the watcher of nightmares/ Кошмарный наблюдатель [RU/EN]

"who are you, Charlie?" [EN]

Darkness. The absorbing darkness devoured the main character. The cold chilled into the bone, and the deadly silence was maddening. The man squeezed his shoulders and "hugged" himself to feel warmer, but his body was colder than ice and snow. Breath, choked with fear and trembling, gave fear. It seemed that it was not he who breathed, but someone else. 
- God ... - he quietly muttered, breathing heavily - w-what does he want from me !? I-i don’t understand all his words, ww-what makes me afraid, like the last coward ... I-I’m not really like that! It's just ... I don’t unn-nderstand what he’s up to!
With every word he said, it became more and more difficult for him and the feeling of approaching death more and more seized this gentleman, but he went further and further, only where-  it wasn’t clear. He just walked forward. Although I would argue about "walking". He could barely drag his legs, trying not to fall from fatigue. But then behind his back the sound of a revolver drum charging was heard, which made him stop in place.
- Hah, you stupid, stupid and dark as the bottom of the sea - someone behind smiled - well, your thoughts bring me even more pleasure.
The tired man quickly turned back, drawing a pistol from the holster on his chest.
- You again!? He asked in shock, shaking hands pointing the pistol at the chest of his pursuer.
- Yes, again here I am - the nightmarish observer grinned again. 
And again there was a deathly silence. Our hero tried to seem more formidable to the observer, but in fact, his knees were shaking, fear more and more took possession of his mind. The stalker smiled softly but ominously. You can't hide your fear from him. He grabbed the hand of his victim, bending it at the elbow and pressing it to the body of the "subject of observation," he came closer. Much closer, and without a smile, but with malice and condescension looked the victim in the eyes. He was a little embarrassed and dropped the pistol from his hand. Yet fear made him swallow the lump in his throat. Pupils trembled, and it was terrifying to budge.
- You know what, West? - asked the observer sternly - I need to come to you more often. It's just ... your fear is so pleasing to me.
But the words weirdly pleasant to such a person quickly ended, and the character felt the muzzle of a revolver pressed tightly to the back of his head.
- Well, it was nice talking to you - the caretaker began - see you soon, the foolish
trigger was pulled with a creak and a bullet from the muzzle flew out with great speed, piercing the poor man's head through. His body began to plummet down into the abyss. The silence in his ears was replaced by the last beating of the heart. His eyes closed, and he began to wait for one and only - his death. But instead he heard a young voice.
- Monsieur? ... Monsieur Barley! What's wrong with you!? Things are good!?
And finally, our master woke up from a light jolt. Gradually, he opened his gray eyes, but could not see clearly right away.
- Monsieur!? ... - That voice was again heard - what happened to you !? Wow ... thank God you are alive
- Lord ... - muttered Monsieur Barley, straightening his top hat and raising his head - what is happening? ... where are we? Edgar, what's going on ?!
- All is well, monsieur - Edgar replied a little excitedly - we are now in the bar. You went too far with gin and passed out. And I ... I really thought that you began to die in agony ... you just jerked so sharply. A little more, and I would run for holy water and a cross.
Barley raised his head fully and scanned his surroundings with difficulty. The blind eye and alcohol made themselves felt, so everything around floated a little and it felt like everything was like behind a dull glass.
- Damn it ... - he got up from his chair, holding on to the bar - let's get out of here. Enough adventures for today.
- I am listening to you - Edgar impeccably followed Barley to the exit from the bar.
There is almost no soul on the street, it is dark around, the sky is covered with rain clouds. Thunder is heard from afar.
- The bad weather has been going on for a long time ... - Ed said raising his head up - this year April is not warm at all.
- September is catching up, probably - Barley grinned, also looking up at the sky. 
- I hope Mr. Boris does not want to experiment with lightning again - the spider has already begun to worry a little - what do you think: last time was enough for him?
- I think he understands that this is not a joke. But as we know, lightning does not strike 2 times in one place. Although he could very well have caught it elsewhere. But I think, nevertheless, he will not go to this again. Scientist, you know.
- Hah, I agree with you, monsieur.
Then they walked in silence, but closer to their "habitat", so to speak (oops, jokes) Edya broke this silence:
- By the way, I wanted to ask you about something.
- Go ahead - the master answered. 
- What was in your dream this time? - a little awkwardly asked the spider.
Then Barley stopped a little in disbelief. 
- That is, there was again ... he ...? - Edgar added a little with fear.
- ...Yes. He was there. - Monsieur indifferently answered - why such a question?
- I'm just worried. I know you are worried about "him".
- Well, I appreciate your concern, but please don't mention "him" again.
- Understood, monsieur. 
- Well, we're already here. 
They stopped at one of the high-rise buildings.

Well, see you soon, monsieur! - Edgar told his goodbyes. 

Where are you going? - asked the white-haired man in the top hat.
- Ah, Mr. Ben asked to come to him in the evening. Why only - the devil himself will not understand - answered the spider.
- Well, good luck to you there. 
- And the same to you, monsieur!
Having told goodbye, Edgar went somewhere along the street, and our "master" Barley went to his apartment. Yes, that very house was something like an apartment, where people lived or stayed for a while without any special whims and for whom one room would be enough. And our hero was one of those. And in general he was not from picky natures, but a simple sailor, who was glad to have just a bed. He gradually went up to his floor. And now the key has already turned in the door of his room. The door creaked open and he found himself in a dark room, in which, at the moment, there was only one source of light - the full moon, which had not yet been completely covered by the clouds. He walked forward to the table. Taking a box of matches from him, he struck the box with one of the matches and lit a candle with it, which stood in a candle holder in the corner of the table. In a moment the room became much brighter, and the burnt match was in an ashtray. The room was furnished modestly: two beds along the walls, a wardrobe, a table between the beds, two chairs and a table by the window. There was a little mess on the table, but it didn't really matter. The man took off his raincoat and top hat and hung them in the closet. Then he threw his waistcoat on a chair and, taking off his boots, fell onto the bed. There was no strength or desire to get rid of the rest of the clothes. I really wanted to sleep and just be alone. At least an hour or two. Edgard was not there today, so there was no one to talk to and, therefore, it was possible to go to bed early, but still there was no peace. Insomnia has been tormenting for a long time, and a headache from a hangover, so one could only dream of a normal sleep. 

- Well, since you can't fall asleep, why not devote this time to yourself and your thoughts? - thought Barley, turning from side to back - I think now it will help me, and I will still fall asleep from my dreams.
Indeed, laying out the thoughts on the shelves was the best idea. There was a huge confusion in his head that could be just knocked down by the necessary thoughts and they would simply get lost in the halls of the mind, like people in all the bustle of cities. Still, it was difficult to make out the thoughts. They were all about only one thing: who was persecuting him. About the one who killed many and now tortures one. And this was one of the worst criminals: Charles Bosel (the name is the author's headcanon).
- God ... - thought Barley - this "ubiquitous cholera" still will not get rid of ... but we found out that while he torments one - others live in health. But still many questions remain. Brr ... just thinking about him makes me uneasy. I hope that soon I will stop feeling afraid of thinking about Charlie. Yes, and I hope that my words will finally not be empty nonsense for the local police.
But then his thoughts were interrupted by thunder and lightning outside the window. Raindrops pounded on the windowsill in the street and over time it became stronger and stronger. It was a thunderstorm. Its beginning. Barley got distracted and turned his gaze to the window.

- And again London is becoming immaculately gray and wet ... - he muttered - every day it has been raining lately. And on the water now there would be a storm ...
The rain was getting stronger, and it was getting colder in the room. Nothing to do, no one is to blame that there were cracks in the window that let everything through, and repair was forbidden by the owner of the house.
- It became cool - thought the white-haired - and to hell with him.
And he was lost in thoughts again. And again about "him".
- But still ... perhaps all this really does not make sense, but since I started all this, I will bring it to the last point.
He put out the candle and tried to sleep. Well, he did it. This time.