Door handle of magnesium

Door handle of magnesium

When you were six years old, and in your yard the company already all broken life and matter boys eight-year, I want to do something so that once and for all would raise your credibility, and they finally stopped calling you a "small" and gave a real patsanskuyu klikuhu.

I needed a real patsansky Act. They had already passed all: and halva with lemonade out of the store tyrili and classmates on the third floor of the school zaschupyvali have Pochekutov even had a real pistol, and I just leaned out of the preparatory group of the kindergarten. Of course, I have learned to spit out with a click, and even stopped to confuse the meaning of some known to me the thieves words. And it gave last week.

Basement to bored on the bench sidekick, spat, and disdainfully, through clenched teeth - "My neighbor zakozlil yesterday, I gave him a call button burned ..." Here at once, the crowd of boys, and their it had four, began to laugh in convulsions. They poked through the tears in my fingers, there is something to the cackling cry - "Well, as you now live goatskins ..?!" I do not understand anything, because this phrase was trying to put all his contempt for his neighbor goat, and the absence of fear when he shook his fists above my head and eyes promised to pull ass.

And I realized that I need to do. There is a theme once supernatant in conversation around the campfire late at night. Then someone mentioned the city morgue. I remember that at the time the fire flared up, gave a shower of sparks, and abating, leaving us in the dark. Became really scary and cold, somebody's two hands in the darkness quickly tossed plates from the box into the fire, and this issue no one else raised.

City morgue, was really scary and strange place. It was a one-storey, rickety, wooden hut with small windows, glass in them were like sooty and hide everything that happened to them. This hut is the oldest building of the city. And it so happened that when the city grew rapidly during the time of construction of the plant, the morgue was almost in the center of the city, by the way, just a hundred meters from the school. And if he was surrounded by a circle of brick five-story building and a panel of nine yards with asphalt, it was in its place.

I'm from afar, from the roof of our house, not once considered his possessions. There's some reason has always been a viscous haze of fog. Probably because the barracks stood in the swamp. Through him, to the morgue, wooden trapik led to rotten planks. Swamp seemed alive and at the same time seemed longer dead. There is always something seething, with gas bubbles lazily rose to the surface of muddy slush and muffled clapping. It was a putrid stench, and even grass sedge was there as a lifeless, gray-black, the broken and sickly. And what else was strange evenings, when the houses around the switch on the outdoor lighting, swamp Barack has always been in the dark gloomy haze. There was some invisible boundary separating the light, cheerful city morgue and ownership. This trait did not dare cross any boy in our yard. And in general I try never to mention in conversation that place.

One day, when we sharpened in chips rough rasping piece of magnesium for bombochek someone say with certainty that the handle on the door to the morgue is very old, even from those that are made from magnesium, saying he had seen. We certainly do not believe that he saw it, and that's about the pen I remember, the more that we have been with magnesium (a phrase heard from the parents) a perpetual deficit. In general, I decided to get this handle. Then just all poutihnut. Do something even think about such a thought funk. I began to develop a plan. Moral is ripe, it helped my pride continually infringed, there were only details. By all the laws of thieves, for the work he had to go at night, but it was beyond me. I found a compromise - go at sunset. Not yet dark, but no longer day. All day, the previous outing, I'm ready. Brought home a small crowbar, we smash the boxes for the fire, laid and checked their gear: boots, tailored jackets in the studio, as well as homemade dark lantern, assembled from a flat battery and screwed to the terminals, tape, light bulbs. Towards autumn, we already almost like on the mainland, a day normally changes with the night, that's just getting dark very rapidly, so we must be careful and do everything very quickly.

Swollen red sun had sunk half in distant waters of the Yenisei, when I stood on the boundary between light and darkness. One step, but how it is difficult, treacherous legs trembling, sweaty palms pressed crowbar and flashlight. He closed his eyes and took a step. Even with closed eyes realized that something had changed ... suddenly disappeared all the familiar urban sounds, it was quiet, but I could clearly hear the occasional squeak trapika board burst muddy bubbles in the swamp, and has not the sighs, not then muttering something unknown. Opening my eyes, I did not see the surrounding city as if entered into the invisible realm, hidden behind its overseas rest of the world. It was rapidly getting dark.

Gritting my teeth, I quickly moved on to trapiku differ fog contours of the barracks. A treacherous time for me stretches like are moving through the water. Boards trapika groaning creak of my every step, and in response to them, out of the swamp pop another stinking bubble. Another rotten step and I can see the door. Dark, without any plates, seat covers black with gray mold. Here is a pen. Similarly, this is the same, with round flat shapes, jagged small shells from time to time. Shifting the lantern in his pocket, he took the crowbar in both hands. I'm a little practice before, but then I could not get her to press deeper into the rotten tree, as if the pen had grown into the door, and his hands trembled. Finally succumbed to the rusty nails and crunching jumped, pen fell on the deck. When I bent over her, it seemed to me that above his head flashed a shadow, even stinking fog blasted, and then very loudly invisible bird cawed hoarsely and evil. Heart sank. I froze for a moment, try to calm down. It was quite dark, it is necessary to quickly naff. Took a lantern, press your finger on the tape and lit light bulb surrounded by unsteady haze rainbow.

He covered a very small space, and in it I saw a door. I do not know what moved me then, but with wildly beating heart, I pushed her poking. Suddenly it opened easily. In the vestibule dim, the ceiling dim bulb hanging on a wire, swinging rhythmically as a pendulum. Another door, I am pushing it and move on. A long corridor, gray wooden wall, sometimes covered with ragged pieces of plywood, nasty buzzing pair of narrow white lights on the ceiling, not really given in this darkness light, slimy floor, four rectangles dips into something, with the doors open on the sides, and the smell. Smell that gut-wrenching, I wanted to dive head under jackets, so just did not feel.

Dizzy, but I moved to the first input with the open door, from which flowed the oblique bar of light on the floor, and heard strange sounds as if the rattling old turntable and dimensional, repetitive grinding. I entered the border of the world ... I grew up at a time when the idea predominated the world socialist revolution, and all that was connected with the faith and the church, was to me an empty sound. But what I saw somewhere on a subconscious level and genetic memory, it told me that I probably see Soton - the high priest of this place.

Soton brought me a red, swollen, unshaven face, pitted scab, and intersected by deep wrinkles. Completely bald skull, bleary with sweat, and crushed on the top of the head, the bloody remains of mosquitoes. On his naked, hairy torso shapeless, was wearing a rumpled suit vest from three. He stood sideways to me, bent over the horrible creature lying on the shiny table. This creature was bluish in color, with a black piece of language, fell out of the grinning mouth. Covered likeness skin skeleton. Gutted, with twisted pieces of flesh in the hand, stomach. Protruding upwards, bloody stumps edges.

The fingers of one hand clenched Soton huge needle vdet in her coarse thread, the other fingers, pulling off the flesh edge, then pierced through it and tightening the noose, the splicing. When he did, being hands hanging on the edges of the table, his fingers twitching and chaotic dangling, as if he was really hurt. Nearby, on one side of the creature's head, stood faceted, dirty glass, on the other, a glass bottle with tsiferkami on the side (I've seen of these infants fed milk, pulling on the neck of the nipple) and a hissing speakers, cassette player with bloody keys.

Soton turned in my direction his head, stared at me with a blank stare red eyes, put down the needle and took the bottle. Without looking, he poured into a glass, picked it up and waved a greeting at me, winked, and tipped the contents of the cup of his mouth, sipped noisily and gurgle. In the eyes darkened. Then I do not remember anything, just I woke up already abroad morgue possessions, sweating and furiously pecking heart in his chest.

It was already dark, the city lived its nightlife, flickering light car headlights, somewhere laughing, clinking bottles, crashed on the asphalt, past the dog ran away on their canine affairs ... In my hand, I gripped the doorknob. A flashlight and a crowbar lost. I knew where now our boys, and for the first time one went so late through the dark wasteland to the construction site, and I was quite scared. When I walked into the firelight, the boys jumped back in fright, and I just smiled contemptuously, and threw them at his feet doorknob of magnesium.

P.S. A few days later, Pochekutov, lose a bet me his pistol, when I led the boys to the morgue, and they made sure that there nailed a new pen. Moreover, two days they just drift, and I tried to persuade them, and mocked. Klikuhu I was given a notable - Spirit. I was very proud of it, until he found out that exactly the same is our yard drunk, and all because of his drinking bouts of moldy stuff bore mouth.