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#Metacosmos – Day Twenty-three – BETON

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. Concrete

The six men that Pimenov had once led to the outskirts of the city is long dead and decomposed. And he still remembered every moment the cold nights. A blustering wind and freezing rain. Lightning, illuminating the construction site, the stakes of rebar, vans away. And the rough faces of the accomplices. And a thin gaunt face jackpot. The blood on his lips. The fire in the eyes.

A quarter century has passed.

Pimenov was the last of the Coastal brotherhood, as they called themselves jokingly. Dashing corsairs captain jackpot.

Grizzled, fat Pimenov sample eighteenth year remembered daydream, a trench with compacted walls, the beacons above a static solution, fluttering ribbons and black silhouettes of the trees around the building.

The hand froze, fork halfway to his mouth. Eyes glued to the TV.

This evening the restaurant was filled with visitors, but Pimenova they all disappeared. Evaporated and his companion, the Busty and long-legged, murmuring in my ear some nonsense.

A minute ago, the TV itself is switched from the music channel to a news release. Demonstrated the moss-covered ruins, among the tall firs.

Echo nineties, said the speaker, behind the scenes, – to reopen the unfinished discovered human remains. The skeleton was more than twenty years imbedded in concrete.

– You, Boris Albertovich?

Pimenov shuddered, a fork clinked on a plate.

Companion – ninety-third she wasn’t born yet – there was false eyelashes. Fingers slid over the shoulder Pimenov.

– I… hum…

On the screen again twisted clips.

I need to wash.

Pimenov stood up. Heart tingled. The cheeks flushed. Scrubbing the sweat, he went to the bathroom, grabbed the sink. The mirror reflected the overweight middle-aged man.

– Got the same – hemmed Pimenov.

Splashed in the face water.

“Well – thought evil, no one will recognize you. Nobody remembers except me.”

The ceiling flickered and extinguished the lamp, toilet was covered with darkness. Pimenov has viprostol hand hit the wall. And immediately flinched. Fingers felt not tile, but something wet, soft, granular.

The light lit up again. Pimenov touched tile, hard and smooth, and frowned.

“My nerves are shot”.

It’s time to eat up and go home, he decided to fuck this chick and relax. The year was difficult and no jackpot.

– You okay? – have secretaries companion.

He waved a chubby hand, saying, all right, took another SIP of brandy.

Girl – what is her name? – zavorkova to RUB the thigh Pimenov. Her hand was surprisingly heavy. Pimenov dropped my eyes. Heart like a needle pricked.

Instead of thin girlish hand on hip lying grey rough stump of the statue. Untreated, in a petrified growths. The fingers were moving, grating. Pimenov pushed away the companion and jumped up, almost knocking my chair over. Rattled dishes. The surrounding tables fell silent.

– What’s the matter? – strained girl. Hands like hands, slim, elegant.

– No…

A fleeting glance caught the waiter. He smiled a lifeless smile. His mouth squeezed out a thick gray batter dripped onto a white shirt. The sticky substance oozing out of your ears sitting next to women. Her Beau, as if nothing had happened, took the tureen from gray muck and hungrily sucked up.

Leaving the frustrated lover, Pimenov began to run towards the exit. Away from this trashy dump! The cold air burned my skin. Marched past, swinging, teenagers. To Pimenov heard snatches of the conversation:

Good concrete, wire mesh…

– Boris Albertovich, you have already?

Pimenov turned around, but immediately ordered to go were not disclosed. The face of his driver turned into an ugly grey mask. Features explode. Hollow steel vertical slit almost joined up with the corners of the lips.

“The concrete was horrified Pimenov, is uncured concrete!”

On the forehead of the driver, the gray pulp of the skull, there was a line for her second, third. Like an invisible finger wrote letters: and, from, d…

“Judas” – read Pimenov.

The word twenty-five years ago shouted Altyn. Before the muck closed over his head.

You’re dead, ‘ hissed Pimenov. And rushed to a parked on the roadside taxi. Vainly called to his driver.

The taxi sped through the deserted streets. Occasionally Pimenov saw passers-by, and all of them were grey shapeless face, and they stared after the taxi.

“He’s pissed at me, thought Pimenov, and his chest was on fire, Bones was freed, and he’s trying to get me. Hrenushki”…

The car slowed at a traffic light. Three meters from the intersection was the construction of the working machine. Suddenly the corrugated fence was curved, heart-rending crunching tin.

– Nervous? asked the taxi driver podprygnuvshie on the passenger seat. And turned. Grey cheeks, both from the surface of the swamp, sticking out three fingers.

Pimenov literally fell on the pavement, hoisted, ran across the road. The sidewalk flowed with cement milk. Piles of rubble pulsed sinister life. Drivers flying machines of the curve of the face mask, and mixer applescal was gray with dirt, and clods instantly harden on clothes.

Pimenov struck.

He recognized the area. And the slender silhouette of the bell tower at dusk. He has personally provided money for the construction of this temple. Pimenov twisted rushed to the fence, pushed the gate open. His own Church will protect from the undead who rose from obscurity.

Pimenov stepped onto the concrete slab track. Foot sank into muck. Buckled. He collapsed face softened mass, and the mass pulled it out like tentacles braided. Pimenov was sinking deeper and deeper, he shouted and stared at Church, his Church, lit by a lantern.

– God! – he wailed.

Muck filled his mouth, his body already drowned inside of a plate, whose thickness was not more than five centimeters, the bones crunched from the terrible pressure. The concrete has hardened. On the skin. In the throat. In the lungs. And then the chest is collapsed and Pimenov died.

He gave up the Ghost in the driveway, white as snow. grasping the heart, and the priest will conclude later, telling his congregation about a parishioner coming to die for the Church: be ye like that.

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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