Дмитрий Леонтьев – The evil will come for you (страница 1)

Дмитрий Леонтьев

The evil will come for you

THE LIGHT

CHAPTER 1

“Holy crap,” muttered a heavyset man slouched in an armchair, clutching the remote in his right hand and scratching his bald, greasy head with his left. His name was Bob and that evening he was watching TV, occasionally pressing buttons on the remote control in hopes of finding something worth watching. The curtains in the room were drawn tight, leaving only the glow from the television to illuminate the dark living-room.

Bob stretched out his left hand and grabbed a can of beer from under the table.

“Oh, yeah!” he uttered with relief, pulling the metal can away from his chubby lips. A drop of liquid fell on his white undershirt.

“Every time I want to relax and watch something funny, there’s nothing good on,” he mumbled, his voice sounding slightly drunk.

At last, Bob took the last large swig of his drink, set the can down on the glass-topped table with a clink, and exhaled sharply.

Staring at the flickering TV screen, he flipped through channels until, with a weary shake of his head, he finally switched it off. The wall clock showed midnight.

“Time for bed,” he commanded to himself, rising from the armchair.

* * *

The dog’s barking annoyed Bob tearing through the uneasy stillness of the night.

“Shut up!” he snarled at his mongrel, storming to the window.

“Welton!” Bob’s voice trembld as he fumbled with the lock. The pane groaned open, a gentle summer wind touching his face.

“What’s wrong with you?” he demanded from the dog looking around trying to see the reason of its barking.

Welton was barking at the gate. The bones it had been gnawing gleamed scattered among the weeds, clattering whenever the dog’s paw brushed them.

“What the hell are you so nervous about?” Bob snapped, waving a trembling hand, “Go back to your kennel! You’re getting on my nerves!”

But Welton was deaf to his master’s plea, his fevered barking relentless, desperate.

Bob glanced at the gate beginning to get a little worried.

A sudden gust of wind blew into his face. Bob sensed the air was tainted. It seemed like something rotten penetrated into his nostrils.

“Who’s there?” he asked as loudly as he could. But silence was his answer.

“Is anybody there?” he ventured to ask again.

The dog was still barking and there was still no reply. So Bob cursed at it, “You, stupid old dog!”

Bob shifted his fat belly away from the windowsill and disappeared into the room without closing the window.

* * *

“Another conundrum,” Bob muttered, standing before the open fridge and rubbing his belly. Beer bottles lined the shelves, their glassy eyes glinting in the flicker of the kitchen light.

Something dark and shriveled caught his eye behind them – an old piece of toast, nearly forgotten.

“Gotcha!” Bob uttered cheerfully, as he reached in and snagged the stale bread.

“A feast fit for a king!” he snickered, turning the hard toast over in his hands.

Suddenly, the barking that had been filling the house all evening stopped. Bob frowned. Slamming shut the kitchen door, he hurried towards the living-room.

“Welton!” he called, voice echoing off the blank walls as he peered out the window. The yard was empty, still. An unnatural silence pressed in on all sides, heavy as fog.

“Welton! Where are you?” he asked, now more uncertain than annoyed.

He tossed the stale toast out the open window, watching it spiral into the darkness and hit the ground with a dull thud.

“Come on, gobble it up and quiet down!” he shouted, closed the window and drew the curtains tight.

* * *

Entering his bedroom, Bob moved directly to the floor lamp and switched it off. But oddly, the room remained unnervingly bright. A strange, unnatural glow seemed to seep in from outside. What could it be? Bob frowned, his skin prickling with a mixture of numbness and curiosity. He edged closer to the drawn curtains and peered through a narrow gap. Something out there – a shape or a light – made him whisper in disbelief, “What the…?”

His hands began to tremble uncontrollably. His whole body shuddered with an icy dread. Unbelievable. Yet, he leaned closer to the window, drawn like a moth to a flame.

Bob slowly raised his trembling right hand toward the curtain, steeling himself to pull it aside. Dread coursed through him as his shaking fingers finally made contact with the fabric. Taking a deep breath, he began to draw the curtain back with deliberate, careful movements.

Suddenly, a luminous, almost blinding light flooded the room. The brilliance was so intense that Bob couldn't make out anything beyond the window. Sharp pain shot through his eyes, and he immediately threw his palms up to shield them, crying out in agony.

"What the hell?" he yelled, his voice strained with panic. "What is going on here?" he moaned, his words overlapping in distress.

The fierce, howling wind shattered the window frame with violent force. The curtains began to billow and whip frantically in the gusts, rising so high they nearly brushed the ceiling.

Light poured relentlessly through the broken window, flooding the room until it became an overwhelmingly white void. Bob instinctively began to retreat, but his foot caught on something unseen. He lost his balance and crashed heavily to the floor, his head striking the ground with a sickening thud.

"No!" he attempted to cry out, though his voice came as barely more than a rasp. "Please!" He began dragging himself across the floor like a wounded soldier retreating from battle.

"No! Please! I beg you, whoever you are!" he pleaded desperately, his voice breaking with terror.

The light grew increasingly blinding, consuming everything in its path. Bob lay sprawled near the doorway, desperately trying to shield his eyes with his palms, which were now bleeding from the strain and pressure.

Something unspeakably dreadful was approaching him. Then came complete darkness and absolute stillness.

CHAPTER 2

The young man, whose name was Ismat, was standing and talking to someone on his mobile phone.

“Mum! That’s enough!” he said, clearly irritated.

With his free hand, he opened the cupboard and pulled out a mug.

A look of perplexity spread across his face as he listened to what she was saying. After a moment of dissatisfaction, he placed the mug on the table.

“Mum! Please, stop!” he pleaded. “What are you talking about? The police can sort it out – it’s their business!”

Listening attentively, he rubbed one eye with his palm. Then he poured the coffee.

“Mum! That sounds like nonsense!” he said, unsure how to end their pointless conversation. “Let’s talk later.”

But his interlocutor insisted. Ismat took a spoonful of instant coffee and stirred it into the mug.

“Okay, Mum. Okay. I’ll… I’m coming, now… As you wish… I’m already on my way. Stay home, lock all the doors, and don’t go out. Do you understand?” His voice grew a little nervous.

Listening again, he poured hot water from the kettle.

“Don’t worry! I’m coming. Bye!” he finished the call.

His mind was full of thoughts as he stirred sugar into the mug. A big sip of coffee might refresh his brain.

Ismat placed the coffee on the table and found the name “Dinara” in his phone contacts.

After several beeps, he said, “Din, hello!”

He paused briefly to gather his thoughts.

“I… I’m sorry, but I‘ll have to take a rain check today.”

He sighed deeply and ran his hand through his hair, tugging it slightly.

“Something’s wrong with my mum! To be more clear… I… I can’t really explain it, Din!” he said, sounding both hastily and apologetically at the same time.