Читать книгу Mutilated. Crypt of the Seven Angels - Natalie Yacobson - Страница 15

Memories like sleeping dragon. They hid somewhere deep into the brain and wrap it with their claws and tentacles. Total instant and they die fire. For a whole fiery explosion, only a tiny match is enough. A subtle hint, carelessly abandoned words or some randomly noticed thing, which suddenly awakened pain in memory, again made it active. In this moment, the awkward dragon becomes unproduction, he will burn your whole mind and everything will be able to reach it through him.

Claire understood it. Whether her goodwill, she would prefer not to remember anything. But the memories came to themselves. They did not belong to her, but scrolled like pictures on the screen. As in a gothic film. Garden with luxurious fragrant roses, under which the corpses were in the ground. Blood in cups on the table. The bodies cut with the knife almost to the unrecognizable state. But Claire knew who were these dead. Once they were her enemies. Now they were mutilated corpses. Always mutilated. Because once the same people mutilated him. Him… Claire looked on the flame of candles. She could not restore the face in her memory. She saw only black candles and blood. Candles for witchcraft. She knew this ritual, but did not remember its sense.

She was sitting at the oak table for a feast. The room was absolutely empty, not counting someone who sat on the other side of her. And his face was hiding in the shade. Although it is strange where the shadows come from if there are so many candles around. Is he beautiful or ugly? She saw only his hands lying on the table. Rather, only the cuffs around these hands and shine of expensive rings. On her fingers were also expensive rings, which in life she never wore, and lush cuffs around the palms, and gentle sleeves with pearl threads. The forehead also pressed the severity of pearls. Pearls were like living creatures taken away from the dead oysters. Certificates of their death. And Claire felt with every cell of the skin, how are they heavy.

And on the exquisite plates in front of it really lay dead worms and pieces of flesh. She knew that this flesh was human. She felt as if she had died. And this is not at all due to the fact that the corset on the whale mustache stood the chest so that it intercepted the breath. She felt like a shadow. Shadow in white on a disgusting feast. And he waited. He waited for her to decide. And she took one of the gilded forks.

It seems she fell into the trance or just thought too much. The phone was ringing without stopping. It was Brad. Claire did not want to take the phone at all, but, thinking, still decided that it would be impolite. Since when did she start to show politeness towards Brad? Since she realized that she needs to have at least some company in order not to stay alone with ghosts. She was already in captivity of some illusions. The presence of a living person near could change it. When someone is near, all fears are becoming less, and the dependence on the otherworldly weakens. Of course, a creative person needs to be sometimes alone with her own thoughts to create her works. But you need to have friends. There were always everywhere many guys and girls who would like to make friends with her. It was a rare quality worthy in order to envy it. Claire did not have to do anything at all so that people were fond of her.

Probably her amazingly beautiful appearance or mysteriousness attracted them. Or maybe a tempting combination of both in general. In any case, when Claire gave it to understand that she did not want to communicate too often with someone, these people were very offended at her. She herself knows why she sought to solitude. Probably, she was right and it was not worth respecting people, which of all possible qualities attracted only her too bright appearance. Is it possible to choose yourself friends in appearance?

Together with the question of consciousness immediately the mysterious hoarse voice said:

«You can’t even imagine what treasure you have?»

Claire immediately imagined the blade that hacked her face. She did not want to imagine anything like that, but the black fantasy did not leave the brain anywhere. These are someone’s mutual hands squeeze the knife and bring the tip to her cheek. Here is cold steel touches the skin, and the wound is revealed on it, similar to a crimson flower or a parasite, sever on face, like a large leech or jellyfish. Terrible marine parasites are also similar in brightness. Just the wounds. They, too, like scarlet parasites on your body. They are absorbed into the skin to flourish pain and blood. Clare saw in front of the closed eyelids, as a hand with a blade again and again puts cuts to her face, bending a neck, shoulders. And blood is thick dripping on a white wedding dress, which Claire never put in her life. She didn’t even see such a dress anywhere. It was too old-fashioned dress to see something similar in a showcase of a modern store.

Claire gathered with the forces and raised the phone tube only to tell Brad a couple of anything significant phrases. She hoped that he would not take them for the invitation to tea. Brad had a rare talent to take the most simple comments on sports or weather, as a direct invitation for a date. This trait in him is very often annoyed.

Claire now did not want to see anyone. Good at least that she did not occur to cut her right hand. What kind of artist without the existing right hand. She loved her work. Whatever sinister accents began to acquire her work now, but they still continued to remain admiration for an on-line with fear.

She also did not want to call a doctor. Of course, she could put something about an accident, but she did not like to lie. In addition, she was tormented by some superstitious fear. It seemed that no one had the right to touch the cut, besides her. And Claire decided to heal the wound herself. Of course, it is inconvenient to make it with one hand. But she used to deal with everything alone.

She could have cope with everything herself. Now, if in the mirror just did not settle someone, ready to prevent her all. He was as if her dark half. Like a grinning criminal Hyde in an ideal biography of Dr. Jekyll.

Blood has already ceased to flow, but the pain still did not pass. What power only jerked her hand to take a knife? Claire never could understand this. But she became scary. What if it happens again? What if she wants to cut again? Or someone just inspires her that she wants it?

On the moment, she even wanted to call someone from girlfriends and ask her to spend a night with her. But then she looked at the elegant Venetian masks on the walls. Porcelain, gypsum, ceramic, with feathers and elegantly suspended eyes, with lips, smiling sweet and poisonous at the same time. They as if they said:

«Not worth it!»

And Claire involuntarily looked at them. Typically female features and bizarre outlines of owls, peacocks, hummingbirds or fish were transferred to this house atmosphere of Venetian carnival. Claire did not want to share this mysterious atmosphere with anyone. She was surrounded by masks from all sides, and she involuntarily fell under their influence.

What is a pair of blood drops in comparison with the calmness of the soul and blissful loneliness? Claire unconsciously wiped her hand over the first turned out to be plaid and did not even try to prejudify the wound. All small care suddenly left somewhere as if they were not at all.

Under the windows some noises were distributed, but it was no longer the usual sounds of the radio. Probably, the neighbors had some kind of fight or any other troubles. Or maybe the roof collapsed or some kind of structure, as it came out near the cinema, where they recently were together with Brad. Claire did not even look out of the window to check. In addition, now is the evening. Around is dark. There is nothing particularly in the dark.

Claire took from the table a newspaper, which threw there in the morning and began to view headlines. The glance slid on them clean automatically. No news in fact was not worried about her. She just wanted to distract something. But noise under the windows did not stop. Perhaps still it was worth putting slippers and go out on the porch to look, what’s the matter. Below, after all there is a lantern. Claire wondered.

Someone knocked on her door. Surprisingly, as after external noise, she was able to distinguish a knock on her own door from any other loud sounds. What is so desperate. Behind the man on the other side of the door, as if chased.

After a moment, the random Claire decided to open the entrance door, without removing the chains. She did not recognize the man who stood behind the threshold. It was doused in paint. Thick red paint.

«Help me!»

Claire was a little surprised and alerted. She recognized this man on blond hair and clothes. But it can not really be that neighbor guy she noticed here. And if he really is, the fact that then this happened to him. He won the whole entirely in the burning stove or some other way managed to construct almost all the skin.

«Let me in!» The bloody hand climbed the door.

«No,» Claire said hurriedly. «I better call help, and you wait here.»

«Just give me to enter,» the bloody creation is stubbornly climbed into the house. Only Claire was afraid to let it, too, it was terrifying. She involuntarily remembered how in films bloody and embittered sacrifices themselves become vengeful killers. The creature behind the door looked frightened, as if it was afraid of persecution. Claire was also afraid. She was afraid of what could be laid in the night for his back.

«Don’t you understand what he goes after me,» said the stranger. «What he did with me, he will then do with you.»

The last phrase he whispered almost confidentially, as if between them could have something in common, which could not be disclosed. And then he suddenly pulled away from the door. But Claire still felt the smell of blood. It hit right in the nostrils, spicy and unpleasant. It can be seen, today she suffered not alone.

Claire thought that it would be nice to call the police or at least inform them that under her windows is a strongly affected person and strange frightening sounds are heard. And what if all this is just another hallucination? The deceitful fingers remained lying on the panels of the door. Claire did not immediately find the strength to close and lock it.

She looked at her wound. It is strange, that the man glared at her wound, as if it was a kind of magical sign, with whom he had already encountered in practice. And this sign immediately awakened in him indescribable trust, as if he could have something in common with Claire. She has goosebumps from such associations. Probably, it is only seemed to her. And the man behind the door was just a drunkard.

It is better to think so. After all, if the affected guy was really injured, then all her fears are invariably come true. And with those whom some force draws her close attention, something terrible is really happening. Sooner or later.

Claire was afraid. And Venetian masks looked at her calmly and mysteriously, as if they kept some kind of secret. About this night, about her cut, about a certain ancient destination. And this mystery also allowed them to have something in common with Claire. Something that no one should know about.