Toska

by A. R. Kingston

  “Victor!” I yell, looking around the small empty room in a panic. “Victor!”

  Nothing, no sound is coming from anywhere, I am completely alone in the room. Even the stray tabby appears to have vanished into thin air. My heart drops, not only did I lose Victor but I may have just gotten the unfortunate kitty killed. Deflated I want to sink to the floor and cry, any trace of hope I had left was snatched away with Victor.

  “Devushka, I say devushka.” A man’s voice stammers from behind me in the hall “You lookin’ for your boyfriend young lady?”

  I look at where the voice is coming from, swaying in the doorway stands an old jovial drunk man, possibly homeless. He’s clutching to his bottle of beer in one hand and using the other one to keep himself steady on the door frame. I can smell the booze on his breath from here; this guy has got into his New Year spirit early on today. The man is covered in rags of various colors that he probably collected from the homeless shelter; it looks like he hasn’t shaved in weeks. What little gray hair he has left is glued down to the side of his red scalp with dirt, he doesn’t look like a credible source, but the homeless can be very observant at times.

  “My fiancé.” I say with a pressing sense of urgency “Have you seen him?”

  “Da, da, he stumbl’ on outa here not that long ‘go. I think he was headin’ for the clinic; the boy did not look good. Very pale, sweaty, look like he drunk bad vodka. An’ your pussy cat ran on out af’er him.”

  “Which way did he go?” I run up to the man and grasp him by his shoulders. “Do you remember which way he went?”

  “Well that the strange part. He took a lef’ when he shoulda wen’ right, but the puss wen’ in the right direction.”

  “Thank you” I move the man out of my way and head back for the stairs.

  There nothing more I need, I know where Victor is going, he is going back to Nadia’s. If I run for it now, I should be able to make it to her place in about thirty minutes. Hopefully, I can still get to Victor in time, before she turns him.

  “Hey, devushka…” the drunk yells after me “…how he convince you to marry him livin’ in this dump?”

  “It’s a long story,” I yell back as I run out the door.

  Back on the street, I turn left and begin to run, down the road of ice and snow, away from the apartment. Arbat is a good forty-five minutes away by walking, faster if I run, but my heels and dress are becoming a hindrance. Stopping briefly at the end of the street I take a moment to think things through. I remove my shoes, I can’t leave them behind, or they will reappear on my feet causing more problems, I guess I will just have to carry them. I hike up the skirt of my dress and set off again, running barefoot along the frozen street. This gets the attention of everyone I pass, but I don’t care, I can cover more ground this way.

  Crossing the bridge, I head somewhere in the general direction of Stary Arbat. Papa always said the direct route is the fastest route, so that’s just what I do. Ducking in and out of alleyways and service roads, I cut across residential and business neighborhoods alike. My feet feel every bit of the cold ground underneath; the snow is burning me as I run. Cringing and gritting my teeth I constantly urge myself to keep going, I’m already dead, nothing worst can happen to me now.

  I was almost to the house when something caught my attention; I stop running to look up and see what it was. Above over what I could only surmise was my destination, was a large swirling black cloud with a hot orange center. Ghouls were streaming in and out of the hole, and fireballs cascaded down from the cloud like rain. Black giant tentacles extended from the ground, reaching up for the swirling mass, caressing it. I could see a small funnel was growing out from the center, getting closer to the ground with the tentacles every stroke.

  That must be it; this had to be the opening into their realm, that’s why I can see it so prevalently. This was no shimmering anomaly I was used to seeing, this was a gaping hole in the fabric which separated the two worlds. With a new sense of urgency, I set off again, running as fast as I could for the house. Something tells me that the ritual is not complete yet and that Victor is still alive, I just hoped I was able to get there in time.

  14

  The Sacrament

  B

  y the time I reach the street the house is on, my feet are numb from running on the frozen pavement for so long. Stopping around the corner, I put my shoes back on and finally realize what is going on around me. I know I am still in the physical realm, but to me, it looks as if I had stepped deep into all the circles of hell combined. The block which the house had been situated on was obstructed in the cover of a thick, black mist. I recall the inscription that was supposedly hung above the gates of Hell as Dante passed through them, but I refused to heed its warning, I will never abandon my hope, right now hope is all I have left.

  There is a reason I came here, and I am not going to go back until I get what I came for, I’m getting Victor, no matter the cost. Stepping deep into the murky darkness I find myself in a baffling world of ice and fire. This is not the Stary Arbat it once was; it has been transformed into a surreal world that encompasses all basic human fears. The land and buildings are covered in a layer of snow and ice, while cracks and pits of molten lava in the pavement release black steam into the air. A frigid gale blows me about, dousing me with icy snow as it carries on it the screams and cries of the damned.

  I press on gradually, feeling the heat rising up from the ground beneath my feet, unnerved by what else I am going to find. The large molten pits smell of burned hair and flesh, the steam they produce rains gray ash down on me which sticks to the wet fabric of my dress, staining it a pale white. Ghouls and dragon-like beasts swoop down from the sky, dropping collected souls into the fiery pools below. As the blizzard continues to assault me, black tentacles crawl out from the cracks, grasping at the hem of my dress.

  Not far from me, I spot long, slender appendages rise up to greet the swirling cyclone cloud above. Ghouls begin to surround me, getting closer than they ever have before, stroking my cheek with their skeletal claws. Some go as far as playing with my hair and grasping at the fabric of my gown, attempting to tear it off. Ignoring them, I hug myself as I continue to the house, trying my best not to show them any fear. As they start to grab on to my wrist, digging their nails into me, I pull away and begin to run, not stopping until I reach the gate to the garden.

  This building is no different from the rest on the block; it’s frozen over, appearing as if it has sat abandoned for years. A thin layer of frost covers the outside walls and windows; long icicles hang off its roof like fangs extending to the pits beneath. Slowly, I make my way for the gate when I am knocked to the ground by something leaping out from the shadows. Pain spreads through my body as my head hits the pavement, burning sears my torso as my flesh gets skewered by an unknown assailant.

  My vision is blurred, I must have hit the pavement harder than I thought, the only thing I can make out in front of me is a massive dark gray blotch. Whatever it is that assaulted me is sitting on top of me, its body is heavy. Its claws are digging into my shoulders and stomach; it’s almost like being stabbed by serval sharpened knives all at once. This beast stinks like a dog which got too close to a fire and had its fur singed. As my vision finally begins to clear, I am greeted by a frightfully unusual site.

  On top of me sits a giant creature, much like a hyena, but at the same time far more terrifying. This animal is larger, about the size of a lion. Its fur is missing from most of its body, and so are bits of its flesh. The gray, pebble-textured muscles are exposed, flexing as it digs its claws deeper into my skin, making me yelp in pain. On the beast’s back, instead of hair sits a row of black spikes that move as it leans in closer to me. Bright vermillion orbs glow in the empty eye sockets; its jagged fangs stick out from its mouth as it sniffs me. This must be the hellhound which has been stalking me.

  The hound rumbles at me, dripping drool down from its bony jaws. Acidic saliva drips down as it continues to g
rowl, blistering my flesh where it lands. It opens its jaws as if it wants to swallow me whole; its mouth encases my head with pointed white spikes. The creature’s breath is vile; it reminds me of a mixture of rotten fish and sewer water. A long, forked tongue uncoils from its jowls, tracing my body with its slick surface, stopping to linger at my face. Shutting my eyes tight I turn my head away from it, as the tongue flicks at the skin on my neck and plays with the lobe of my ear.

  Twisting my body on the melting pavement, I struggle to try and get it off, but the creature is far too heavy to move. In response to my insubordination, it sinks its claws so deep into my flesh, I can feel the top ones grind themselves against my collarbone. The claws scratching at my bone is making it feel like bugs are crawling inside my flesh. I’m afraid if I try to move again, the hellhound will shred me to bits without effort. I refuse to die again here, not like this, and not with Victor only a few meters away.

  The first time I died starts to flash before my eyes, bringing back with it all the memories of the despaired I felt when I lost Victor the first time. I start to feel hot. All the longing I felt, the anger I held towards Nadia for doing this to us, it was all starting to simmer and sizzle inside of me. The fire burning inside my heart has quickly grown into a raging inferno. Pressing my palms on the hellhounds massive chest, I dig my nails into it and glare right into his vibrant eyes.

  “Get off me,” I growl.

  With a gentle pulse, I can feel my body erupting in silvery blue flames, hugging the beast in their embrace. The creature yelps, immediately jumping off me, running off whimpering into the shadows. Gradually, the flames retreat back into the secret place within me that they reside. Standing back up, I clutch one of my injured shoulders, it feels sticky and wet, I realize I’m bleeding. Strange, it has been so long since I bled, guess it would not be hell if the souls inside of it could not experience mortal pain.

  Breathing through the pain I stagger forward, leaving a trail of blood as I walk, I have come too far to allow a small injury like this to stop me. The black fog has spread out a little more to reveal the wrought iron gate a few steps away from me. I shove it open, stumbling into the scorched garden. The trees are charcoal now; their smoldering branches crumble slowly to the frigid ground beneath. The ghouls who are floating about hang back, they look down at me, chattering and giggling as I make my way for the door.

  A giant tentacle is blocking my way in, undeterred I shove it aside, and it falls down to allow me entry into its secret fortress. Stepping over the oscillating suckers on the disembodied limb I step through the open door. The inside of the building is also covered entirely in ice; it reminds me of the ice castle the Russians like to carve in the winter time for children to visit. Except, unlike the sculptures, this is far from whimsical. I shiver, it’s freezing, and I can see my breath in front of me as I move closer to the stairs.

  Wrapping Shawn’s coat tightly around myself I look around; it’s quiet, eerily quiet. But this isn’t your typical silence; this is the type of silence that you encounter in cemeteries and abandoned buildings. It’s the one where you know you are supposed to be alone, and yet at the same time you know you’re not. I hold my breath and listen carefully, but all I am able to hear are the tormented screams coming from outside. Not daring to move I stand at the bottom of the staircase, glancing about futilely through the frozen space.

  Though I cannot see anyone, I feel hundreds of eyes upon me, watching, waiting. For what, I cannot say. I know Victor is close by, I can feel him, I need to get to him before Nadia has the chance to kill him once again. With the eyes burning a hole in my back I take a cautious step onto the first step of the staircase. Gradually I begin to climb up the old steps that creak and moan beneath my feet, the eyes don’t follow, but I know something is waiting for me to arrive on the second floor.

  Somewhere from the upper landing, I hear faint wisps of voices trailing down the stairs to greet me. Nothing more than hushed whispers really, one indistinguishable from the rest, except for one that stands out. If I focus my ears, I can hear a woman’s voice, silky and motherly, calling my name, beckoning me to hurry. I don’t know her, but I feel like I have no choice but to obey, so I sprint up the stairs battling the pain in my wounds and the weakness in my knees. Collapsing from near exhaustion on the second-floor landing I feel myself getting surrounded by warm, bright light.

  The light disperses and with it goes my pain. I look over my hands and notice my wounds have healed. Several white lights float around me, all of them in the general shape of a human, but with no distinguishing features. Amongst the white light beings, there are two who are different; one is a pale red and the other a soft blue. They look familiar, but I cannot say how. I know these beings mean me no harm, they healed me, so whatever they are, they are not from this dark place. They seem not to be paying attention to me anymore, so I get up and run for Victor’s door.

  Flinging it open, I am disappointed to find it empty inside, it looks the same way it did when Victor and I left here. Desperate, I run around hoping to find him but to no avail, defeated I sink to the floor and bury my face in my knees. I fear I am too late; I begin to cry at the prospect of being alone again. All my hope is about to leave me when suddenly I hear it, the rhythmic, monotonal chanting traveling down the fireplace from somewhere upstairs. Wiping away my tears, I continue to listen to the muffled sound coming out of the mouth of the hearth.

  Crawling closer to the fireplace that’s covering the wall of the living room, I raise myself along the wall, pressing my ear against it as I move up. Listening closely, I hear it better now, the unmistakable sound of some sort of chanting. I can’t make out what it’s saying, it’s in a different tongue, but it sounds almost like Latin. I don’t know enough of the language to be certain though, but that’s what I would guess from the words I do understand. What’s more, is that it’s a woman’s voice doing the chanting, it must be Nadia performing the twisted ritual which will convert Victor into a vessel for the worm.

  There must be a floor above this one, but how do I get up there, I never saw any indication in the hall of another staircase leading up. When I first saw the building, I thought the third floor was just decorative, but it must be an attic, and I had to find an entry to it fast. Rushing out of the apartment, I begin walking around the second floor, looking, searching for anything that I might have missed.

  They always hide attic access in the most unlikely places, it must be located in an apartment which belonged to someone who would need its access; a maintenance man, or super. But which one was it? I spin around aimlessly trying to spot a door which was different from the rest but found nothing of sorts. As I am getting ready to quit, the red light being floats closer to me and stretches out a hand, pointing me down the dark hallway to a door at the end.

  Inching forward, I move closer to the charcoal door, it’s covered in glowing crimson symbols, it almost looks as if someone carved them here in blood. Some of them I recognize. Ancient symbols from all over the world: Egyptian, Hebrew, and even a few from Mesopotamia. But other’s I have never seen before, strange scribbles in a language I don’t recognize. I place my finger to trace one of the symbols only to get zapped by whatever magic they were created with. Whatever this is, it’s a good sign that Victor is inside.

  With a shaking hand, I press my palm on the door handle, pushing it down. It’s unlocked, and the door swings in without effort. The intricate plum room is empty inside, but it was undoubtedly decorated by the same person who did Victor’s room. The decor here is lusher, a tad more feminine, but still almost identical to his. This has to be Nadia’s apartment; I’m close, all I need to do is find the attic door.

  The layout of this room is different from that of Victor’s, if the door is hidden somewhere, it must be here. White pillars rise from the dark wood floor to a black ceiling above, painted with the night sky. The purple velvet curtains are drawn shut to choke out any light which would normally be outside. Still, nothing gives me an i
ndication of where a secret entrance might hide. Everything here looks seemingly ordinary, no different than the room Victor was in.

  Holding my breath, I trail my eyes around the room, observing every minute detail that may conceal the door I seek. To the left of me is a giant fireplace carved from mahogany, and tall enough to fit a grown man inside its vast chamber. The chanting appears to be louder coming from that direction; the hidden attic must be right above my head. I look around the room again, more intently this time, but I still see no evidence of a secret door or any other means of getting up into the secret chamber. I am about to go look for the entrance in the bedroom when a warm hand grasps my shoulder firmly and pulls me back.

  The light being has followed me into the room and was now preventing me from leaving. Shaking its head, it lets me go and floats over to the fireplace. Extending out a finger it points to one of the corners of the mantle. Moving closer, I inspect the spot that he is pointing to, it’s a delicately carved square with a four-petal flower on the inside. Tracing the details with my fingers, I notice the flower has some play to it. Gently, I push down on it, and with a click, it gives way beneath my fingers, the floor at my feet starts to shake.

  With a loud, grinding groan, and a cloud of dust and ash, the back of the fireplace begins to move up into the ceiling, revealing a hidden staircase hidden within its core. The inside passageway is constructed entirely of brick, so one should assume the staircase is too, except I cannot tell. A river of scarlet flows down the ancient steps, spreading out as it reaches the floor of the room below. A strong metallic perfume lingers in the air as a river of blood is flowing down from the chamber above me.