Country bar atmosphere

Country bar atmosphere always was something special. The aroma of cheap alcohol, clumsy dances either of drunk teenagers or daredevil women in their 40-s, and of course a bartender, who was an inexhaustible fount of knowledge about every single person within 15 kilometres, so if you ask properly, this man can share his insights and reveal some inquiring rumours. Luckily, Dima was a charming one of brother’s duet, so it didn’t take a long time to conciliate the charismatic man on the opposite side of the bar counter. “Gurls are doying like flies. Jist like that - thee fall asleep an deon't wake op aneymore", the mustachioed narrator waved his hands indignantly, scratching his bald spot on top of his head in some confusion. Dima chuckled, nudging his brother sitting next to him, who seemed to wake up only after these words, absolutely not interested in what was happening in a backwater drinking establishment. “ Just like Batman's Robins”, Dima chuckled sarcastically, flashing a cheerful look, and in order not to focus on an unsuccessful joke, he immediately continued, “ So they die, you say? And what about the doctors?” “Yeah, an wha kind o’ dectors are hiere?”, the man wiping a glass full of stains waved off, spitting over his shoulder, “ Only the paelice came tae check if the gurls were killed byi relatifes. Why wou theiy dae that? Wha tae pull fram the young? A couple o’ gurls were taken tae an autopsey – cardiac arrest. But thee were healthey like a yong cow! Supernatural iz aever yonder, nae other suggestions”. Here Syoma, with his elbows on the counter, was already listening most attentively, joining in the conversation. With a light, uncomplicated movement of his hand, he straightened the blond hair that had become on his eyes, pricking up a serious look. “And where, you’re saying, is all this going on?” *** “Verhnie Pupki, seriously?” The older brother mumbled discontentedly, while chewing the edge of the cigarette with his lips. He frowned, more in order to bring his brother to emotions than to demonstrate irritation. “Watch the road, you idiot", the younger one clicked with his tongue, involuntarily squeezing into the smelly seat of their old black Volga, which their grandpa won in the lottery in Soviet Union. Syoma kept trying to make inquiries about what could be the reason for the series of murders that had begun. An angry spirit, a curse? Yeah, say that it’s all brownie’s work asthe girls died in their houses. The owner of the light cascades of a hair in nescience rubbed the bridge of his nose, deciding to look around the surrounding landscape, from the road of which they had been shaking for almost 40 minutes. Smoldering trees enclosing each other's fields; the sky was bright, like a shirt on the body of a dead man, and the black ticks of birds were flying away. Deadly boring. It's like there's something unpleasant blowing, a bone-chilling cold that was clearly shouting in your ear "Get out, you fool!" “What if we haven't met with such a junk, yet?” “Well”, the real owner of the Volga, which had already been passed down from generation to generation, shrugged his shoulders in a bored gesture, “ Everything happens for the first time, we will sort it out on the spot and act on the situation.” Verhnie Pupki were a typical village, of which there were thousands, if not tens of thousands, in the vast expanses of our boundless country - two or three short streets with dim lighting coming from the porches of houses, and relaxed cattle walking along the roads. It remains to find only a kind old woman who will gladly tell you everything and, preferably, offer you a cup of tea. Who would doubt that there would be no need to look for such a thing – she was found immediately, discontentedly looming out of the gate at which the Volga was parked. “What are you doing here? I've never seen you here before, fraudulent faces!” “Grandma, calm down!” Dima put his hands up in an awkward gesture, trying to calm the old lady, “We are the police, came to find out what's going on here.” “Your people had arrived earlier, but there were no result. I know the policemen in the area and I haven't seen you before." she said with disbelief, folding her arms under her chest. “So we are from Moscow, grandma, from the Department”, Syoma joined the dialogue with his beaming smile, stepping ahead of his older brother. “They sent us here because they say that a maniac is operating, but they can't catch us in any way.” “Damned Muscovites”, she raised an eyebrow, muttering with displeasure and waving her hand, inviting them into the house. “Go ahead, stallions, I'll tell you everything.” Warm carpets with fancy patterns on the walls, the smell of slight mustiness and a rough table under a cup of hot tea: all this was so familiar, as if these attributes were presented in every grandmothers’ living outside the city. Guys, catching the moment to enjoy the surroundings at least a little, almost without interrupting were listened to the story of an elderly woman in a blue scarf above her silver hair. In general, almost nothing new was heard, not taking into account the detail where there were bruises on the necks of the murdered girls, as if from fingers. Signs of suffocation. The brothers silently exchanged glances, noting this feature. So, collecting the whole picture again, we can reveal: young girls in the age of 16-23 go to bed and die in their sleep from choking, although relatives have no motives, and there are no traces of invasion into houses either. Who could be the next victim? This question was asked to the omniscient granny, which made her think and remember Alyonka, a 16-year-old girl who has been shaking like a leaf for more than a week and raving about some kind of female hand that is about to reach her. It will reach everyone. So, the house of Alyonka was at the opposite end of the village and was a small hut. However, there was no need for more for two people, a girl and her grandfather. Syoma, as the most trustworthy guy, knocked on the door. A thin face flashed through the window, after which a girlish voice was heard menacingly asking who it was to come there. "The police," was the answer, after which the door instantly opened, and the girl, with heavenly eyes full of hope and bitterness, was ready to lay out everything right from the threshold. Apparently, drinking tea here was a kind of tradition, and despite the fact that the newly-minted pseudo-policemen poured leaf juice into their stomach for the second time in an hour, they could not refuse out of their decency, besides, they did not want to bring down the girl's already confused story about her premonitions and experience. “This is Mara. I'm sure", Alyona said, nervously tugging at the edge of her black blouse. “Mara? Like the goddess of death?” Dima Kalashnikov asked, scratching his light stubble. “She is not only the goddess of death, she patronizes a lot of things. Everyone describes her in different ways, some as a completely kind spirit, who re-enlivens the souls of the dead into another world, but I doubt it very much”. Syoma raised an eyebrow. "What makes you so sure it's Mara?" “I know, I'm not crazy!” the blonde girl shouted, jumping up from her chair. “I just know, I feel like this! She's coming for me, too, you know?! It will come soon, it's so scary to die!” her speech was more like the words of a little child speaking in very monosyllables. Shards of tears glittered in the glass eyes, and thin fingers pressed into the palm until the knuckles turned red. There was no choice, and not that he was needed. There is only one way out. Despite the fact that this evil can be described as a ghost, there were some doubts about what would become the instrument of capture, so it was decided to drag into the house everything that could be useful, including various kinds of silver both in knives and bullets. Surprisingly, the only concern that the young mistress of the house felt was only about the approaching night, and not the fact that she would fall asleep in the presence of two unfamiliar men armed to the teeth. Perhaps she was amused by the thought that all these cranks had already been seen, and they wanted to help, they looked more sincere. Lib's premonition of imminent death forced him to dig into any possibilities, as if grabbing the last wagon of a departing train. During all the preparations, no one noticed how evening began to fall, and soon darkness, not at all stained with stars, covered the settlement like a feather blanket, warming the soul and make you choking of heat, if you dare to plunge headlong. “The night promises to be deadly fun”, Dima whistled, looking out the window, while Syoma, making a disgruntled face, put the book he had been reading all this time on the back of his brother's head. He, like a guilty child, all wrinkled up. “Hey, what did I say?” he hissed, narrowing his eyes accusingly. Time was slowly subsiding, and the girl was peacefully snoring in her bed. The guys sitting in the dark doorway were ready to react at any moment. About 2 am Dima himself began to fall sleep, until they began to shake him restlessly by the shoulder to shamelessly wake him up, because the action had begun. From all the available cracks: the door, windows and even the bedside oozed something similar to black sand, which accumulated like a whirlwind over the sleeping Alyona, whose body by that time began to shake. The dust continued to swirl, materializing into a tall female figure. The hem of her dark traditional dress gave off an unobtrusive sheen in the dim moonlight, diligently trying to penetrate the room. A slender figure with long strong hair stood facing the sleeping woman, not showing her face. The ghost of a woman slowly and impressively bent down to the girl and ... a shot rang out. Everything happened quickly, in one moment. The figure froze, as did Dima's breathing, who shot Mara in the head. Is it over? So easily? This can't be happening. The ghost was motionless, it seemed an eternity, for 20 seconds, to be more precise, forcing the situation. Now it was really scary. Every single muscle in the body began to shackle from the uncertainty of the future, from the horror that was coming to the throat, which was about to vomit out. Petrification did not occur. The elder Kalashnikov literally in one second was grabbed by the throat and lifted into the air, forcing his legs to tremble in pathetic attempts to free himself from the deadly trap. Now the ghost's face was clearly visible, it seemed to glow against the background of everything else: a narrow forehead with thin artificial eyebrows framing it; inky soulless eyes, in which nothing was lost: no feelings, no emotions, no light glare (if Matisse had to draw this one in particular, then, you can swear, he would not only not draw empty eye sockets for her, but in principle would leave her an emptiness instead of a face, because these eyes are like two black holes attracted and absorbed everything they could capture); thin, elegant lips were soulless and not at all open. There was nothing to say, if everything could be stopped otherwise. All the porcelain of her appearance began, like hot wax, to melt and noisily drip onto the floor, exposing the snow–white skull – her true face, real, without embellishment. “Ch ... Ch-chalk... draw...” Dima wheezed in panic, trying hard to loosen the grip of dishonesty. Syoma hastily searched his pockets for the coveted piece of lime, lost somewhere in the vastness of a pocket hole. The chalk, thank God, was found while a sickle was looming out of the same black sand in Mara's free hand. Now Dima fully understood Alyona, because he was in her place. From this ridiculous proposal alone, you can make a series about some trans-person and get funding from Netflix, but perhaps this is excessively ridiculous. Trying to remain calm while his brother was being strangled and soon to be stabbed by a ghostly woman, Syoma nervously outlined a white circle around them, after which, grabbing the book with which he had hit Dima before, he began to read some bizarre words that poured into his speech without a single hitch. Perhaps some Pericles could envy Semyon's oratorical gift, only that he was not engaged in the expulsion of all evil spirits. Maybe. With a wild, by no means human scream, Mara began to dissolve into small particles, as if at the click of Thanos in the Iinfinity Gaunlet. In her suffering situation, it would be suitable to say something like "I don’t feel good, Mr. Stark." *** Alyonka's grandfather returned from hunting the very next morning, finding two tired strangers at home and his happy granddaughter, who joyfully assured her grandfather that everything was over. There is no more death. She knew. It was wanted to believe it, really wanted. In the meantime, the ghostbusters gathered and, having said goodbye, moved away, convincing all the old women that the police from Moscow had coped with everything, and now they will rush to submit reports, they would soon see all the details on the news. Another adventure has come to an end, but this is far from the final feature of the story of the two Kalashnikovs. “You would do everything even slower, goldilocks, so that she would definitely kill me on the spot” – Dima was indignant with a bit of irony, touching his neck with the fingertips of his left hand, without distracting himself from the road. “Screw you” – Semyon smiled brightly, patting brother’s head.