Читать книгу Mutilated. Crypt of the Seven Angels - Natalie Yacobson - Страница 7

Before bedtime, Claire did not turn off the table lamp. It was the first time since the childhood period, when she was frightened to sleep without light. But she could not do anything with it. The appearance of the limbs sliced with sparkling knife pursued it. It was worth only to close the eyes, and she saw torn skin, crippled flesh, as if the hands of the unfortunate missed through the meat grinder. She was not stuck at the sight of this spectacle, but fear settled in the soul. After all, this can happen with each person. And it is better to die immediately than to know what it happened to you.

Claire did not figure out the details of the accident. From her and so enough impressions. Now, the memories of the bloody mix of meat and bones do not climb into the head, she decided to think about something pleasant. For example, how romantic would be to take one of the copper candelabers, which she bought in an antique shop, to light all the candles in it and put on the table near the bed. Of course, it is dangerous to sleep with candles. But the romantic fantasy about the candlelight was pleasant. She remembered that once she slept like that. Candles were exactly seven. Lucky number! And they all burned ghostly and brightly. The wind from the canal penetrated the window, waved flame and transparent curtains from Muslen. Everything was so beautiful! But when was it all? Claire frowned, rushing recall, and could not. There was still someone who concerned her when she slept and brought roses. He carried them in her hands without gloves, and his blood remained on the spikes.

Returning home today, Claire turned on the TV and began to look at the middle of a terrible film about the sacrificed victims and a computer game with embittered ghost. The film was called «Fear dot com» and was in the program as a mystical thriller with quite harmless annotations, but nothing more brutally Claire could not imagine. Initially, she was intrigued, but closer to the end the interest turned into a nightmare. Claire even regretted that she didn’t turn on the TV in time. It is strange to imagine how people are not afraid to invent such frightening plots. The sadism of the maniac and the revenge of the embittered ghost of a mutilated sacrifice was made the same terrible impression.

Sadistic shots from the film, like a black web spray in consciousness, refusing to disappear. Maybe they impressed her not enough? If you treat the impression caused by the history, from the point of view of a psychologist, we can conclude that it somehow intertwined with the past of Claire. Probably, in her life, there was also something that she feels an imaging victim. For example, this afternoon, it was impossible to interpret how to revenge – a hooligan who pushed her, suffered himself. Just avenged him not she. Someone else drew him with a knife. Or maybe it really was just an accident, and not an attack? Although it looks like the last.

Claire was sure that after the film and the events of the past day, she would dream about mutual bodies of victims, silent, as in hell in their ghost world, but the kingdom of dreams met her something completely different. In a dream, the luxury doors of the museum were revealed before her, and she climbed up the front marble staircase. How beautiful was this staircase with gilded railings! The steps ran high, as if in the most subsequent paradise. It was possible to expect to hear the singing of birds in the paradise bunks, but the house around was gloomy, although luxurious. Claire has already been before in this house. She remembered. So now she returned to it. In a dream!

The staircase leading up, no way ended. It seems that it is, however, the staircase in heaven. Is it limited to the roof of an old house or leads directly to the night stars? Claire did not see, but felt that the house was in Venice. The sounds of fluid water came to her, similar to singing. This is the song of the mermaids! Only mermaids are downstairs, in water. She rises to the very top of the old building. To the magnificent suite of room, where she will look for him.

For whom? Claire frowned. She could not remember. And the pale nightgown with the golden threads, similar to the outfit of Shakespeare’s Juliet, was drowned around her legs. What an unusual outfit! In life, she did not wear anything like that. But it was a dream. Claire reached the suite of the empty rooms and moved forward. In the span of the ladder, which remained behind, stood the statue of the very deity, which she had already seen in the museum. Only this time the statue moved. The tentacles crawled out of a mask and a long raincoat. They stretched to Claire, but could not get her, because she had already reached the gallery of the mirror halls. For some reason, they do not dare to rush there.

In the dark end of the gallery, she was waiting for something. Freshness of water that came from the canal, mixed with breathing heat and fire. Claire felt the smell of hot metal and burned flesh, and… yes, she could not confuse this smell with anything. Blood!

There were of luxury galleries around her, and at the end of them, it was like a torture chamber. Incredible, but the heat intensified. Claire did not see the fireplace, but she felt its proximity. Or it was a brazier. She stopped, noticing someone ahead. Some strong creation in the mask bent over the corpse of a woman. There was a knife in his hand, and he applied cuts.

Claire did not feel horror. In the end, it was just a dream. But the creature, tortured the victim, suddenly sniffed to the air and raised his head. Even in the slots masks it was visible that his face was maimed. Claire could not shout. She waited. And it was stupid. After all, he could rush to her with a knife. This creature always needs a new victim. A crippled arm kept the head of a dead woman’s head. The knife cut off not only the jewel with her neck, but also the skin from the body. The cuts bloomed as greedy mouths on a female corpse.

The creature, only noticing Claire, managed to break away from the victim. Only this time there was neither threatening whisper, no sharp movements of the predator. It only uttered only one word:

«Cordelia!»

Claire woke up with this name on the lips. It came to her that the suite of the gloomy halls was still revealed before her, but now in her own house, they reflected by many mirrors. Someone attracted her from this gallery with his mutilated hand.

Cordelia, repeated Claire. Whether the woman was so called, which he tied and killed. Claire remembered a beautiful corpse profile, a sparkled antique brush dress and a lily skin of the deceased, covered with purple knife trails. His knife. The knife in the hand of that creature for some reason seemed even more frightening than a whole set of surgical items that use maniacs in horror films for torture of victims.

Claire brought her hand to the forehead. Curly strands of hair merged from sweat. Head burned. It seems that she became too nervous in order to watch horror films in the evenings. So it is better to leave this genre for more bold people.

Claire did not remember when she was last so afraid. And in her lonely house there is no one to console her. Of course, you can take a phone and dial someone from your relatives or the closest friends, but whether they will not be surprised that she calls them at such a time then so that they encouraged her by their voice.

Now was too late or too early? Claire squinting on a luminous clock clock. Soon four in the morning. She can sleep until dawn, but she was afraid to see another similar dream.

Dreams like parasites. They invade reality, capture consciousness, drive crazy. Claire heavily leaning back on the pillows and felt a cold necklace on her neck. Now it also seemed to her parasite. It is strange that it did not heat up at all from the heat of her body. Pearls always remained cold. And it is even more strange that she did not decide to remove it. The necklace is as part of her body. Almost an integral. Sometimes it even seemed that this is the main part, and the body itself does not matter under it.

Claire looked into the mirror on the wall. Pearl thread looked at a thin neck so beautiful that it would be a pity to part with it. Claire remembered a nostalgic comparison – the pearls are a treasure left from the deceased oyster, the testimony of its death.

Who told her about it?

Claire frowned. Someone spoke. But who? And when? The memory eluded, as if she was whining with drugs.

Who among her friends could have given such words? She figured out them without herself. Pearl! Death! Pearls – evidence of death!

Where did she hear it?

An attempt to remember was too painful. In memory, as if some kind of door slammed. It was almost physically hurt from the fact that consciousness tries to overcome some irresistible barrier.

Claire thought that in vain she did not drink and did not smoke.

Now she terribly wanted to sleep, but the prospect of seeing a new nightmare prevented her to close her eyes. The eyelids were poured, the head was split, but Claire decided to distract herself with something. She took an album and a pencil. It was better to make an outline of coal, but the pencil was the first thing that was near of her hand.

Claire wanted to draw something beautiful, but the pencil began to slide it himself. Fuzzy lines merged into one ugly tangle. Maybe it came out due to the fact that the fingers swept or from the fact that the eyelids were sticking out of the desire to sleep. It was preparing that the pencil moves by itself. It was not her painted an disfigured face on a sheet of paper, it felt like itself. The same face that she dreamed. Which she saw in the crowd before any accidents happened to people.

Claire dropped a pencil. The drawing lay on her knees, ugly and shocking. The side effect of her creativity! She looked at it discouraged and almost horrified. Probably, Viktor Frankenstein looked so at his hands when he created a monster. Everything came out so unexpectedly. If it were another dream. A drawing for some reason frightened her very much.

A minute Claire was sitting motionless, feeling his knees, like a disgusting insect, and then crumpled it quickly and threw under the bed. Sometimes it is better not to remember something. So now she rushed to forget the drawn face, but it did not come out of memory.