Don’t look at me!

There was one time, about 5 years ago, when my mother complained about the doorbell in the morning. They called at night, between 2 and 3 o’clock. Insistently, demanding. Mom said that every time she was surprised that no one at home could hear them except her, and she would get up, go to the hallway, and ask, without hesitation; hurrying to open it, “Who is there?!”. And the answer to her every time was silence.

We didn’t have a peephole at that time; it was still made during the repair, 2 years ago, so she listened carefully, thinking that she would hear footsteps or a rustle behind the door. But in vain — they called again, and again they did not respond. And every time Mom didn’t dare to open it, and went back to bed.

In the morning, before leaving for work, she complained to me and my father that again someone came at night, persistently rang the doorbell, and did not respond. My father, by nature a skeptic and humorist, said that it was the conscience or the ghost of a salary increase that came to my mother from oblivion. Mom herself didn’t dare to joke about it. I, just like my father, did not hear these strange calls, and I thought that my mother was seeing them through a dream. But this was repeated every week with enviable regularity. In the end, Mom just stopped coming, and the calls stopped at night. As it turned out, only for a while.

Since last year, I began to suffer from insomnia — I could lie in the dark for hours, contemplating the ceiling, and listening to the clock ticking over my ear. Time on such nights drags on slowly, like molasses. Only when it begins to lighten outside the windows, the long-awaited dream comes — usually deaf and colorless. I did not try to take sleeping pills, and at night I brewed herbal tea (chamomile, mint or lime), but it was of little use. And the night, a time of rest and sleep, turned for me into a time of painful wakefulness.

It happened on one of those sleepless nights. It began February, and the night was dead, and moonless. Snow was falling outside the windows. I was alone in the apartment.

Mother and father went to the godmother, but could not return, as the buses were canceled due to bad weather. I went to bed late, about an hour. I usually go to bed earlier, as couples go to the morning shift. But as soon as my head touched the pillow, I realized that I couldn’t sleep again. I tossed and turned, wrapped myself in a blanket and blankets, covered myself with a pillow, strenuously forcing myself to fall asleep, but all my attempts were unsuccessful. According to the old tradition, I had to lie on my back and lie still, thinking about everything in the world and waiting for the sky to begin to lighten, because sleep would come along with the first rays of dawn. When suddenly I shuddered from surprise — the doorbell rang. So shrill. Someone was pressing the bell button too hard, as if wanting to wake up the neighbors as well.

I decided that my parents had returned, and immediately hurried to the front door, and had already reached for the door lock, mechanically asking “Who is there?!” No one responded. I was wary. The call was repeated, and with the same insistence. “Who’s there?!” I ask “ Answer!” In response, silence.

I listened — there were no noises outside the door — complete silence. And then I felt terrible. I already had a chill. Another call. I tiptoe up and I look through the “peephole”… The playground is illuminated by the bright light of two bulbs. I see a boy standing at the threshold, about 10 years old, in a simple fur coat, without a hat, in felt boots, mittens hanging from the sleeves on elastic bands. The hair is dark, the face is round, but without any expression, the eyes are large, colorless. It’s snowing outside.

There’s not a snowflake on him, and his clothes are dry. He raised his head and looked up, as if he knew that I was looking at him. And then I realized that how did such a kid reach for the bell?! And does not respond why?! And where is he from?! We don’t have a single child of that age in our entrance hall! And from these thoughts, the horror shivered me to the very bones… I kept looking, and the boy suddenly curled his lips, and his face darkened in a moment. He opened his mouth and said “Don’t look at me!” the voice is hoarse, raspy, like an old man’s “Don’t look, otherwise it will be worse!”. I’ll scream in horror as I recoil into the corridor…, And they are already scratching at the door, and hoarsely they mutter “I saw it… beheld… beheld… “And I, paralyzed with horror, stand and do not know what to do… And there everyone is scratching and wheezing… “My God! “I shout, “Protect me from the unclean!” And I began to baptize the door with a trembling hand, “Help, Lord! Save me from evil!” And almost immediately the grinding stopped…

Something wheezed, knocked on the door and went quiet. And I draw all the signs of the cross with my hand. I stood there for another 10 minutes. I listened — Silence. I didn’t dare look through the peephole at the door. I returned to the room, turned on the light, and sat there until morning, until I passed out from tension and fatigue.

The parents returned by noon. They woke me up, complained about the bad weather for a long time and asked what happened to the front door. They said there were scratches on it — we have it covered with dermatin. The layer was recently changed; the scratches are small, but noticeable, deep. I thought I’d faint when I saw them myself, but I didn’t fall. I restrained myself.

I haven’t heard the doorbell ring since. Mom, too. And thank God. Someone or something has obviously accepted that he will not be opened, or was afraid that he was being seen. Or knocks on another door; and God forbid, he will be opened…

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