over forty, they would know these songs.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Three hours later the girls are bored. They’ve already eaten their food, the singer is singing old rock-and-roll. Or maybe disco. They don’t know anymore.
- God, I can’t wait for midnight to come. – One of the girls says. They all agree. In the well-lit room the time seems motionless. They are waiting for midnight, because then they will leave for the club. But midnight isn’t coming.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The music doesn’t stop, the dancers don’t tire. Food and drinks keep coming, but nobody’s leaving.
- It’s like we’re in another dimension. Like in one of those films where we will dance here forever.
- Let’s go out for another smoke. I need it.
- Is it midnight ?
- No…

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The little town is an interesting place. Even it the mall there are closed shops, which makes the third floor a rather creepy place . There are flourishing shops in the small neighbourhoods and in the center there are abandoned buildings. Weird, really. So, do you see this tall structure ? Once, this was the best hotel in town. Weddings, celebrities, everything happened there. And what do you see now ? Exactly. Broken windows, shutters and graffiti. It’s been this way for years. But sometimes there are lights. There aren’t shutters, there are lacy curtains. Music can be heard. In a night like that you can enter the lobby – it won’t be locked. On the reception there will be a pleasant woman who will greet you. She will invite you to stay. You might even go to the second floor and see the celebration hall and the piano bar. There will be music and dancing people. But , if this ever happens to you, do me favour, would you ? Do not enter . Just turn around and leave the hotel. Or , better, run. Do not turn back.
Because the hotel was shut down years ago because of some unhappy clients. They couldn’t stand the rooms, the hall, the restaurant . Couldn’t explain why, though. There isn’t a single person there now. Homeless people avoid the place. Because there have been seen people entering the hotel since it shut. Formally dressed, carrying flowers and presents. Laughing and talking. But none of them have been seen leaving.
I will share a secret with you. There are still some empty tables in the restaurant. There a still vacancies in the hotel. And there a still nights when it looks like the hotel is remembering rather vividly the old days.
If you enter, the staff will be polite, the food – great, the wine – fine, the rooms – clean. Do something for me – do not enter.

[kit7en]

The Dream

To all who are scared to fall asleep… and believe nightmares are only dreams.




Today the spring began but it is still cool outside. So come in. You know where to put your coats. Welcome, welcome. I’ve already lit the candle. Sit, have a cookie. We should be comfortable. Before I begin, I would like to ask you a question. What is the scariest place you’ve ever been ? The most … disturbing. An abandoned asylum ? Have you ever been in an asylum ? No ? That’s what I’ve thought. No, really. Think. What ? Ah, yes. A hospital.
Hospitals are uncanny. Alarming. Unsettling. They have an air of death, that can be found in graveyards, too. The difference is that hospitals are closed, there are walls and doors and shadows. In cemeteries at least there is open air. You can breathe and except for the graves there aren’t many places something can crawl from. And the calm. Graveyards are quiet, calm and peaceful. Hospitals are not. Even during the day they are not a good place to hand out. And let’s not forget the empty hallways. There you expect absolutely everything to come and grab you. And at night…
Do not wander in a hospital during the night. You do not know where you would end up. And trust me, none of the places is nice. But let’s begin with the story…

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

She was seventeen. She was tall, not very strong, but still. And she was fighting for her life. Well, actually, she knew she wasn’t. She wasn’t a good sleeper but at least sometimes she knew when she was dreaming. Then she would try to wake up. And usually succeeded. But tonight the nightmare was just beginning…
She was fighting. And desperately trying to wake up. And failing. The dream was one of these she knew. They were holding her, trying to make her do something. Trying to inject her. Because, she knew, nothing good happened then. She screamed, but there wasn’t enough air. And they were holding her so tightly ! It was dark, all she could see were lights. All she could hear were her screams. Eventually the screams died , but she kept trying. She could hear herself praying. Begging. And them talking. They tried to suffocate her with something, tried to cut off her air. She struggled again. And screamed…

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She woke up. They were still there, still around her. Sometimes in her dreams she knew who they were, but not tonight. They tried to put something around her face again but she didn’t let them. More screams. She blacked out again…

She woke up again. People talking. Ropes. Sheets… She suddenly realized that she was naked. Completely naked and tied to a bed. And that… thing…was over her face again. Tiny movement. Black out…

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She woke up. In her memory there was a conversation. She had talked with one of them about… her gym teacher ? The woman had said that her son was in the girl’s school and asked her if she liked it. The girl had complained a little about the teacher and then… Nothing. She looked around – darkness. And a baby crying. Glass walls everywhere. People, or at least she thought they were people. The baby quieted. The silence was deafening.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

She was sleeping. In her dream. Something was wrong but she couldn’t place it. Her nightmares were usually clear, but this one was blurry and broken. So she listened…

- They were going to break her fingers ! That nurse was trying to open them so hard that even the doctor noticed. Thank God she didn’t lock the door this time. What ? The doctor said that if we were even ten minutes late, it would’ve been over. Already her brain had shut out. Now? She woke up several times but is still unfocused. Tried to fight the nurses. If something had happened to her. Yes. In our own bathroom ! Who would’ve thought about suffocation ! Boiler explosion, yes, but our boiler was new. But to poison herself with carbon dioxide…And the doctors asked if she could’ve tried to kill herself …


. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Sometimes dreams are, well, dreams. But sometimes they aren’t. So be careful. And good night…

[kit7en]

The Violet Tulip

Dedicated to Gabby, whose desire to see more of my stories brought so much of them to life.

Hello. And welcome. Come in, please. Have a seat. The newspapers ? I am doing a research on a killer. One of the most unpopular killers in history. Who ? The Violet Tulip, of course. You haven’t heard of her ? Really ? I am not surprised. In this case, I will tell you her story tonight. If you like. Yes ? Okay. So let’s begin…

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Night. Cold, dark night. Not a whisper of wind, not a sound of footsteps. Clouds, obscuring the full moon. Heavy, warm air. A lone street lamp blinking, its light bringing out shadows that best be left alone. Sudden flap, a raven scream. And deafening silence again. Pair of eyes, blinking for a moment and disappearing in the darkness. Gloom, so think it could be touched. No dogs’ howls. No cats’ meows. Nothing.
Pulse. Loud in the ears, pounding in the chest. Breath, coming heavily and quickly, threatening to choke. Footsteps, quick and urgent, hurrying to escape. Barren street, dark windows. Empty shops, looming above. Unclear silhouettes, shifting and disappearing in the shadows. Static air, static time, no motion.
Suddenly, a plant. A pretty violet tulip, just thrown on the street. Like rubbish. A figure bending to pick it, a figure standing to pull. A rope, a gush of air, tense moments and then nothing. Just darkness…
A cemetery. People crying, a mother staring blankly in the coffin. Lots of people. The dead was young, just out of teenage. The photo shows smiling girl with dimples. The day is dark, the flowers many. Roses, carnations, daisies. The mood is heavy, the coffin is taken down. The police are astonished, the doctors – amazed, the parents – devastated. In the chest, beneath the breastbone, a violet tulip has been placed. There isn’t almost any trace from the surgery. Only a thin, invisible white line between the girl’s breasts. But is looks healed, like years had passed after the operation. And she’s been gone for a week. It just isn’t possible. And the flower is fresh. Somehow the flesh surrounding it hadn’t ruined it, hadn’t stuck to the delicate petals. The killer is obviously a scientist, a surgeon. A person with sure hand and lack of scruples. Someone, who would be irreplaceable in the operation room, but now is loose on the population. The details about the murder are hidden, nobody learns anything, the case is visibly closed, but a few detectives continue working on it. In their free time, of course.
A year passes. Fifty-one more victims are found. The only evidence that the Violet Tulip has struck is that after the burial, on the next day, a violet tulip appears next to all the flowers left by the mourners. All of the victims share the flower in the ribcage, all lack clear evidence of the operation. The police are terrified. The general population has no idea that a killer is on the loose, that a hunter is free. And enjoying it. The flowers can’t be traced, there are too many gardens in the town. The victims don’t share any trait – sex, age, looks, interests. Everyone is a suspect and everyone is a possible victim. The police had tried everything – watching the cemeteries, looking for surgeons with the right skills, even looking for tulip gardens. Nothing.
One day a woman appears in the police station. She wants to talk to the detectives working on the case. Since nobody knows there is a case, she is quickly taken to an interrogation room. She claims being the killer. The officers are amazed. After fifty-two kills the killer surrenders. She gives details about the murders that nobody could know. Only the real killer. She looks ordinary, speaks ordinarily, smiles slightly. They take her to a cell and leave her. She is going to be sued tomorrow.
But she isn’t. In the morning she is found hung on a rope in the tiny room. Not possible since there aren’t any ropes in the rooms. The bed sheets aren’t touched, the walls aren’t touched, the water isn’t touched. At noon an autopsy is made. The killer is just a young woman. Nothing unusual. The detectives are present to the opening of the body and the whole procedure. The killer is left in the metal boxes they keep the corpses in. The body is going to be buried. And it is. Everyone, who knows about the serial killer, is watching. They know her face now, will remember it forever. It is over.
On the grave there aren’t any flowers the officers leave one by one. They gather right to the gates of the cemetery. Suddenly one of them remembers that he’d forgotten his sunglasses. He returns to pick them. And gets back to his colleagues, running. They return to the grave. A single violet tulip is left there. Later the coffin is pulled and opened. The body is missing. And everyone has seen the autopsy. A procedure that is impossible to be survived.
The same night. A woman is walking down her street. Her husband is a detective and he’s warned her not to wander outside. But the killer is caught now, she knows. Her man told her so. And the night is so lovely…Oh, a flower. A violet tulip. Who would’ve left something pretty on the street ? She looks left, then right, and bents to pick it up. It is the last thing she sees.

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Every single friend or relative of the police officers who have hunted for the killer the violet tulip dies. Every person they become even a little close with dies of some kind of natural cause soon. But they know. They know that if they open the chest, they will find a flower.
Years have passed. Decades. The heirs of the detectives suffer. Ninety years after the first kill their friends are dying. It can’t be escaped. No matter where they are, no matter what they are doing. She always catches them.

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So be careful with your friends. Because the children and grand-children of the police officers tried to escape, now the are all over the globe. You can’t know of the shop assistant you meet today isn’t one of them. All that is know is that death follows them. Or, maybe not death, but the Violet Tulip. Sleep well.

[kit7en]

The escape

Dedicated to those who know where the true fear hides…

Hello. Tonight we will change the atmosphere a little. Do you know what is this building? The one behind us ? No ? Oh, I forgot. You’re not from here. Do you want to know ? Okay. But first, let’s enter the gardens. Close the iron door, please. Thank you. And here is the candle. Sit and listen…

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Behind us is the town hospital. We have only one. The two buildings here are the new and the old hospital, both on them still running. The one over there is the yellow hospital. It is not yellow, you say ? It is the town asylum. And yes, some nights, like this, it is really quiet here. The wards are closed, no visitors are allowed and the darkness is the only thing that wanders these alleys. Many years ago, a big part of the wards stayed closed not only during the night, but the day, too. No one could enter. Or leave. Do you like this park ? No ? Why ? Oh, of course. Because it is part of the hospital. But let me tell you something. Everything you have to fear in a hospital stays there. The things that haunt its halls do not leave them. The garden is safe. But I wouldn’t go to these trees over there, the ones that connect the buildings. Also, do not go behind the hospitals. Because nobody has ever tried to escape through the front door. But this is only the outside. Imagine the inside.
You haven’t been here before, so you do not know, but our hospital is just like every other. It could be just another one and you probably won’t notice any difference.

Inhale…

The new hospital has ten floors. Wide and narrow halls, wide and narrow staircases, working and out-of-order elevators. The floor depends on the patient’s disease. But the smell everywhere is the same. Chemical, but also organic. Like something that died recently. Too recently. You try not to breathe deeply, because it may enter your lungs and never leave. The halls are empty, they are always empty. Even in the busiest time a hospital is never crowded. The walls are supposed to be white, but years have passed and the plaster in falling. The floors are not shiny, they’ve never been, but they are smooth and slippery.

Exhale…

There isn’t anyone in the halls, but the silence is absent. There are light footsteps that sound like the person is just around the corner. Of course, there isn’t anyone there. Somewhere a baby is crying. The child floor is five storeys beneath you, you can’t hear it from here. And the breathing. Heavy, deep breathing, like someone is right behind you. There isn’t anyone. You are alone. But even though the doors are locked up and the windows are closed for the night, there is wind in the halls. It moves the stench in the air and touches your face with cold, ghostly fingers.

Inhale…

This is when you here the whispers. Not crying, not screaming, but whispers. Faint, barely-there, too low to understand but lout enough to hear. White walls, empty halls.

Exhale…

The light is almost absent. Most of the bulbs have burnt long ago. The hall feels narrow, tight, almost claustrophobic. It forces you to take a deep breath, but the air can’t reach your lungs. Suddenly you realize something. This is a dream! You’ve had it for years. The thing that chases you changes the field, but you know it. And you know you can escape it. You just have to wake up.

Inhale…

You try to open your eyes, but you can’t. Because they aren’t closed. Still, you can run. Then the alarm will ring and the nightmare will be over. So you have to run. Run until the morning comes. Now that you have a plan you should be able to breathe easier.

Exhale…

A scream. It rips through the halls and the echo vibrates into your bones. More shouts. Other sounds. Other people ! You have to find them. You don’t know why, but the urgency, that is always present in your nightmares, is there. All you can do is run. And don’t look back. Because if you do, IT may see you.

Inhale…

Wide corridor and an elevator. Salvation! No. No, you can’t enter it. The murmurs are getting louder, getting closer, you can almost make out the words. They are always there, on the border of your consciousness, in the corner of your dreams.

Exhale…

Your footsteps are the louder sound around. Suddenly, they are the only sound around. Stairs! Wide and slippery. You run. One, two, three… ground floor! Empty. Barren. Not a single soul. And outside – freedom. Only one door. One more. You run, but your body is heavy, you can’t lift your legs.

Inhale…

You fall to the ground. You try to reach towards freedom. The park is dark, but once outside these walls you could scream. There are people living near the hospital, taxi drivers, even the shop-assistants. A noise from the left! You try to turn your head, to see IT, but you can’t. You eyes are wide open, but your body is paralyzed. More sounds, but they are far away. You try to open the eyes you know are already opened. And then, a dark shadow. Light hall. You room. You are safe.

Exhale…

And somewhere in the left building, the yellow hospital, the asylum, a group of doctors are pushing a bed through the halls. A body is strapped tightly to it. It doesn’t move. It doesn’t like it’s even breathing. “ This is the third time this week. She’s been doing it too often. What are we going to do ?’ “ Tie her. Increase her medications. Change them, if you have to. You remember what she did ? All the people she killed ? Do you want her loose ? Change the doses, change the drugs, tie her. No more wandering in the halls. She won’t leave her bed, because she will be strapped to in for the rest of her life. And we will pray that she won’t escape, because if she does, we are all doomed.”

Inhale…

Exhale…

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We all feel relief when we wake up from a nightmare. But sometimes we have to wonder which one is the actual reality ? Good night and sleep well.

[kit7en]

The Resort

Well, hello. Haven’t seen each other for a while. How are you ? Okay. Tonight we will stay outside. The yard is big enough. Why ? Because the night is so beautiful, the air is warm and the stars are bright. And the quiet. It is so quiet on this street. I know I have been away for some time, but tonight I will tell you the story of the Resort. And before you ask, no, no one has died there and there isn’t a killer just hiding and waiting patiently for the perfect opportunity. It isn’t like that. Then what, you ask? Just listen…
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………… ……………………………………….
The story of this resort began about five years ago. Please, light the candle. Thank you. Have you heard of Kavarna? No? That’s what I thought. Since you are not from here, you probably haven’t. It is a really small town on the beach and, if not for the rock fests every summer, it would’ve been completely forgotten. The concerts haven’t started yet, so now it is quiet and calm. Just like tonight. Most of the town is made of small streets with houses. Big yards, high fences. If you walk on one in the dark part of the day, you probably won’t meet anyone. Only the occasional dog will bark or a cat will call from the darkness. But do you know what is the disturbing ? You will not be able to see them. Not the dogs, not the cats and not the people. Only the sounds of the night coming from the unknown place where the fears hide. Where your fears hide. And wait…
But tonight I will not tell you the story of the small streets that only look deserted. And I will not tell you the story of the high cape on the beach where the cliffs are told to be red with the blood of the girl who slipped and caught herself but couldn’t reach. No, tonight I will tell you about the unfinished buildings that could be seen if you go to the beach by one of the routes.
I have been there. I saw it. It is a disturbing place. A few years ago some companies decided that the rock concerts will bring a lot of tourists, so hotels had to be made. And they were right. The people came, but they didn’t want to stay in a hotel. Even though the buildings were going to face the lovely view of the sea and the cliffs, no one actually wanted to stay there. And since Kavarna is between two high cliffs, one of them is now covered with the skeletons of buildings, with black, gaping windows and dark, uninviting doors. They are grey, with unfinished roofs and dangerous walls. A lot of nails and bricks have fallen since the beginning, but the buildings aren’t taken down. They stay there, a silent reminder of people’s stupidity and greed. A whole hill of them. When you drive at night and look that way… you do not want to look that way. Trust me.
Why, you would ask. I will tell you. There are …not exactly legends, but rumours. Town legends. People have sworn that they had seen lights in the hotels. Some even said that at least one of the unfinished hotels had been working when they looked at it. With cars and people and lights. And music. And not because it had been home to a group of homeless. And this is impossible since there isn’t a single finished hotel. I have seen it myself. What is interesting ? The only ones who had seen this are tourists. None of the locals have noticed something unusual. For them the hill is always dark, the corpses of unclear dreams standing proud. And quiet.
But the same locals have another rumour. They say that it is possible for the hotels to look good for the tourists. The legend says that nobody actually died there, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t ghosts. A murder never occurred but that doesn’t mean there hadn’t been a death. Spirits are said to wander these halls but they haven’t belonged to anyone. Even if you see a human on the window and know he isn’t actually there, he hadn’t found his end there. So what had happened, you ask? Ghosts without pasts, spirits without lives. It is not possible. Right ?
Wrong. If you see a child on one of the windows and behind it there is light, you know that the child isn’t real. But what about the light ? What about the music ? What about the cars and the luggage and…What about it ? Let me answer. There hadn’t been a murder but there had been deaths. A person never found his demise there, then what happened ?
These are the ghosts of people’s dreams. Of imagined guests and staff and rooms and food. And light. And music. The only thing that died there was a dream. And every single person, bag and car you see, they have never been there. They have never been anywhere. The only place they have been alive is the builder’s mind. And the builders believed so much, wanted so much, that they gave life to their dreams. And then left them to rot.
If you go in Kavarna, do not look at the unfinished hotels. They may look alive or they may look dead. It doesn’t matter. They may call you or they may sit there, strange and distant. Do not go. Because it isn’t a person that haunts these halls, but a dream. A whole world has died there. The hotels are always disturbingly dark. But for you they may not be. They may be inviting. Do me a favour ? Do not yourself be fooled. It’s for your own good.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………… …………………………………….
Kavarna is a great place to live. Really. It is quiet and calm, perfect for children. The beach is good, the sea is calm. But do not let yourself be led astray. Don’t. Because in nights just like tonight, when the mood is high, the stars are bright and streets are devoted of sounds, this is when the spirits wander. And tempt. And take.

[kit7en]

The Room

Well, hello. Come on in, do not stay on the doorstep. It may be summer, but the nights are cool. Tonight we will not be outside as the story will be better in the dark, quiet room. Pick a seat, light a candle and let’s begin…

Tonight I will tell you a real story. It has truly happened and not even a bit of fantasy has been used in it.

Imagine a hostel. One of those dark, gloomy places, where you can find rats, cockroaches but not a decent bathroom. Now imagine a suite. It is quite big, with a lot of beds and basically nothing else. But this apartment is not like the ones you’re used to seeing. The air itself tastes…wrong.
The photos in the ad show a lovely painted walls with flowers, leaves and butterflies. The whole hostel is supposed to be dedicated to art. An amazing garden, the ad continues, bright rooms, fine furniture, welcome drinks and a big bar. And the pictures… like the gardens of the Versailles. Now imagine, on top of that, that a friend, a classmate, has recommended the place as she had stayed there many times and can guarantee for the staff, suites and service. And even though you know it is hostel and it’s not supposed to be good, you expect only the best.
Did you imagined that ? Good. Now…
Imagine that you finally arrive. You have walked around the city for hours and all you want is a decent food and a long shower. Well, you know that in your group there are twelve people, but surely you will be in separate rooms and only a three, maximum four people, would have to share a bathroom. And then you walk into the lobby. The first thing you see is the darkness. The whole room is dark. Maybe there’s nobody there. Maybe that’s why the lights are turned off. But no, the receptionist, a young man with tired eyes and shaggy hair, is right where he’s supposed to be. You walk further in the room. And then you see the posters. A closer look lets you recognize some celebrities, but their faces are twisted and stretched until the point of grotesques. These are not caricatures, you are sure. They are not funny, no, they are ugly. Disturbing. Big-eyed, long-toothed, with snakes and rats in their hair. They may be works of art, but for some reason you can’t look at them for long. They don’t exactly creep you out, but you move away from the walls. The shells behind the desk are covered in trinkets and postcards. Souvenirs. The receptionist even asks if someone would like to buy something. But they give the same air as the posters. You take your ID from the man and walk away. In your mind you are running as fast as you can, but there is no real reason to feel threatened, so that kind of behavior would look odd. Still, the keys are given and the whole group heads for their rooms.
Oh, did I say “rooms” ? My mistake. As you enter the only door on the third floor, you see that there won’t be separate rooms. A corridor and three bedrooms, with more than six beds each. And only one bathroom. But you can do it. At least everybody has a bed, there are more than ten vacant ones and hey, there are pictures on the walls. You think that the lobby was just in a different art style. On first glance everything is fine.
And then you focus on the details. In the three rooms there aren’t radiators – only two electric heaters. The drawings on the walls look like enormous eyes and animals, walked out of the nightmares of a horror writer. And the only plant looks… tortured. Yellow, dry and covered in ants, it is the last accent of the room. Suddenly someone shouts. You and your classmates run into the other bedroom and see that while their wall aren’t painted with eyes and rabbits, that remind you of that film Donnie Darko, they have texts. Lots and lots of hand-written texts in every colour and script. Some of them are in your language. You read them but they don’t make any sense. Just random words thrown together. The others you are afraid to read. Or try to – you have never seen such language. The bedrooms make you shiver so you and your friends go in the corridor of the suite. It is a big, square room with two cupboards and a mattress. Yes, the graffiti over the bathroom sink look like demon summoning, but it’s for one night. You will survive. And then you turn around. The picture, hanging above the front door of the suite, terrifies you. The people around you try do understand what’s on it, but nobody is sure. There is a man’s face with a creepy smirk on the front. Behind him you can see another man and a woman. It is not clear what they are doing but the woman seems scared. And everything in covered in gray and yellow mist. It is not a picture you would hang in your room, for sure.
The whole group goes out to eat. You are thinking about making a party in one of the bedrooms when you go back. But when you do, you forget everything. The garden is full of people. Drunk or drugged, you really can’t decide. But they look at the group with blank eyes and open mouths and you can’t wait to go into your room and hide. The teacher, who is with you, says that nobody will leave the suite, no matter what happens. Some of your classmates wanted to go out and buy more alcohol, but they have changed their minds. And the party begins…
About midnight the first scream is heard – one of the girls swears that she had seen the weird picture over the bathroom sink moving. You want to laugh at her imagination. You really do. Because the whole group knows that pictures do not move. They just don’t. And if she has been scared after a little too much whiskey, well, it is not a reason for ten people to panic. Right ? RIGHT ?
Of course it isn’t. But no matter how much you wish to wave off her words as nonsense, something is stopping you. You just can’t sit in this hostel, stare at these walls, remember the other guests and their empty stares, and say that she just imagined the whole episode. Because, make no mistake, you want to, but that ... fear that you feel is stopping you. And suddenly you can’t breathe, your mind is filled with one word – ESCAPE ! You are reaching for the door before you’ve even realized what are you doing. Everyone is watching you, but not with confusion. No, it is fear that you read in their eyes. Fear, that has seeped into your flesh and bones until you can’t tell nightmare and reality apart. Until you struggle to breathe, to stay straight, TO LIVE !
Without a word the whole group goes to bed. But not the way you chose first. No, instead of occupying the whole apartment, you bundle in the biggest room. A few beds are being shared, the lights are being turned off. Not word is being said. All you can hear is ...

SILENCE !

As the clock reaches seven in the morning the whole group is leaving the hostel. The keys are left on the reception and the baggage is being carried without a sound. Judging by the faces you are not the only one who hasn’t slept. Because you haven’t. At all.
On the train the whole group quietly shares what has happened to them. Nobody has risen – they have stayed awake, tucked tightly in bed, covered in cheap, stinky blankets. No one has dared to move. But they all have seen – drawings in the walls have changed between glances, shadows have run in the small, too-high mirrors, plastic glasses have been turned. And the cigarettes, the one that had been extinguished, have smoked, their tiny lights making everyone hide their eyes in fear that the ROOM would notice them.


Nowadays the hostel is still open – the story I told you tonight happened this March. The website is lovely, the people who had stayed there say that they could’ve not picked a better place. But I know better. And tonight you know better. But why, you are going to ask, is everyone happy, but this group ? I can’t say. All I know is that they never went to the bar in the basement, never took a welcome drink and never spend the night partying with the other guests. So maybe this way they made something unhappy. Or someone. Or maybe they drank too much.

Remember, never trust it when someone tells you that a room or a hotel is haunted. But, do me a favour. Never believe it when they tell you it isn’t. Be careful and always be ready to leave in a hurry. Oh, and one last thing – a hotel doesn’t have to be a disgusting, stinky place with roaches and rats to be ... occupied. So be prepared. And just a little scared – it hasn’t hurt anyone.

Sleep well and may your dreams be lucid. I will wait ...

[kit7en]

The Librarian

To all who had barely escaped it.

Please come in. I have lit the candle so you just have to pick a pillow. Tonight we will sit on the floor and listen to the rain. And tell stories. Many of you will say that my tale is pure imagination, but I hope that at least a few with think. And remember…

Do you know that all libraries and most of the book stores are connected? No? Have you ever had the feeling that all shelves are the same and you are running in circles, looking for an exit? I hope you have. Because that would mean that you are able to feel the books. To touch their true nature. The problem ? Their nature isn’t all bright and good. Their power has another side. Just like a coin. But not to bore you.

All libraries and most of the book stores are connected. It is a fact. There are stories about people who had lost their way between the shelves in the town library and have seen centuries – old books just sitting where a wall should’ve been. Where they knew a wall has been. These stories, although true, has never reached the news. The only way we hear about them are the phone calls. Because if someone loses their way these days, he or she calls friends, family, mate. And these people talk. They worry, they wait despite knowing there is no hope. Sometimes the police looks for the missing one, sometimes they find a reason not to, but the results are always the same – nothing. And the weirdest thing ? Nobody, not a person or a camera, have records of the missing person entering the room, whether it’s a store or a library. The only link between the cases is that the people who disappear have gone to the institution before. Book worms, book lovers, passionate readers. People ,who know the books, who feel their magic and are tempted by the idea of knowledge. All of them.
But what actually happens ? The myth says that books have power. Magic. The words carry feelings and memories. The sentences whisper dreams and nightmares. Many words together make a powerful object. Many powerful objects together make a separate world. A world that exists like a spider web in ours – to reach to real places and connect them, trapping every being not careful enough to get sucked in. And just like a web there is no escape.
Getting there is easy and hard at the same time. It’s impossible to do it on purpose. And you should be a special type of person. When people enter the Library, they know it. Maybe a minute, maybe a few hours after they get between the shelves. The sign ? They can’t find the way back. Because there isn’t one. The corridors can lead to every library in every time. Ever. Time doesn’t matter to the books, it only gives them more personality. They don’t really age and if not moved often enough they begin to be a part of the corridor, shelf or locker. Suddenly the space can’t exist the same way without them. And then they begin to weave energy.
But who controls all of this, you would ask. Well, who controls the Library ? The Librarian, of course. Nobody has actually seen him, or at least told about it. But it is a known fact. The Librarian cares about the books and they are the only ones that are important. He is a part of the Library and it is a part of him. How I know he is a male ? There are… rumours. About people who have felt presence behind them. Or heard male breathing and steps. How could they live and tell that ? Because the Librarian doesn’t wander only in the Library. No, he walks to the very ends of the spider web, to every room, shelf and book, and cares for them. So, yes, he can be behind the book you are reaching for. And yes, he can be in office, touching your books, turning enormous blind eyes towards you with anger and contempt, because you could care better for your books. You know it and the worse thing ? He knows it, too.
And once you’re lost ? That’s it. There are no exits, no doors, no walls. There isn’t a room or a building. If you need something, you find it on your way, just sitting there. Because only the book lovers enter the real Library, the Librarian cares for them, too. Like his precious books, they deserve to be there. After a while you face a choice. You could just lose yourself in reading. Because in the Library exist every single book that has been written. And you could be truly happy. No cares, no bothering people, no annoying responsibilities. If you choose this, some day you may even meet others. Then you nod quietly and keep reading. Simple. But if you choose to rebel, to desert the books or try to destroy them in desire to escape, then the Librarian comes. And he doesn’t like chaos in his Library. At all. You may see other people then, but they will not see you. For them you would be a shadow in the corner of their eye, a whisper of air in their ear. And you still won’t be able to leave.

So next time, when you are in a library, go to a back row, a shelf in the corner, and try to see the books. Their memories, their emotions. If you stay still long enough you will hear the whispers, faint in the beginning, a little louder after a while. But no words. The books never speak loudly, never shout and never, ever bother the others. Try to breathe with them, to match their heartbeats. And when you feel them in your bones, try to find the door. You won’t. Stop looking. Close your eyes and seep into the soul of the Library. Done ? Now open your eyes – there he is.

The Librarian.

[kit7en]

The Violinist

Dear guests, tonight you will see my new home and will hear my new story. It is about a spider, music and something else. But first, come in. This place is smaller than the old one, but here you can feel the night in a different way. High above the street the air is colder and the whispers are so far away that you can’t hear them. Come. Tonight we will use the balcony. The candle is already lit. Have a seat and let’s begin…
The view is fascinating, isn’t it ? And all you can hear is the music of the night. You do not know what I am talking about ? Of course. On the street, in the house, near the abandoned hotel – all you can hear are the whispers. The shadows murmur hopefully, thinking you would join them. The animals of the night stalk quietly but still you can feel them. People wander, but their voices are lost in the desert of the city. Up here ? Nothing like that. No cars, no animals, not a single living soul. Up here you can listen to the night. It sings, plays and whispers. Its words slip around you almost clear enough to understand. The mist covers the city until all you can see is white.
Just after midnight, when even the cats have gone to sleep, the silky darkness starts playing. Its instruments are the hands of a little girl, pushing away the nightmares, a twitch of a cat’s tail, a breath in the leaves. And when the Lady of Night desires, they all play for her. A scream, forgotten in a moment. A moan, left unnoticed. A night flower rustling with its petals, reaching toward the moonlight. The heartbeat of the night can be heard if you listen close enough. And sometimes, only sometimes, a violin can be heard in the darkness.
The melody cannot be followed, it can’t be recorded but if you try hard enough you can guess its source. Some nights, when the sky is clear and the full moon bathes the bones of the city in its silver light, and if you stand high enough, you can see it. The mansion of thorns.
It has been here since before my time. Even before my parents’ time. It hasn’t changed through the decades. And not everyone could see it. Even less people can enter it. Nobody has left it. Because even if you could see the magnificent building from your balcony, when you go there, it would’ve disappeared. You wouldn’t be able to guess the direction, around it there are no landmarks and the forest around it can be from anywhere. And nowhere. Because there hadn’t been a forest in this city since the middle ages. And that kind of trees ? Sharp, thorny and bare, their black skeletons ghostly reaching to the stars ? They have never excised. This is the house of the Lady of the Night. There she holds her balls where souls have to dance until the end of the eternity. There she controls her orchestra of damned that play for her every night. In these halls a lone violinist wanders, looking for escape and knowing there just isn’t one.
Her name is not important. All I can tell you is that she isn’t from here. Her dress carries the signs of long ago forgotten fashion that had never existed near this country. Her dark hair is twisted in an intricate style and after a closer look you can see the spiders. They crawl through the tresses, spinning webs and catching stray hairs, keeping her perfect. In her hand there is a violin. It looks new, but it is actually older than time. It is the violin of the mistress of the mansion and when she wants music, this is her instrument. She doesn’t play, of course. And the girl can’t drop it. She had tried. Tried to burn it, to throw it away. To stop playing. But the Lady of the Night wants her entertainment. And even after the girl’s fingers are cut, her blood colouring the fine wood of the instrument, she keeps playing. Because she can’t stop. None of them could.
Each of the occupants of the mansion has followed a shadow or a spider, a stray beam of moonlight or a kitty in the darkness. And once you enter the shadows, you are not in your realm. You are in the Thorn Mansion. And She owns you. You exist only for Her pleasure. And she makes sure you know it.
In the spiked halls, between bloody tapestries and grotesque paintings, wander children and elders, men and women, travelers from every time and place. Because the world is enormous and there is night everywhere. Through time and space She collects her puppets, creating a special collection you can see right after you become a part of it. No matter if it’s summer or winter, right after midnight or four in the morning, if you are on the North Pole or in China, you can see it. Looming above cities and villages, fire and ice, storms and seas. It is there. And in the house she it waiting.
For you.
Because her collection isn’t even close to finish. And in everybody she could find a piece she wants. So be careful when you wander at night. The Thorn Mansion may look like a horror movie stage or a normal house. With thorns and spikes or rose garden and a tiny lake. With warmly opened doors or hideous gates, made of bones and vines. Inside there is a warm place to sit and a bed of nails to rest. Good food and poison that leaks up the walls and follows you with its hisses. Puppies and snakes. Red and black roses. Eternal life in the clutches of the darkness. And do not forget the spiders.
Happy Halloween and sleep well.

[kit7en]

The Ward

Dedicated to everyone who was there with me .

Well, hello. Tonight we are going to be out. The winter hasn’t come yet so we could enjoy the night air. But this is not the reason we are here. Do you know what the building behind me is ? A university. It is great but this still isn’t the reason I brought you here. Let’s sit and I will tell you the story of the dove cot.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………… ………………..
When I was little my father used to tell me something – children are evil. That’s it. They aren’t bad or pretending to play, they are evil. They haven’t learned to be something else. And there’s nothing worse that child cruelty. They are ready to do anything just to see how far they could go. This is where the adults interfere and slowly they turn into people. But when they are young, there’s nothing to stop them. And since they do can’t draw the line between good and evil, they can’t understand these concepts. Why am I telling you this ? I want you to think, just for a moment, what would happen, if there were no parents, no adults, no example. What would the children turn into ?
They would stay children.
They would grow up, but so would their desires.
Innocent, childish desires.
Desire to see how far they can go.
And when there’s no control ?
They can go
To
The
Very
End.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………… ……………………….
In this university there is a wing that is called dove cot. Or pigeon house. Nobody actually knows if there were doves there. But the rooms resemble bird cages – low-pitched roof and tiny windows. The rooms themselves are so small that all that could fit there is a desk and two chairs. Some of the teachers use them as offices. Others share so they don’t have to go into this part of the building. And I would understand them. I‘ve been there only once- it was enough. Later I talked to some senior students and they told me the story. About the ward.
This hasn’t been a university since the beginning. It used to be a small clinic near the sea. Really small, with the children wing on the top floor. The building itself was tiny which is why the corridors look like that. How, you would ask. I will tell you.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………… ……………………..
The fourth floor of the main building of the university is a little strange – green walls instead of white, wood floor instead of concrete.
/A woman talking, saying she can’t do this anymore. They are following her in her home, in her sleep. She is nurse, but she can’t stand it. She would leave. She would /
The other strange thing is the quiet. This a university. A school. But still not a sound can be heard. And it is empty. Rarely would someone cross the corridor with amazing speed for an old professor. It is weird.
/She would, but last night they called her name. Said they won’t let her. Screaming with their high pitched voices, scratching the doors, calling threats /
If you have the bad luck to need a consultation and the teacher’s office is there, I should warn you. Do not wander around on your own. Or with friends. What you should do is drag your legs a little look at the doorways and a man will show up.
/She told him about them. How she can’t stand them. How she can’t stop them. The children. And he told her not to worry, that he would go and make them behave. She wants to defend them, they ar e helpless children, but she can’t find in herself to tell him to stop. She wants them silenced/
He always does. You will recognize him by his looks. Old enough to look like he’s a professor. Just a helpful face around the university. You should ask him and he would direct you. He may even propose to take you. Do not decline.
/He went to the door and stared inside. She didn’t want to go and see. He didn’t say a thing, just looked at the patients. They returned his stare. He left. They never made a sound when they noticed him and never gave him a reason to go back. They were afraid of him/
He will take you to a staircase and point the right corridor. Listen carefully and do everything exactly the way he tells you. When you enter the corridor, it will be narrow. And white. Pristine white, like a hospital. The floor is wooden, so do not ear heels – it will feel like you are going to fall through it. No solid concrete, just linoleum over planks. Then you would reach a turn and the corridor will become ever more narrow. And there would be doors.
/She left, but came back years later. The old building had been destroyed and a university was standing there now. Big and proud. She entered and her feet took her to the fourth floor. If the clinic had been demolished, then there shouldn’t been anything left from it. But when she saw the stairs, she stopped. It is there. Every single ward had been removed, but this. She felt a presence behind her and turned carefully. It is him. The warden. With a different suit but everything else is just the same – the gentle smile, the white hair. He was still there fifty years later, looking like he hadn’t aged a day. That would mean that /
Do not stop to look at the doors. Go ahead and you will reach the office you need. Really, don’t. Because these doors were locked before the destruction. Before the evacuation. Before the clinic closed doors. They were children back then, with their young undeveloped brains and unintentional cruelty. They have seen that they could go as far as they want because there’s no one to stop them.
Of course, this is just a legend. A story. But sometimes voices can be heard from the dove cot. Small, childish voices. And they suddenly stop. After a while a man in a suit, with big smile and white hair comes out and offers to show you the way. If he directs you, they will leave you alone. Because they fear him, they always did. He is the strong man and they are just little kids. At least in their heads. About ninety years have passed since the university was built. But they are still there. In their rooms, with their toys, doing what children are best in – being evil.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………… ……………………….
So next time you visit, go to the fourth floor. Look around. And if it takes more than two minutes for the man to show up, just leave. It would be best for everyone. Because children want someone to play with them. And even though in their minds they are kids, their bodies aren’t. Their desires and passions aren’t. And they do not care.
Sleep well and do not look at narrow blank doors.

[kit7en]

The Roommate

I want to share a story. The story about my roommate. He has …
INHALE
… lived with me since I remember. Forever. My parents do not know about him. He hides when they are in the house and comes out when I’m alone. I haven’t told them about him because I have…
EXHALE
… seen what happens when something upsets him. Heard. Felt. I know him. I have even seen him. He is the …
INHALE
… reflection when I pass the mirror too fast. He is the fleshless shadow in my room. He is the intruder my cat stares at with hours. He is the presence behind me when I’m the only one in the house. And he is the one who forces my eyes to open in the middle of a nightmare. My street is a bad place to live but I know that I am safe. At least from …
EXHALE
… outer sources. He keeps me from the horrors that scratch my window late at night and prowl behind my mirror at midnight. He scares the banshees, the spirits and the familiars. And if they are stupid enough to try to enter the house… Well, I haven’t seen any remains. But I have heard the …
INHALE
…fights. And he always come out as a victor. Am I scared ? Yes. When I hear his footsteps, I panic. When I feel his eyes on my back, I freeze. When I see him with the corner of my eye in the mirror, I run. And there is …
EXHALE
no escape. How do I know that ? Believe me, I know. Because I have tried. I am at university now. Different residence, even different city. The new city ? It’s big and loud. I live on the fourth floor and this time I have a real roommate. Nice girl. And I know that he can’t be here, because I have left the house before. Once for two weeks. He never showed. So I believe he is bound to the house. But do you know what happened last night ? I saw a shadow in the mirror. A shadow that had no place there. And right now I feel his …
INHALE

[Danik 2016]

Quite an output. I read your last tale. It reminded me a bit of this story.
https://maskofreason.files.wordpress.com/2011/02/the-library-of-babel-by-jorge-luis-borges.pdf

I noticed some small verb tense mistakes.

[heartwing]

Any line edit concerns aside, I am fascinated by this. What a great voice. At first, I didn't know what was going on with the candle and whatnot and this is not a typically literary approach. In other words, there is not a context for the narrator's voice. And yet, I found I liked it. And once one is onto the next installment, one begins to understand and appreciate things about the candle and being ready to receive what the storyteller has to say and is a little chilled and spooked.

Sometimes the format may get in the way of the reader being able to more fully engage, as with the /. I wasn't quite sure what was happening and was more caught up with trying to figure it out than being engaged with the content of the story. And with the breathing - exhale and inhale - If this is literally how the storyteller is breathing some parts of this go too long without the storyteller breathing. Also, I was craving some paragraph breaks in some sections where the storyteller is speaking, the sections that use the candle.

More about the sections involving the storyteller and candle: I felt myself becoming interested with the changes in locale and subject. It seems this approach is ripe with possibility. Good job. And haunting.

[heartwing]

I hope you will post more. Thank you.