Олег Хасанов – Horror Without Borders. Volume 2. Hidden Realms (страница 6)

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A light source, I force Myself up from a deep pit, Sit on the edge of a new world, I hate it, Want to be hurled Back down into the pit, Grit my teeth And bear it, Bury myself beneath The soil, I toil To be free, But now I see The light, I fight To be covered once more.

Maxim Kabir (Ukraine)

LANDSCAPE WITH A TOWER

Translated by Oleg Hasanov

Maxim Kabir is a Russian-language horror writer and poet based in the Ukraine. He has penned eight novels. His latest novel, Wet Worlds, was co-written with Dmitry Kostyukevich. His short stories are included in various genre anthologies. He also has eight collections of poetry under his belt. Maxim’s poetry has been published in various countries of the CIS, the USA, Georgia, Israel, and other countries.

She woke up in a casemate of a tower, which had been built at the seaside by the Venetians hundreds of years ago.

The concrete mole was ablaze with lights in the night. The ships were cuddling up to it, like the young pigs to their mother. The nets were drying. The guest flags were droopy. The fishermen had hastened home to shuffle out of their oilskins, to snuggle up to their wives, to have dreams about the sea at the speed of 5/6 knots.

The resort city was pouring neon into the water. The trattorias and bars were noisy. But here, at the anchorage, it was peace and quiet. And the moonlight was dancing on the solar panels. The moorings were creaking, the waves were lapping, and a Smart TV was broadcasting a football match. Denmark vs. Czech Republic. The yacht’s owner drew himself a glass of Chianti. He fried a tuna. He checked the weather report. He sat back and cast a casual glance at the tower.

And above it, above this monolith, a shape rose up. She came into the world; she emerged from the casemates like a two-horned moon. The yachtsman was looking stunned, as the horrible giant was walking across the sky, going down the invisible stairs to the sea. The glass fell to the deck.

Her stomping hoofs went through the motorboats and yachts, through the cutters, schooners and yawls, and in a flash she was on the ground. And the city began screaming. The stupefied yachtsman looked, as the beach was blazing and the marina was being filled with blood. The Danes lost two-one. But there was neither sense nor the viewers to appreciate the tally of the game.

The tally was a shadow over the promenade.

The tally was the victorious clatter of hoofs.

And in the morning the sun crawled from the east to stare at the dead gulf. The yachtsman sliced his wrist with a piece of glass, and on the concrete of the mole he scrawled, “She woke up in a casemate of a tower.”

Yevgeny Abramovich (Belarus)

IN HER ROOM

Translated by Oleg Hasanov

Yevgeny Abramovich was born and grew up in the city of Novopolotsk in the North of Belarus. He is a civil engineer by training. Since 2014 he has lived and worked in the city of Minsk. And since about that time he has written fiction. He works primarily in the horror and science fiction genres. His short stories and novellas have been published in the anthologies, The Scariest Book, Aelita, and magazines DARKER and RedRum. In 2018, he wrote his debut war zombie horror novel, Cutthroats.

In her room Under zero gravity I’m drowning in the whirlpool In her room Whispering biting words Stroking her hair In her room Her hair Smells so good Of lavender Soon it’ll smell of incense We’ll all be there one day And nothing at all I want Everything will stop In her room In the closets She has her blouses The boys are screaming Through the fortochka Doesn’t respond No time for that Life’s dissolving In her room Like cascades Strewn all over Oh, this hair Her hair And the ice floes The eyes are pretending to be With dark red Cobwebs Half-lidded