The man slumped against the wall, choking back an icy shiver of fear. Salty tears rolled down from his eyes, landing on the fresh, thin cut that stretched across his cold, wrinkled cheek. His breathing quickened as the huge creature began to move closer.
It licked long, snake-like tongue, which slowly dripped purple blood. Its beastly disposition, its predatory gaze and bloodlust were all directed at the trapped man. Heavy footsteps began to approach the victim, claws scraping across the floor at a funeral pace. Finally, when the creature was close to its victim, it opened its terrifying maw, equipped with a hundred needle-like teeth, preparing to swallow the man's head and finish him off at once. But it was only a false assumption of the man himself — it was going to kill the victim long, painfully tearing out pieces of flesh from the body sharp as blades claws, and then alive devouring and gutting him....
A huge, broad muzzle swept toward the human arm, the monster decided to start with it. Strong jaws began to chew the arm to the man's shrieks of fierce pain, teeth grinding the limb like a meat grinder. Already warm, dark blood gushed from the mangled piece of flesh — what was left of the arm — and washed over the creature's face. Slowly, it rubbed its muzzle against the man's heaving chest, and in a flash it dug down, almost into his belly, it began to tear away his skin and flesh with bloodthirsty viciousness to the man's screams and wheezes, who was unable to stop the torture. The night guard was choking on his own blood as the creature dug its muzzle into his exposed internal organs and ripped them out, snarling greedily like a hyena eating carrion. After six minutes, the man stopped breathing and giving any signs of life, but the creature continued to gut him, tangling in his intestines like long bloody worms....
It was the end for one, but only the beginning for many...
Especially for you, Oswald
A playful warm ray of sunlight entered the room through the open window and illuminated everything around. With light, a light playful breeze entered the room. Heard the jerky rustling of leaves, the conversation of people walking along the street next to the house, and the quiet gentle purring of a cat.
Oswald opened his eyes and winced slightly at the blinding light that hit his eyes sharply. When he blinked and got used to it, the boy saw a black cat sitting on the edge of his bed.
Shades of golden light fell on the animal's fur and dyed it in different warm colors, as if the artist was painting with bright colors on canvas.
"Good morning, Jinx," Oswald said to the cat. The boy knew that although she was an animal, she understood him perfectly. He sat up on the bed and yawned widely, trying to chase away the remnants of deep sleep.
The cat only blinked approvingly and jumped down to the floor, walked gracefully to the door that served as the exit from the room, and then meowed, as if ordering Oswald to get out of bed as soon as possible and follow her.The boy looked down a little, but then he got out of bed, with a little laziness and a desire to lie on the bed for a couple more minutes. Jinx didn't wait for him and slipped through the slightly ajar door, finally wagging her fluffy tail.
Oswald sighed languidly, and went to his small dark closet with clothes. He opened it and took out that, which he wore almost every day, because his choice of clothes was not as wide as the other guys. Oswald quickly changed into his favorite white T-shirt with soft blue stripes and worn navy blue pants. His parents still didn't have the money to buy him nice new clothes. But Oswald hoped for the best, because the city began to gradually recover, people began to come here, new houses and shops began to be built, and the factory was going to open soon. That's when they will heal well, as before. Oswald will no longer have to listen to ridicule from his classmates, he will be able to eat ice cream every day, he will no longer review films that have been in his house for several years a hundred times.
He went to a mirror that hung on the wall near a small desk, took out a fluffy snow-white hairbrush from the drawer in the desk and began combing his blond hair. The boys, and especially Dylan, often scoffed at him because he looked like a sheep with his fluffy hair. Oswald couldn't get it out of his head, because every time he looked in the mirror, he remembered Dylan's words:
"Well, well, you're not like Oswald the ocelot, you Oswald the ram!"
Oswald had finished combing his hair, or rather, he was just tired of trying to get his hair to fit snugly around his head. He put the comb down on the table and looked at the old clock on the wall, which was important ticking away. 7:48.
Oswald was suddenly struck in the head by the realization that he was almost late for school. He'd forgotten all about it. But the vacations were about to begin, so it was okay to be a little lazy at the end of the school year. The boy picked up his pre-packed briefcase lying on the floor and left the room, the same minute he started walking quickly down the creaky wooden steps to the first floor. No one met him except a meowing Jinx. His parents were at work, as usual. They were working much harder now than they had before, perhaps because the holiday, Oswald's twelfth birthday, was coming up. Still, on such an important day, one would need to be well prepared for everything. The boy didn't even know what was in store for him: another boring birthday party with homemade cake and some cheap superhero comics that no one even knew, or something exciting, like a trip out of town? Although they hadn't gone there in a long time...
Oswald came into the hallway, put on his shabby white sneakers, and threw on his blue jacket, slightly torn at the sleeve. Oswald stopped his gaze on that very sleeve, where he could see the stitched holes from a dozen holes. He remembered exactly what had left that mark on his jacket. It had been two years since that moment, but he remembered it, and unfortunately it had not been a dream...
He woke up from thinking only five minutes later, quickly ran out of the house, and, locking the front door, ran to school, along the way saying hello to the neighbors who were leaving their houses, apparently to go to work, to school, to their business or somewhere else.
* * *
Oswald faltered a little the annoying, squeaky bell ringing. It was the end of fourth period, and Oswald still felt as if he had only just arrived at school. The day went by quickly.
He grabbed his shabby old briefcase and walked out into the hallway, trying to squeeze through his classmates as they left the classroom. Oswald began to make his way through the crowd in the hallway, somehow navigating the crowded space. All he had to do was make his way to the math classroom.
After a few minutes of walking in the crowd, he decided it would be better to wait elsewhere and then go to the right place after the bell.
Oswald went up to the third floor of the school and turned into the so-called "abandoned" corridor — no one used it. Accordingly, there were no people there and all the offices were closed. Oswald didn't know what they were for, but they were clearly not for classes, though maybe once upon a time children had been taught there, like all the other classrooms. He walked to the end of one of the corridors and leaned his back against the cold beige wall, breathing out in relief. He could finally get a break from people.
But as soon as he relaxed, several silhouettes emerged from around the corner — Oswald recognized them immediately, and they were the ones he certainly didn't want to see right now in a place like this.
The one on the left, with the green hair in erokez the black nose ring, and the punk-inspired ripping of his clothes, was Stephen, Dylan's best friend and the most annoying bully in school, who even the girls didn't like, so disgusting he was to everyone, but clearly not to his comrades.
The boy on the right Alex, respectively Dylan's right-hand man, with his black hair slightly shaved off the right side and tucked on the left side, wearing a special black business uniform with a red tie. The teachers had always held Alex up as an example to all the students and didn't even know what he was up to, because Alex was so secretive about his terrible antics that no one would ever suspect he did it. He used his authority to get his friends off, to help them get normal grades, even though they weren't even studying and weren't interested in studying at all.
Finally, the one in the middle was the leader of the jackal gang, Dylan. He was a boy with greasy slightly curly red hair, a gray T-shirt with a black skull in the middle that made him look more dangerous and cool, a black leather jacket over his T-shirt, dark torn jeans, and black boots on his feet. Dylan always wore light makeup, or rather black eyeliner on his eyes, but no one even squeaked at him about it, because everyone was afraid of him. No, Dylan wasn't some strong or athletic guy, but he could easily beat up anybody at school and maybe stab them in the street, but with Alex's help he could make sure no one knew about it or you'd be the one to blame.
Oswald sighed convulsively and deeply, preparing himself for the inevitable, had already begun to step back a little, but at the same moment realized that it was no use, because there was a wall behind him. Oswald stumbled into a corner. He was trapped by a hunter who had thought of everything beforehand.
"Look who is here! It's Oswald the ram," said Dylan in his feisty voice, stopping a short distance from where Oswald stood. He put his hands in his pockets and nodded lightly to his companions toward Oswald.
Stephen approached Oswald like an enraged bull to the red cloth the matador was holding.
" Got any money? " roared Stephen, grinning his crooked yellow teeth at Oswald, who was cowering in the corner of the wall like a cowardly rabbit before a predator.
" N.. No... I have no money. My parents get almost nothing at work, you know that... " answered Oswald, swallowing a searing lump in his throat. He was beginning to stutter or just couldn't say the words, which happened when he tried not to cry or be afraid.
"Don't bullshit me, they at least give you pennies anyway," Stephen replied, refusing to believe what he was told, and grabbed Oswald by the t-shirt, bringing him close to his face. Stephen exhaled a nasty, cigarette-like stench from his mouth, which made Oswald wince a little.
The blond was about to reply again that he didn't have a penny on him, but then he heard Dylan's exact nightingale piercing whistle. It was a sign that always meant different things, but nevertheless Stephen understood what he meant and threw Oswald to the floor.
The boy whimpered at the pain in his shoulder as it hit the dirty tiles on the gray floor. He opened his brown eyes wide as Dylan began to approach him, pacing in a menacing manner with his big leather boots. Oswald had always been convinced that Dylan was not only a bully, but also a tortures animals, and that he sewed his boots from animals he had killed and tortured. Oswald covered his face with his hands and wanted to say: "Don't touch me!", but all that came out of his mouth was a pitiful whimpering sound. Dylan stopped beside him, towering over the boy like a tree over the ground. The redhead didn't hesitate and jumped up slightly to give it more force and kicked Oswald in the stomach like a soccer ball. Oswald's mouth erupted in a painful wheeze — he couldn't scream, he didn't want to attract the attention of people on the other floors, because that would get him in big trouble later. Salty tears of pain and despair dripped from his eyes, for he could not stand it, he could not simply stand up and answer the bullies who would be head and shoulders above him, he was weak, he was like a vivacious herbivore against the bloodthirsty and hungry predators.
Dylan squatted down beside him and grabbed the boy by the hair with his skinny hands and finger rings, his fingernails painted black to emphasize his "cool" style. Dylan turned Oswald's pitying and weeping face toward him.
" Listen here, you piece of shit, if you don't bring me and the boys five dollars each tomorrow, I swear your face will be smashed to shit. " Dylan said angrily, clearly unhappy that he didn't get the money he wanted. Oswald sobbed and bit his trembling lip, then nodded weakly, not because he was consciously agreeing to it, but because he was just afraid to say no, he didn't know what they would do to him for saying that, because he was not in the typical American movies where the school bad guys hurt nerds with kid taunts and throw their briefcase in the trash, he was in reality, a harsh and cruel place where he could be killed. Dylan spat in his face, spitting the leftover from some small debris and let the boy go.
There was an ear-piercing squeaky school bell, and Dylan straightened up.
" Come on, guys, we're going to be late for class," Said Alex, who had just been standing on the sidelines watching the whole time — not one to get his hands dirty about someone smarmy like Oswald, as Alex himself usually put it. Stephen and Dylan nodded at him and headed away.
When all three of them were gone, Oswald sat against the wall, leaning against it as if it were a support. His ears were still ringing, and almost his whole body ached and ached, as if it were about to break like a fragile little straw. The boy wiped Dylan's horribly smelly saliva from his face and exhaled in a shaky tone, the hurtful words the teenager was addressing to Dylan already starting to build up in his head. If he had found the strength, he would have answered him for all those insults, would have told him everything that had accumulated inside. But Oswald was too weak...
Coming home in a terrible mood, Oswald wanted only one thing: to be pitied. Except that his parents would return home at night, which made the boy feel painful at heart. He took off his shoes and threw his already shabby backpack on the floor and went into the living room. All that pleased him there was an old red couch to rest on, and a television set on a light-colored nightstand in front of the couch. When Oswald reached the sofa with a tired gait, he sat down on the soft surface and took the cold, smooth remote control, which was lying right next to it. The blond turned on the TV and some news immediately appeared on the screen. Oswald, like all other children, didn't like TV news — it was interesting only to adults, but this particular one interested him: a missing person. Absolutely every person can go missing, can't they...?
The TV presenter didn't give any special details, it was just the same as usual: A man was missing, he was last seen at that place and time. But what Oswald found most strange was that no one revealed the exact location of the disappearance, although it was said that the man had disappeared at his place of work. It was as if the TV presenter was afraid to talk about it, or maybe he was acting under some kind of contract. An image of the missing man popped up on the screen. A middle-aged man, with a few wrinkles on his face, light skin, brown eyes and dark hair that was already graying. Bob West was the missing man's name.
"He must have had a family," the boy thought. The picture of a distraught woman and her children without a father, perhaps for a while, perhaps forever, came to mind. He wanted to do the job, but what can an ordinary schoolboy in the sixth grade do? Nothing. Still, it was worth a try.
Oswald memorized all the necessary information for his investigation, turned off the TV by pressing the remote control button, and got up from the couch, already running to the second floor to write down everything memorized in a notebook.
After running up the dreary creaking wooden stairs, the teenager went up to the second floor and entered his room — it was very close to the stairs and it was very convenient. Oswald went to his small desk, and took notebook, always lying in one place for the same convenience, because the boy did not like to complicate the already complicated life. Opening it to a blank page, and taking pen that throbbed in his fingers from the strain, Oswald quickly scribbled down the missing data he had heard on television. He would have to ask his neighbors about the West family, see if they knew anything.
Suddenly the phone vibrated in his pocket-someone had texted Oswald. It must have been Ben. And Oswald made sure of it when he pulled the phone out, and then quickly typed a reply to his best friend's greeting:
" Yo. "
" How are you Oz? " Ben typed to him.
Oswald thought about what to say, and whether it was even worth letting Ben in on his plans. But still, there's nothing to hide from his best friend.
"It's all right. I've decided to do some investigating, some Bob West disappeared in our town, but it was very strange because the news didn't even mention the exact location of his disappearance. I plan on asking my neighbors about him. "
" Haha, wow, you seem to be into the news. I didn't expect that from you, but good luck. I personally don't know about West, maybe he moved into town after I left. "
" Maybe.... Oh man, you have no idea how fucked up I am already by that dylan and his douchebag friends. "
" They're still messing with you? What assholes. But why can't you answer them? "
"I'll get killed if I do. Seriously, Dylan has a knife anyway, and he probably kills animals too! "
" Are you implying that he'll switch from animals to you because he calls you "Oswald the Ocelot"? Don't make me laugh. "
" Dylan is now calling me a ram because of my hair. And it's really hurtful, don't you realize. "
" Oswald, I understand, because he's bullied me before, but trust me, you can just punch him in the face. He's only bullying you because you don't fight back. "
"Okay. I should probably go,
bye. "
" GG. :P "
That's an interesting approach. Just punching a man who's been bullying you for years! As if it were so easy. But a light bulb went on in Oswald, so to speak, a certain enthusiasm for the idea: to finally show Dylan what he got almost every day. Oh yes, he would definitely do that. Right now, though, he still planned to go outside to not only take a walk, but to ask his neighbors about the missing man.
Taking his notebook, pen, and backpack with him, Oswald went outside. Closing the door behind him, he took a deep breath of the fresh cold air. It would soon be evening... The boy walked down the street, to the left of his house. Ahead he could see a house painted pinkish-red with a black roof that glistened in the sun. On the landing near the front door was a rocking chair, and on it sat an old man in a robe. Oswald knew him well, that was Lewis Diaz, a friendly old man, always ready to talk to you about anything. He must have known the West.
Oswald ran up the stone path to the house and approached the old man.
"Hello, Mr. Lewis. How are you today?" For the sake of decorum, the boy asked, because you couldn't interrogate a man at once.
"Oh, hello, little man. It's been quiet. My grandson is coming to visit me today, maybe you can meet him? He actually lives in the same city, but at the other end of it, and I can't see them any other way.... " Explained the old man, already engrossed in this conversation, but, noticing that the boy somehow hesitated, stopped talking.
" Uh, yeah, I could meet him, but, uh... You know, I'm looking for information on Bob West. Do you know him?"
" Uh, uh. Bob West. " The old man frowned, trying to dig up an image of the man in his decrepit memory. "Yeah, I think I remember. He lives just down the street from here," he continued to say the address while Oswald wrote it all down in his notebook.
"Did he have any family? " asked the teenager, in order to go into more detail and smiled awkwardly.
" No," the old man said thoughtfully. "As far as I know, he was always a loner."
"Where did he work?"
" I'm sorry, I don't know."
" Well, thank you very much for the information! All the best to you! " Oswald said cheerfully and ran home, as this information was enough.
Upon returning home, the teenager immediately rushed to his room.
"Tomorrow I must have to take pictures of where he lived and ask other neighbors about him. " Oswald reasoned, "Now I need to go to bed early, my parents will obviously ask about my grades, then will be the end for me.."
Putting everything on a chair near the desk, he changed into his pajamas as quickly as possible, turned off the light in the room and jumped into bed, immediately burrowing into the soft blanket and pillow. Soon his eyes began to close on their own, and sleep took over his mind....
Oswald opened his eyes and looked around. He was standing on a tiled floor that was painfully familiar to him. There were tables covered with festive tablecloths, chairs scattered about, and it looked as if a whole crowd of people had run through the place. On the stage still stood these three animatronics: the yellow chicken Chicka, with his fat, toothy jaw open, the blue rabbit Bonnie, holding his guitar and staring off into the distance, and the main mascot of the pizzeria, Freddy Fazber, the legendary bear. In fact, Oswald even liked him, but it was creepy to be one-on-one with him and the other two animatronics.
His gaze fell on the ball pool. The creepiest thing here, because only Oswald knew what was behind it. But that monster had been killed, right...?
A long child's cry echoed through the room. The boy shuddered in surprise, but it was easy to understand where the sound was coming from: the pool....
Through fear and painful memories, the boy approached the pool and looked at the colorful plastic balls. Once again there was a cry, but it was a squeezed one.
"Help! Somebody... I can't get out, he's pulling me down! " A familiar voice shouted from the pool.
" Chip? Chip! I'll help you! "Exclaimed Oswald in response and without thinking asked to help a friend ... No, no, no. If it survived, it could kill Chip, who survived that day, and then get to Mike.
Shoving his hands into the surprisingly warm balloons, Oswald tried to find his friend, but ran into something slimy. Immediately sticking his hands out of the pool to get rid of the sticky thing, Oswald was horrified: all his hands were covered in viscous, darkening blood. He began to shake with fear, his nerves were already giving out, fear was pressing inside him. At the same time, the balls in the pool lifted up, a huge muzzle floated up...