Nikolai wandered aimlessly throughout the cold darkened streets, in deep contemplation. He trusted Alexander, but there was a sense — a premonition, almost — that something would go terribly wrong. Fate had a way of playing into the worst choices possible, so why would this have been an exception?
But there was no going back now, and he had to fulfill his end first. The journey home was illuminated only by the occasional street lamp, his breath dissipating into the shadows. He tucked his hands deeper into the coat pockets, liberating them from the chilling embrace of the gelid autumn night. Nikolai deliberated on investing into a woolen scarf, as winter was fast approaching, and the cool, dry climate threatened both his health and the investigation. With languid movements, he lumbered, step by step.
As he walked into the dilapidated home, the everyday odor of moldy wood attacked his nostrils, although proving for naught, as they had developed a hardened resistance to such onslaughts. He practically crawled up the stairs, eager to fall into the gentle caress of his bed. To Nikolai's dismay, it had not been even a second since he had tiptoed into the room when he was discovered.
"Did you have fun?" Lukas' voice startled him as he closed the door, the small beam of light dissipating through the crack. He smiled curiously.
"I didn't peg you as the type to go drinking on a work night, but I guess we all have those days, amirite?"
"Not drinking, just a little overtime," Nikolai clarified. Lukas appeared slightly disappointed by the elucidation.
"More work?" He sighed. "Man, live a little; you've already been working for what, three days now? Come with me and Tomas to the bar, we can all go drinking sometime!"
"Two days. And no thanks," Nikolai replied, swiftly. "But I appreciate the offer." Lukas shrugs his shoulders to the indifference.
"You shouldn't be overworking too much, Nikolai." He gestures at the sleeping Tomas and himself. "Look at us, so focused on making money during our youth and then, in an instant, there goes five years of life down the drain. You don't wanna end up like us, right?"
His eyes wander outside towards the bright crescent moon, his gaze longing. "You don't realize how much time you waste until you really start to miss things," his tone softened with each word.
A brief moment of silence overtook the room, before Lukas continued. "Sorry about my tantrum by the entrance earlier," he apologized, clearly unaccustomed to doing so. "Work's been a bitch lately."
"Lukas, there's no need to-"
"No, no. I was an asshole back then, so I should've said sorry sooner than later. And...," he paused. "Damn, I'm pretty bad at this, huh." He cleared his throat. "Anyways, I wanna treat you to a drink this weekend. It'll be my way of saying sorry." An ephemeral half-minute passed before Nikolai relayed his answer.
"Yeah, sure, I'll go."
"Cool. I'll let you know when and where tomorrow." He flopped onto his bed, covering himself with his blanket.
Nikolai switched off the light and did the same. The tenebrous bedroom was accompanied by a deafening tranquility. He dug deeper into the quilted burrow and gradually closed his eyes.
Falling asleep was the easy part.
Was I running?
Am I running?
Yes, I was.
But from what?
When Nikolai opened his eyes, they were met with only a Cimmerian shade, whilst shadows danced about among the murky twilight, chanting, louder, louder, louder, on how they were starved, each emaciated face gazing upon his own, filled with sunken eyes and hollow cheeks, their visage voracious, edacious, rapacious.
Baihu.
Baihu.
Baihu.
Each time the word was repeated, Nikolai doubled over from a searing pain in his head. He could not close his eyes, almost as if they were forced open. The sight upon him was unavoidable, each passing second more disturbing.
Their hungering cries only grew in volume, grew and grew, until another figure approached from behind. The ghouls, once focused on him, pounced onto the new shape, tearing it apart, arms from torso, head from neck, intestines from stomach. The once Stygian darkness was now dyed vermillion.
The now detached head of the figure rolled towards Nikolai, eyes having been gouged out and feasted on, flesh hanging onto bone by a few strands of ligament.
But it spoke, its catatonic expression uttering an all too familiar phrase.
"Run. Don't let them catch you. Don't let them catch you, br-"
"Hey! Are you alright!? Nikolai!"
He woke up, eyes fluttering open. He couldn't hear anything except a ringing in his ear. Beside him was Tomas and Lukas. The sound quickly faded away, replaced by his roommates' distress.
"Are you good, man!?" Tomas asked, worried. Lukas wore a disturbed look.
"Yeah, I'm ok," he reassured them. "Just a nightmare."
"Only a nightmare!? Nikolai, you were convulsing and your eyes were rolled back. I thought you were possessed or something!"
"It's a seizure, Tomas," Lukas said matter-of-factly. "But seriously, Nikolai. You need to go to a doctor. That's not healthy in the slightest. If we weren't around, you could've died." Nikolai looked down upon his hands, glistening with sweat. His chest was heaving, each breath raspy.
"I-I need to go to work," he stuttered.
"Are you kidding me? What the fuck do you mean you need to 'go to work'!?" Lukas snapped at Nikolai, angrily. "Go to the doctor. Now."
Tomas let out a sigh in agreement.
"He's right, Nikolai. You need to go to the doctor. Work is not more important than your life. Tell me the work address and I'll let them know you can't come in today."
"A-alright." His words came out in hoarse croaks. "I-I'll go."
As he stumbled out the front door, the cool morning air hit him like a slap, sharpening his senses just enough to focus on the simple task of putting one foot in front of the other. His breath was shallow, his chest tight, each step feeling like a marathon. The station wasn't far—ten minutes, maybe less—but today, it felt like an eternity.
With a hand shoved into the coat pocket, he fumbled for his ticket, fidgeting around with the paper. The familiar hum of the approaching tram sent a small wave of relief through him, though his body was still shaking from the aftermath of the nightmare. As the doors hissed open, he quickly located an empty seat, slouching onto it with half-lidded eyes, trying to steady himself.
The tram jolted to life, and he found himself staring out the window, watching the buildings pass in a blur, each more indistinct than the last. When the tram finally stopped, he took a deep breath, stepping off and taking in the surroundings. He stumbled slowly toward the doctor's office, each step feeling heavier than the last. It wasn't just exhaustion now—something else weighed onto him. The sight of the clinic's dull brick walls and narrow windows gave him an odd sense of discomfort.
Inside, the air smelled of antiseptic. He approached the receptionist, his voice barely audible as he gave his name and reason for the visit. While waiting, he noticed that his hands were still trembling slightly. When he sat down, the waiting room chair creaked under him as he leaned back, eyes fixed on the flickering fluorescent light overhead. A hollow hum filled the room, broken only by the occasional shuffling of feet or muffled cough from someone further down the hall. Nikolai closed his eyes, forcibly willing himself to relax, but with the images still vivid – sunken faces, hollow eyes, the guttural chant echoing in his skull – there was no respite.
"Nikolai Andreyevich Lyubimov?" A voice called out. He jolted, eyes snapping open as he turned toward the nurse who had appeared by the door. Standing up, knees unsteady, he followed her down the narrow corridor, the sterile smell intensifying with every step. They entered a small, windowless room, where she motioned for him to sit on the examination table. "The doctor will be with you shortly," she said, her voice softened by a look of concern. Minutes later, the door opened, and a man with graying hair and sharp eyes walked in, clipboard in hand. The doctor took a seat across from Nikolai, glancing up over his glasses.
"So, Mr. Lyubimov, I understand you had a...severe nightmare?" His tone was clinical, hiding a thin layer of annoyance.
"It was more than just a nightmare," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "I... I don't know. It felt real, more real than it should have. There was this... chanting, and then pain, intense pain. When I woke up, I couldn't breathe, I was drenched in sweat, and apparently I was... convulsing." The doctor scribbled a few notes. He glanced up, unimpressed.
"Have you ever experienced anything like this before? Convulsions, hallucinations, or any severe distress after sleep?" Every symptom was spoken with mild exasperation.
"Yes... but this was the worst one by far." He nodded.
"Given what you've described, it's most likely a stressed-caused seizure. Get some rest and avoid straining situations." He handed him a prescription slip, and after a quick nod, Nikolai was back in the hallway, the paper cold and wrinkled in his hand. As he began to close the door, the doctor mumbled under his breath.
"Junkie. Stress-caused seizure my ass. It's just opioid withdrawal symptoms. Waste of my god damn time."
Nikolai quickly hurried out the building afterwards.
Outside, the morning had settled into a damp grayness, clouds thick and unmoving. Nikolai took in a slow breath, forcing himself to focus on the present. It would be a quick tram ride back, then he could take the day off, maybe try to sleep, even if the idea filled him with dread. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, feeling the cold slow its ascent up his arms. The tram rumbled down the tracks, slowing to a stop with a familiar hiss.
As he boarded, scanning rows of faces, he settled into a seat near the back. Nikolai closed his eyes, resting his head against the window, and listened to the steady rhythm of the wheels against the track. The city lay wrapped in the dense morning mist that clung to the streets, swirling with the tram's passage. He watched the city slide past, feeling its grit and grime mirrored in the tainted feeling within him. The cobbled streets were nearly empty at this hour, save for a few vendors setting up their stalls, the smell of coal smoke mingling with brine from the nearby docks.
As the tram jerked to a halt at his stop, he stepped off into the haze, the chilly morning air biting sharply through his coat. The doctor's final remarks continued to echo in his head. He stifled a bitter laugh as he turned up the narrow street toward his building.
Opioid addiction? I've never touched that stuff in my life! What a quack. Nothing but lies.
He wasn't wrong.
Halfway down the street, he saw the newsboys shouting and hawking their papers. One of them in particular, his voice loud and high-pitched, caught his ear:
"Extra! More disappearances in the city! Two cases still unresolved!" Nikolai paused, goosebumps forming on his skin. He hurried past, head down, pretending he hadn't heard.
The stairwell to his building was as dim and drafty as ever, the cold seeping in through cracks in the old wooden frame. Each step groaned underfoot as he climbed, the echoes filling the narrow space. When he reached the door, he fumbled for the key with numb fingers, finally pushing it open.
Inside, he pulled off the coat, draping it over a chair, and slumped onto the bed. His body sank into the thin, worn mattress, and he closed his eyes, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. The doctor's words rattled continuously:
Junkie.
Addict.
Waste of time.
Not long after he had settled in, he heard a faint knock on the door. Nikolai tensed, instincts honed by the recent days. He forced himself up, the images lingering in his mind as he cracked the door open. It was Lukas, his face lined with worry.
"How'd it go?" Nikolai let out a sigh, pushing the door open wider to let him in. Lukas took a seat on the chair by the small table, his gaze following Nikolai as he slumped against the wall, suddenly too exhausted to pretend.
"I'm all fine," he lied, the words falling heavily. Nikolai laughed it off weakly, but Lukas didn't smile. His expression was grim.
Nikolai tried to shift the topic, hoping to avoid any lectures.
"Shouldn't you be at work?" Lukas takes the bait.
"No one wants to go to work with all those disappearances," he scoffed. "They're gonna let us have some time off until they figure out what's going on. You still planning on going tomorrow?"
"I'll figure it out," Nikolai muttered, rubbing his temples. "I'll just rest for now." Lukas gave a quiet nod of confirmation, but his expression remained unchanged. He seemed to understand more than he was being let on.
As Nikolai sank back into the chair, he closed his eyes, the scenes of the nightmare pressing against his eyelids again—those ghastly faces, the chants... the sense of being hunted. Then, like a lightning bolt, the image of the man who had died in front of him two nights ago replayed in his mind. Nikolai ran for the toilet, barely reaching it before vomiting out everything in his stomach.
It was strange. When he died, he had no reaction, but now, why now? Why was he so disgusted? But it did not stop. It didn't stop. It wouldn't.
Why?