“Fake creepy stories” Part 2

"Green Door"
Of course he was drunk as hell. Only a very drunk person would tell such things to a random drinking buddy in a dirty, dark bar, where disgusting music is played, beer is served at a price three times higher than in the store and ten times higher than the price it deserves, where cockroaches calmly talk, wiggling their mustaches, on a sticky counter, behind which a shabby-looking girl is dozing, who pays no more attention to the world around her than to the traces of someone else. binge drinking in the corner. Sometimes such things are not told even to the closest people – for fear of seeming crazy. But at the bottom of his eyes, red from drinking and watery from tobacco smoke, so thick that it could be scooped up with a glass, there was no glow – such genuine horror shone with a yellow fire that understanding came immediately – he passionately wished that the person who listened to him would exclaim: “You’re completely crazy! This simply cannot happen!». Then, heaving a sigh of relief, he would go to the doctor, tell him about the nightmare that haunts him, and the doctor, a man with a kind and all-understanding look, would give him an injection and send him to rest for a couple of months in a quiet place, where in a ward with four beds live crazy people like him – each with his own nightmare, which has never come true. To know that it was a hallucination, delirium, a bad dream – that would be a reward for him. But he was pressed to the ground by the realization of one fact – this was, was in reality, and this was not just his nightmare. Who knows how many other people were there? How many returned? And how many people now sit all night in dirty bars, just not to fall asleep, look at the world through the red veil of insomnia, go to work like sleepy flies only because they could not overcome curiosity?

— You loved to read as a child? – a decently dressed man of about thirty-eight, or maybe forty, turned to me, having just swallowed a glass of vodka in one gulp and, judging by his appearance, not the first one that evening. His eyes were watery, he smelled like an old drunk, but his cheeks were clean-shaven.
I don’t like talking to drunks, especially in places where the next sentence is “come to my place, let’s have a drink and all that.”. I actually accidentally wandered into this bar in a foreign city, but there were still three hours left before the train, and I didn’t particularly want to sit at the station with homeless people in my arms. I opened my mouth to, as usual in such cases, politely explain that I value peace and quiet, for which I usually rudely send, and if this does not help, then a blow follows, but his face, and especially his gaze, stopped me. I realized that this man did not intend to pester me, much less attack me. He just desperately wants to talk it out, and I, as a stranger who in three hours will disappear into the night, never to appear in his life again, am the ideal object for this.

“Yes, I did,” I answered, looking at him expectantly. Most likely, now the question will follow: did I love romance novels and a tearful story about an abandoned and lonely sad man. Or not?
– Me too. I especially loved Wells. At first I was fascinated and frightened by “War of the Worlds”; we had nothing else at home, but after that I borrowed a collection of stories from the library. This is probably the only thing I’ve stolen in my life. I didn’t return her because I couldn’t part with her, you know?

I nodded. I myself have read a huge number of books in libraries throughout my life. However, the conversation began to interest me, I desperately hoped that his story would not disappoint me. Apparently, this man is interesting, and although he could hardly move his tongue, he thought clearly and expounded just as well.

– You know what story I couldn’t tear myself away from and re-read it fifty times?? "Green Door". God, how I wanted to find that door someday! So that there would be a clear sky, beautiful houses, friendly children who would not drive me away, but would immediately invite me to play. And that lady who fed him a delicious dinner… I told myself that if I had found such a door, I would have stayed behind it forever. Damn, if only I knew… How I hate this story now! Hey, pour me some more! – he shouted to the girl behind the counter. She shuddered, raising her head and opening her eyelids. Then she looked at him like he was dog poop stuck to her shoe.
– Do you have money?? You’ve been sitting here all evening, you drunk. Come on, pay, you have eighty-three rubles and forty kopecks. He meekly reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out a shabby wallet, in which he found a single fifty-ruble note.
“Listen, I’ll bring it to you on Wednesday,” he turned pleadingly to the girl. – I get paid on Wednesday.
– Don’t lie, you won’t bring anything. Give me the money, or I’ll call the cop now,” the awakened girl’s eyes flashed a flame of irreconcilable struggle. And my interlocutor looked both humiliated and full of that strange dignity that is inherent in once respected, but now degraded people.
– Yes, be a man! – he exclaimed in despair, but then I took out two hundred from my wallet and handed it to the girl.
“Please pour it while there’s still enough,” I asked. The girl took the money, looking at me with a destroying look, but poured two glasses of vodka. Pulling mine towards me, I began to spin it around the counter. The interlocutor drank his in one gulp, winced, and sniffed it with his sleeve.
“Thank you,” he said and extended his hand. – Sergey.

I shook his hand and introduced myself, but he waved his hands at me.

– Don’t, don’t tell me what your name is. I want to tell you a story, but if we know each other, I won’t tell you anything.

I shrugged, took a sip from my glass, and washed it down with Coca-Cola.

– So where did I stop?? Oh yes, on the dream of finding a green door in a white wall. To be honest, I wondered how she could end up in London. Because I didn’t have to look for it, I knew exactly where it was. Only in Wells’s did it disappear, but mine was always there. But I dreamed of finding it, because I never had the courage to just open it and look inside. It’s not that I’m afraid. That is, of course I was afraid. I was afraid to see behind it what should be there – a damp, dirty basement, to smell the stench of musty water. And I wanted everything to be like in the story.
-You never went there? – I asked, because he fell silent, clasping the glass with his palms and looking into it as if into a well.
– No, I went. And more than once. But don’t rush me. It’s hard for me to talk about this.
– Why?
– Because I’m scared.

I fell silent here. Scary?
– I was fifteen years old then. Even as a child I didn’t believe in miracles. I wanted to believe so badly, I forced myself, but I never even believed in Santa Claus, and even with the stork everything was clear to me. I used to sit, dream, close my eyes, because the expectation of a miracle was very strong, I thought – I’ll open them and see a miracle. But when I was ready, a voice inside said – let there be nothing there, it’s all nonsense. And no miracles happened. But that evening it happened to believe. I was at a friend’s birthday party, there I tried alcohol for the first time in my life and got completely drunk. Now I’m still sober, but then I couldn’t say “mom”. I crawled home on all fours, knocked on the door, my mother opened it and said to me: “Go sober up first, you pig, then go home.”. I didn’t even ask her, my mother was a flint woman, dead. And I went outside, it was autumn, the end of October. The downpour is freezing, the wind is terrible, I’m soaked to the skin, no matter how hard I squeeze it. And then I look – that same house. We had one house, it was white, no one lived in it. It was going to be demolished, but they still didn’t demolish it. And next to the entrance, you know, those doors where the garbage chute is? There was a garbage chute in that house, even though it was old. And the door there was green. Peeling, dirty, but still green door in a white wall. And I was just walking past that house. The door to the entrance was boarded up, and that one too, but then I looked – it was open. Do you know what my mood was?! I feel bad, I drank too much, I’m cold, my mother kicked me out, and the other day I had a quarrel with my girlfriend, well, I think, come what may! I’ll go through the green door now, and there’s sun, warmth and everyone loves me. I’ll stay there. Well, I came in.
– And what? – I leaned forward. The story captivated me completely. Maybe he’s lying, but he’s lying so well, dog!! You can listen all evening.
– Pour some vodka, beauty! – he disturbed the girl again. She poured it without opening her eyes. Sergei exhaled, closed his eyes and swallowed the vodka like liquid flame. I was worried that he would pass out before he could tell me what he saw behind the door, but he didn’t seem to care. He reached out and took a tiny bite of the sandwich he had been stretching out all evening and stared at me.
– Why don’t you drink?? The night is long, and I will talk for a long time. You better have a drink, I’ve calmed down a little, but this is your first time listening. I know what I’m talking about. I looked again at his red eyes, at his black hair, streaked with gray here and there. What was there? I obediently took another sip of vodka and turned my ears again.
– I opened the door. I look – there is a cobweb, an old shovel is standing in the corner, an empty pack of cigarettes is crumpled. Only one thing is unusual – in such closets there is nowhere to turn, but this big woman is so. But I think the house is old, all the rooms are large, why shouldn’t this one be hefty?? There’s nothing here, I think, but at least it’s not dripping rain. I was sitting on some box, suddenly I heard laughter coming from somewhere in the corner, a girlish laughter, so loud! And then it comes to my mind – Marinka! The head is drunk, I can’t figure out where Marinka would come from at half past one in the morning in the garbage closet! I get up and say: Marin, it’s you? And I see myself, Marinka is standing in the corner. Completely naked, hair scattered over her shoulders, smiling, laughing, beckoning with her hand. I became like crazy, I’m a complete boy, I’ve never seen a naked girl in my life. My vision went dark, I rushed to her, ran, and undressed as I went. He took off his jacket, tore off his shirt along with the buttons, and simply jumped out of his shoes. But I take steps, but she doesn’t get closer. The main thing is that I’ve been running for a minute, no less. There can’t be such rooms that you can’t run through like that in a minute! Here I am running without shoes, in socks and trousers, then Marinka stopped. I look, and I’m standing on the grass, like in the story. Only there the day was clear, but here it was night, and what a! The moon is full, huge, half the sky, like on some kind of Mars, red as blood, but it looks like it was painted on the sky, because nothing is visible around except this very moon and Marinka. But Marinka glows with such a bluish light, like a ghost in a movie. She stands there, looking at me, and I stopped. All the hops flew out of my head. And then I understand that this is not Marinka. But I repeat, and my voice trembles: “Marin, it’s you?». And then she comes up to me, hugs me, presses me, everything is upside down, but I understand – I don’t want this, no matter what it is. But I can’t help it. Here I feel a wild pain in my back, where are her hands. I tore her away from me and pushed her away, but to no avail. My hands went through it. And she smiles, runs her hands over me, in front, along my chest. I look, and where she spent, blood flows like a stream. Then I screamed at the top of my lungs and ran back. I run, and she swims after me, laughs with that depraved laugh of hers and from time to time I use her hand – once, once, I scream, and she follows me. So, I ran there for a minute, and from there it took half an hour. I never knew how to run, but here I’m flying like a bird. I think I set an Olympic record that night. But it still took longer to get out than it took to get in.
He wordlessly pushed the glass across the counter. The glass lingered at the very edge, swayed there, but did not fall. The girl, waking up, poured again. He was shaking violently, as always happens when you tell something that has been tormenting him for a long time. I realized that the girl and I were the first listeners of this story. Perhaps the latter.

– I ran away from there then. Took off like I was scalded. Crawled home. I told my mother that I had been beaten and robbed, but I crawled home in just my pants and socks. And so, believe it or not, from that evening until last week I did not drink more than three glasses of wine, and then on holidays. No, there was one more time. The next day it all seemed like a nightmare to me. What in delirium you can’t imagine. Yes, and my memory gave me some four drunk guys who beat me up for drunkenly getting into someone else’s area. Look!

He unbuttoned his shirt. Thick fur grew on his chest. Everywhere except two places. Long lines of scars ran down his chest, starting at the top like handprints. Seven-fingered palms. I felt like I was electrocuted. I looked at these scars, unable to believe what I saw. I know a lot about scars, and I can say for sure that such scars remain when skin is cut off from some place. Not all, but a very thick top layer.

– Lord, how did https://noaccount-casinos.co.uk/review/spin-time/ you not lose consciousness then?? – I whispered, reaching out my hand to touch. But he suddenly exclaimed excitedly:
– Do you believe me?? Do you believe? It happened, I’m not crazy, it happened! Or it wasn’t? Tell me whether it happened or not?
“Judging by the scars, it was,” I said.
– I still have several of these on my back. You see the palms imprinted? Can there be such palms, tell me??

I shook my head. The horror burning in his eyes now seemed to me to be a reflection of my own. I took a good half glass to stop shaking.
– Do you want to listen further?? – he asked, looking intently at me. – You tell me if you don’t want to, I’ll understand. I wouldn’t want to listen to that myself.
“Yes, I want to,” I answered, but I wasn’t sure about it. But now, after what he had already said, I didn’t feel right to leave the man alone with his nightmare.
“Marina died three days later,” Sergei continued, staring at his hands folded on his knees. — I was at her funeral, although I was shaking when I went there. Everything came crashing down on me, I loved her madly, and then her mother called me and said: “Marinochka was electrocuted in the bathroom.”. She died today at three o’clock in the morning.". She speaks through sobs, and I myself stand dumbfounded. Then I feel like I’m suffocating. I was speechless with grief, I don’t know what to say, and then, like lightning, her laughter in this closet, the hands that tore my skin alive. And it’s like a waking dream – I see everything, there’s a wall, a telephone, a window, but I see everything as if through her, she’s standing opposite me, smiling, laughing. I hear her mother, and her laughter rings in my ears. Then everything was gone. When she was buried, I walked behind everyone, I was embarrassed to cry, and there were too many relatives in front. Then, when they began to say goodbye, everyone passed by, they kissed her on the forehead once, I approached. I don’t know whether I should kiss her or not, but she lies in the coffin as if she were alive. I decided to kiss you. I leaned towards her, wanted to kiss her on the cheek, then I lower my face, suddenly I see – and she opens her eyes, looks at me and smiles. And her mouth is full of teeth, sharp as peaks, blood flows through them, and she glares at me. I almost screamed, but I blinked and everything was gone. She’s dead again, and doesn’t smile at all, and has no teeth. But it seemed to me then that the corners of her lips were still raised. She seemed to be preparing to smile, as if she was saying: “Wait, my friend, I’ll come to you tonight, baby.”. But no one noticed anything then.

He fell silent. Then I raised my head and noticed that the girl was looking at us with all her eyes. The look on her face didn’t bode well. She walked towards us with a decisive step, put her hands on her hips and said:

– Well, come on, get out! There is nothing to scare decent people here! Here’s the change, I don’t need it! So that your spirit is not here! I’ll leave in a minute! I could tell from her face that she was scared half to death. I expected that now Sergei would close himself off and I wouldn’t hear a word again. I almost hoped so. But he stood up, looked at me and said:
– If you want to listen to the end, let’s go, there’s a children’s playground nearby, there are mushroom houses, you can sit.
“Yes, perhaps,” I agreed.
– Hey, girl, can I see you?! – the girl called out to me. I approached her.
– Well, are you out of your mind, no?? This is a maniac, I’m telling you for sure! – she announced in a theatrical whisper, glancing sideways at my interlocutor. – He will stab you, and remember your name. Sit here, he’ll pester you, I’ll call the police, the police are right through the house. Don’t go anywhere with him!
“Thank you,” I said, appreciating the concern. – But I don’t think he’s a maniac. I’ll take care of myself, don’t worry.
– Well, go ahead, fool! – the girl suddenly got angry. – What do I care about you?. Go let him rip your guts out!

I shrugged and walked out after Sergei, who stood hunched over and lit a cigarette, shielding the weak flame of the lighter from the gusty wind. I lit a cigarette too. On the way, we took another bottle, went into a dark courtyard that smelled of cats, and were silent for a while.

– Since then I have a hard time understanding whether I am asleep or awake. I’m thirty-four now, and I’m already all gray. Nineteen years have passed since then, but if it had all ended then, I might have forgotten about everything. Four years later, the house was finally demolished, and I hoped that I could forget about it all. For four years I walked around, making a block and a half detour, just to avoid passing near this damned house. Once I dreamed that I was standing in front of this door, holding it with both hands, but it still opened, slowly, deliberately, but surely. It opens, and a hand sticks out into the gap between the jamb and the door, all rotten, with worms. And laughter, still the same laughter. Then I woke up the whole house with a scream, my mother came running, and I was lying there, looking at my hands and screaming. She didn’t notice anything, but I’ll tell you: I have pieces of peeling green paint stuck between my fingers. I wet the bed then, but I’m not at all embarrassed about it.
Anyone in my place would get wet. Tell me, could it be, huh?? Could this damned paint, which is lying somewhere far away in a landfill along with the door, end up on my hands from a dream?? Maybe someone took this door for firewood and burned it in the stove. But I hope no one touched it, I don’t wish this on anyone.

Sergei spoke without looking at me anymore. I realized that if now, for example, I go somewhere, he will continue to talk. And I didn’t interrupt him. I was scared to even just look at the person this happened to.
“I’ve been there twice more,” he unexpectedly said. – You don’t believe me? Six years after the incident, two years after the house was demolished. I wandered back and forth, didn’t know what to do. It was a day, quite clear and ordinary. I walked wherever my eyes led me. He turned somewhere, didn’t look at anyone. Then I thought about going to visit a friend, I was just passing by his house. Panel house, trimmed with white tiles. Painters are busy with the neighboring entrance, painting the door frame. If I looked at what I was doing, I would never go there. But somehow I didn’t think, idiot. Well, just imagine, it’s a clear day, the sun is shining, the birds are singing, people are walking around. What difference does it make that the door was painted green??
I was suffocated in anticipation.

— I went into the entrance, called the elevator, got to the top floor where my friend lived. He opened it for me, but he looked kind of discouraged, as if he had, say, a girlfriend and I came at the wrong moment. But he took me into the kitchen and put the kettle on. We talked a little, and then he apologized, said that he would go out for a while and went to the bathroom for some reason. After a while, and my friend still didn’t come, I listened and heard some strange blows coming from the bathroom. As if they were hitting the mattress with something, the splash of water and Vitka cursing. I went into the bathroom and was dumbfounded. Vitka stood naked to the waist, the whole bathroom was stained with blood, it was everywhere, on the floor, on the walls, on the ceiling, he had an ax in his hand, and in the bathroom there was a female corpse, without arms, without legs. And there’s a head in the sink. I took a closer look, and it was Vitka’s mother, I hardly recognized her. Vitka turned to me, grinned from ear to ear and said:

– Well, since you saw it, you could help!

I open my mouth like a fish on the shore, but words don’t come through, air doesn’t flow. Finally I managed and say:

– What have you done, idiot?!

– He’ll know not to give me money, you old bitch!
Then he turned to the sink and spat on her face. And she opened her eyes and creaked in such a voice, you know, as if the door was ungreased, such a piercing squeal:

– I won’t give it, and don’t ask! I’m not a money bag!

Then she looked at me, laughed and said:

– Why are you standing there, Serezhenka, help your friend, since he came!

I flew out of the apartment like a traffic jam. I run out onto the stairs and see – this is not Vitka’s entrance. Such an old staircase, with a wide flight, and flights on both sides of it. I run down, jump over the steps – I look, but I came running up! Came running back! And both stairs only lead up. And there are no marches down. That is, they are there, but on the floor below, and jumping there takes about three meters, only breaking your legs. And then the door slams and Vitka comes out, an ax in one hand, a head in the other. And they both look at me and yell, they yell so hard that my ears are blocked, they squeal heart-rendingly, especially the head is trying. I threw my legs over the railing, and they stopped yelling. Vitka looked me in the eye and said:

– Do you think you can run away from us?? Green doors – they’re everywhere. From today even your toilet door is green.

It was then that I forgot about the height and jumped into the air. Since then I’ve been limping a little. And you know what happened next?

I shook my head.
— I ran out of the entrance. And it wasn’t Vitka’s house! I stood in the middle of a construction site, in the place where that old house was. I ran out onto the site, and there was not a single door near me at all – neither green nor any other. Sergei wanted to drink, but, shaking the bottle and looking at it with disgust, he did not. But I became. I felt a little better, and I stared at him again.
– I was sick for a long time. They treated me and thought it was stress at work. Of course, I didn’t tell anyone about the door, I was afraid, on the one hand, that I would end up in a mental hospital for the rest of my life, and on the other, I was afraid that they wouldn’t find any mental illness in me. That’s what I was afraid of. Needless to say, a week later neither Vitka nor his mother died. Fire in the middle of the night, everything burned out. They were buried in closed coffins, but I didn’t go to the funeral. I didn’t leave the house at all. I removed all the doors in the apartment, even removed the toilet, fortunately I lived alone. My fear of doors has developed into a mania. I quit my job, and I did it over the phone. Thank God there are friends in the world! I wouldn’t even go to the store. I called a friend, explained that I had broken my leg, I couldn’t walk, and he brought me a bag of potatoes and a box of stewed meat. I lived with this for a month, but then the fear not only subsided, it moved somewhere into the background. I lived with him, breathed him, but he no longer loomed before my eyes. I found the strength, no, I forced myself, to open my white door and go outside. If the door in the entrance had been repainted green, I think I would have climbed down from the window on a rope, I wanted to go outside so badly. Six months later, I realized that I could avoid trouble if I carefully inspected the door before entering. It even occurred to me that I should carry a bottle of paint with me, and if I really need to go through the green door, I will smear it with paint. and it will no longer be green, but striped. Then she will be safe. Sergei looked at the sky. The moon in the third quarter shone very brightly, the lanterns did not shine, but there was enough light. In this light, I saw two wet paths drawn on his face. Despair, horror and melancholy were in his eyes. I handed him the bottle, he nodded, and finished the contents in one gulp.
— I happily avoided the damned door for thirteen years. I crossed to the other side of the street, even if the shade was just a little close to green. I learned that any other color is not dangerous. I escaped from trouble, caught and weaved like a hare. My firm lost a significant amount of money just because I couldn’t bring myself to open the door to the office of one possible partner, but I don’t regret it. I know that it wouldn’t have been him who was behind her and the deal wouldn’t have happened anyway. But now I’ve lost, and I’ve lost big. That’s why I’m telling you everything.
– You’re in trouble again? – I asked.
– Something like that. And I got myself into something stupid. You can’t imagine anything stupider. There was nothing special this time. I ate something very stale and rushed to the toilet headlong. What color, what door! I just flew in there and opened the booth door. Someone was sitting on the push, I wanted to apologize and get out, but the one who was sitting on it raised his head and looked at me. At first I couldn’t understand where I saw him. And he looked and began to laugh, just laugh loudly, holding his stomach. He laughed until he cried, but instead of tears blood flowed, he had blood flowing from everywhere, he was oozing it. He raised his hand and pointed his finger at me, stopping laughing as suddenly as he had started.
– You! – he shouted loudly. – Now you! Gotcha! Gotcha!

I slammed the door, pressing her back. From behind her came angry screams, the sound of breaking earthenware, laughter and swearing. But I didn’t care about that. Because there, inside, I was! It was I who sat on that push and pointed a finger at myself, and oozing blood and raging there, inside – I!

Depressed, I looked at him. He grabbed his hair, shaking his head, as if trying to drive away the nightmare.

– Listen, why don’t you go somewhere?? – I said, just to give him at least some hope.
– Nonsense! Where should I go?? Where can you escape from this curse?? And besides, the trains have green doors..
– But there must be a way out! Just play it safe! Avoid everything!
– I can’t avoid anything. I’m sure everything will happen simply and naturally. I can sit at home and die of a heart attack when some closet door turns green and a hand comes out of it. No! I’m lost, it’s already a fait accompli. I just wanted to tell someone my sad story, so I told you. And now – goodbye. Thank you for listening to the end. I’ll go home. You’re a good girl.
He shook my hand and wandered deeper into the yard. I looked after him until he was no longer visible, and then, tormented by worry for this man, I turned and walked towards the station. Time was running out, the train was leaving in half an hour. On the way, I stopped at that same bar to buy myself something for the road, knowing for sure that I wouldn’t be able to sleep. The girl was no longer in the bar; another girl, probably her replacement, was bustling around briskly. Having bought a bottle of beer and five sandwiches, I went out.

I was already heading towards the station when I heard the grinding and howling of brakes from behind, a blow, and then a short scream. I looked back. Someone was lying prone on the asphalt. A dark spot spread near the head. The car that hit him sped off into the night without providing assistance. Having realized who exactly was hit, I didn’t even try to help. I knew that Sergei was dead. Instead of looking at the body, I looked at the bar. Or rather, on its sign. I don’t know why, but I expected what I saw.

Shimmering with faded neon tubes, some of which were not lit, its name glowed above the entrance to the bar. "Green Door".