God made of clay
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Abstract:You hear this every night when you go to bed. You hear it every night when you sleep. You hear it every night when you jump up in your bed, clutching the blanket to your chest, trying to somehow protect yourself from this nightmare. This night wind sings a ghostly lullaby, and the moon sings along with it with a silver voice. These creatures, walled up in the thick walls of the house, are trying to talk to you. This unknown god, living in the basement, calls you every night. You jump out of bed and stare into the darkness for a while, trying to swallow convulsively, trying to get air into your lungs, weakened from screaming. You stand silently in the dark, listening to the voices that whisper to you about what they would like to do with your body, your blood and flesh. You stand in the dark and try to hear familiar, familiar sounds - the ticking of an alarm clock, the crackling of wallpaper, the sad song of a cricket outside the window. You almost convince yourself that you hear these sounds and nothing else. It happens every night and it bothers you. You don't know what's happening to you and your family right now. You do nothing - you just go with the flow, making no attempt to escape from this house. You don’t know yet what awaits you - but if you knew, if only you knew...
Data sheet
- Name of the Author
- Иннокентий Соколов Дмитриевич
- Language
- Russian