Tuesday , November 13 2018
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#Metacosmos – Day Twenty-five – LANTERN

A month of Nightmares in the Area of Horror continues! Within 30 days (and nights!) we times a day published one short story horror. Read the little scary stories Maxim Kabir – and be sure to read his great novel, “Skeletons”, which is called one of the best horror books in recent years!

Maxim Kabir. Lantern

The only working flashlight included with a button attached to a pole by some craftsman. Craftsman long ago moved to the cemetery behind the hill, and the lantern still illuminated the street: a lone beacon in the dark. There were other fireflies, the ones on the track, but the track still had to stomp through a dried up Creek. Today the ravine was covered with snow, and the snowstorm cut off the village from the highway, and the highway from all over the world.

Daily Mary stomped to the lantern lit light. Sometimes it seemed to her that the post moves away from home. She reminded herself: look in your passport, girl, you are seventy-five soon, godok another, and to the lantern you night toddle.

To the lantern…

She pulled teeth santeview trap and slammed the button. The lamp obediently lit up. Mary paused, studying the village. Such a familiar, so familiar… Fluffy snow circling, piled drifts. Dusk, and they suddenly broke out two spots: the car wheeled along the concrete bridge over the ravine, approached the old woman.

– Where are you, damned, ‘ murmured Mary.

Foreign car – it is not versed in cars – came up with a lantern. Sauntered into the light circle. For a moment Mache imagined that the car has a completely transparent body; the ice crystals, shimmering, played with vision. Dropped the glass, the driver, a young guy with a pleasant intelligent face, exclaimed:

– Oh, grandma d, you saved us. If not for the lantern, wandered an hour in the dark.

Masha stooped down, saw the red-haired girl next to the driver.

– Where are you going, guys?

– In the city – said the girl. But there, tucked to one side.

– Until the morning don’t you think, Masha rubbed his frozen cheeks, peered in. The girl was pretty, with eyebrows and copper-colored, with freckles and piercing blue eyes. And the guy is cute, curly a…

– What do we do? – gasped the girl. – And the hotel is there?

Masha laughed.

– Hotel? In the village, my sun, ten years not a soul, the one I’m cuckoo. Went to me. Not far from here.

She walked, listening to the sound of the engine behind him, smiling under his breath. Car parked outside the open gate. The passengers went to Mache.

– I have sleep, ‘ said the old woman. – Not a mansion, but warm and dry.

– We are not bother you want – confused guy.

– Come on! I used to have. If not for people like you who has lost his way, I’d completely forgotten how people look.

– What – asked the guy, taking her companion by the arm, – the village is really empty?

– More nowhere. Latest I – Masha glanced at the neighboring house, dark Windows, locked gates, autumn exclusive zone settled, but we are not friends, she gritted false teeth, clenched his fists. Recovered: – That’s me! Come on, don’t freeze.

Urban sat at the table, Cipla gratitude.

“Lord, – mentally sighed Masha – young-what”.

She put the kettle on the gas stove, looked at the house through the eyes of visitors: tulle, dusty carpets, Russian stove covered with chips and sackcloth, calendar for the ninety-third year, with a beautiful black horse. Do they not remember stray.

Mary set the table. Treated potatoes and Rybnik. I knew that the guests will be. Couple hungry was eating pie and extolled zhareha. They sat closely, the girl tightly against the guy, sometimes her smile faded, she touched the scattered temple.

– Headaches – complained timidly.

– You need to sleep, ‘ said Mary, playing with a kitchen knife, – some shut-eye, will be as good as new.

– We will pay you, – the guy squirmed.

– Nonsense!

She made the bed with clean sheets, who were preparing for the funeral itself. The guests stood silently in the doorway. The girl raised her hands before her face, and said dejectedly:

– Grandma d, I do not cast a shadow.

– Gave you this shadow grumbled Mary. – Sleep!

In an hour the guests began to whine and dig my fingernails into the wall.

– Sleep, koronaki! – shouted Mary. Tied a handkerchief and slipped out of the hut. The snow was sparkling fun. Burned a solitary lamp. It was freezing and surprisingly quiet, only the snow crunched. Masha passed the bridge and the hill, got out on the track. Far to go was not necessary: the car, the copy of the one where you have guests, got etched nose in the concrete pedestal. Off the road, propham the snow, but could smash into the pedestal under the Billboard. The dead driver dropped his head on the steering wheel. The passenger was buried in his shoulder. Blood stained red hair.

Mary said a prayer and crossed himself dead.

Returning to the house, she noticed that the neighbor’s gate opened. The courtyard was dark, in the dark swirling shadows, the shadows cut a voice.

– Give them to me, whispered demanding exclusive zone.

Hell, Masha showed the darkness of the Fig.

The fence grated his teeth, yellow pupil broke out between the planks.

Well you’re not going to die any way, Maria? asked wistfully exclusive zone, you’re in the coffin-don’t lie, old bitch?

– I would glad, – wearily said a woman, – but all the way.

Guests were calmed down, fell asleep. And Mary crawled on the oven, betook himself to dream about the crossroads that you cannot leave.

She woke up at dawn. The snow no longer fell, and cleared the road. The day promised to be fine.

– Thank you – said the guy sitting in the car. The rest has benefited him and his companion: Romanies cheeks, eyes shining.

– Thank you, grandma d, she said.

– Nothing, – Masha has his hands on his hips. – You go right, there is a village you through it, not stopping, not responding, not picking up anyone – understand? Through it, and into the city.

– And how do you know? asked the guy starting the engine.

– Learn! – Masha smiled.

The car went down the street. The wheels did not leave traces in the snow. Redhead girl waved out the window, and waving, waving in response, walked to turn off the lamp.

Already on sale – SKELETONS Maxim Kabir!

About the book:

Maxim Kabir is a writer, poet, anarchist. Selfless fan of the genre of horror and mystery. People with stories which are familiar to ALL fans of horror. The novel, which is compared with the work of king, little, Lymon – and often not in favor of foreign masters.
A quiet mining town somewhere in the Russian hinterland. New year’s eve. Measured life of the Outback where everything goes on as usual routine. Periodically people disappear out here, and from door peephole empty apartment you are looking for something that is not supposed to exist. With an ominous creak open the doors of these cabinets, letting freedom of the Horde hidden skeletons. And together with the memory of incredible pain in the world is unspeakably Evil.

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