Azalen ran down the stairs and stood in front of the front door. He grabbed the handle but didn’t open it. He waited. His feet tingled with nervousness, and a strange, unpleasant shiver ran down his spine. He looked at the neighborhood through the glass in the door. It was dark and light at the same time, or perhaps dark but with points of light. That fit better. He had the impression that fewer windows were lit than when he left, but the main road of the neighborhood was lit by streetlights. They did not shine very brightly, but they were bright enough to make it quite light. The side streets were lit only by windows and lamps placed near the doors of the apartment buildings. They gave off very little light. You could see where you were going, but not if something was lurking further ahead. He looked around and, even though he knew the neighborhood and knew which route was the fastest, he analyzed it in his head once more.
He didn’t see any werbers anywhere. Maybe they weren’t here. Maybe they hadn’t come to this neighborhood and were still prowling around the terminal. Despite the old woman’s words, Azalen decided to try and dialed his mother’s number on his phone. However, all he heard was intermittent beeping and saw the message “connection problems.” He wanted to stay here. He felt safe here, in this apartment building, but what if something was happening at home, if his mother and dog needed help? He took a deep breath, exhaled, and left. He stood still, expecting danger, though perhaps he should have run. His heart leapt with force, and for a moment, in total silence, he could hear only it. It was completely quiet. It was hard to say if that was a good sign. He started running towards his apartment. He ran, trying to be fast and quiet at the same time. Although that was impossible, and he was probably lying to himself for comfort, that he was succeeding. He passed one street and then another; the neighborhood had never seemed so dark and long to him. In the distance, he saw a woman walking her dog, going in the opposite direction from him. Should he shout at her to run away or do nothing, so as not to attract the werbers, who might not even be there?
He did nothing. He chose to do nothing and kept running, focused on his goal. He was close now, and he could already see his apartment building and window. But there was no sign of his mother or dog. Were they asleep? Watching TV? Maybe. Hopefully. A bright white light shining out of the darkness caught the corner of his eye. From the darkness he was running towards. Was a werber lurking near his apartment building? He stopped, panicked. He was close to an apartment building he knew, a friend of his used to live there, and he knew more than one apartment building in the area. He entered the PIN and went inside. He would observe the light from a distance, from a safe position. He stared at it leaning against the front door, but it didn’t move. He stared and stared and began to wonder. If it was a werber, how would he chase it away without a disc and get home? How would he defend himself? Exactly. With nothing. He had nothing to defend himself with.
It didn’t give him any hope. After a long moment, he realized that it wasn’t a werber, but a light warning of a hole in the sidewalk. He had completely forgotten that they were supposed to be doing repairs today.
His blood pressure dropped, and he was about to leave when he heard a moan. A man’s groan. He turned around and was horrified to see that the door to one of the apartments was open. First floor, middle door. He climbed the stairs quietly and felt like he was being watched, but not by werbers, but by people who seemed to have been peeking at him through the peephole for a long time. As if they were standing by the door, maybe holding it and watching what was going on. He turned to one of the doors where the feeling was strongest and saw a piece of paper sliding out from under the door. A white piece of paper with a small, indistinctly scribbled “Run” as if in distress.
His heart skipped a beat and he looked straight at the peephole, and even though he couldn’t see anyone, he knew they had looked each other in the eyes. He heard another moan coming from the apartment. He should have run away, as would have been prudent, but instead he quietly opened the door, which was already ajar. He didn’t feel very sad or depressed, so he decided that perhaps the werbers were no longer there and that there was clearly someone who needed help.
The corridors were brightly lit. Here and there, a thin black cloud lingered, not yet fully dissipated through the windows of the rooms. The werbers had definitely been here, and they had definitely attacked. But it seemed to be over now.
Azalen noticed a sock, white with green stripes. A foot was sticking out of one of the rooms. A man was lying there. There was a metal ornament on the dresser in the hall. Long, hard, covered with tiny metal flowers. Azalen grabbed it. It would be useful for defense. Just in case. The boy cautiously approached the man, first glancing to see if there was a Werber in the room where he was lying.
It seemed empty. He bent down and touched the man, who groaned in pain, as if he was barely conscious. Why did I come here anyway? Azalen asked himself. He couldn’t help him, nor could he take him anywhere now, but… but maybe he could hide him. In case the werbers came back. Azalen noticed that there was a storage room in the hallway, and he could hide the man there.
“I’ll hide you, don’t be afraid,” Azalen whispered to him. The man didn’t answer, although Azalen had the impression that he wanted to say something. However, it ended with facial twitches and strange expressions.
The boy began to pull him gently, but the man, though barely alive, behaved as if he did not want to be moved. He tried to dig his claws into the panels. Perhaps he mistook Azalen for a werber?
“Calm down, everything will be fine,” Azalen added, then continued. The man continued to resist and uttered a soft “no” as if to ask him not to pull him.
Either it hurt him so much that he would rather die than be hidden away, or he really wasn’t making contact at all and was confusing him with a werber. Azalen continued. He didn’t even bother talking to him anymore; it wouldn’t make any sense.
He managed to drag the man most of the way down the hallway and was about to hide him when he noticed distinctive round shadows and lights falling across the apartment. The man noticed it too, but instead of helping Azalen or at least letting him hide himself, he began to interfere. He clung tightly to the floor, until finally, he gathered all his strength and shouted an incomprehensible and interrupted “come here.”
Azalen’s hair stood on end. He let go of the man and hid in the nearest room. He had barely managed to hide when he heard the man scream. Azalen crouched behind the sofa and listened to the moans of the tortured man. He felt terrible that he couldn’t do anything. He felt that maybe he should have run there and defended him, but he knew he would have ended up like him. In pain and agony.
Werbers often killed quickly, in the blink of an eye, when they had a lot of energy. But when their energy was depleted, they had to torment their victims before killing them. Since this werber tortured him, either someone resisted it and fought it in some way, or it had already killed someone and had less energy.
Azalen, in his helplessness, in this terrible feeling that he could do nothing but listen to it, filled himself with hatred, and thoughts began to swirl around in his head: He could have kept his fucking mouth shut, the fool. He got himself killed, and almost got him killed too.
After a moment, silence fell and Azalen’s thoughts calmed down. Azalen waited crouched behind the sofa for the werber to leave the apartment, feeling like a complete failure behind the sofa. When he finally heard the werber jump out the window. He got up, left the room, and saw a dead man whose gaze and body were directed toward the room where he had been lying earlier. Then something struck Azalen. He headed in that direction, and in the room he entered, there were two branches. A turn to the kitchen, or to another room, also with the door ajar.
He opened it and found himself in a child’s room. It was quite sweetly decorated. Teddy bears in the corner of the room, pictures, family photos, and a crib. And above them, a distinctive blue glow. Azalen approached it. Inside, he saw a boy. He was maybe two years old. His features resembled his father’s. The boy was lying on a mattress in a piggy bed under a brown quilt. His yellow, sunny sweater contrasted with the dark mark of Tumult above his head.
The palms of the boy’s hands were red. He must have been clenching his tiny fists with all his might. Clearly, the werbers had not been kind to him either. That was why the man did not want to hide. That was why he had lured the werber. He wanted to take it upon himself. He did not know that his son was already dead.
Azalen sadly left the children’s room and entered the kitchen, the last room he hadn’t checked to see if there was anyone alive who needed help. But it was empty. A drawing was attached to the refrigerator with a magnet. A tree with a sun above it. Probably made by the dead boy.
Azalen was about to leave, but he stuck to one of the walls and immediately turned off the light, instinctively sensing where the switch was, because he realized that the werber had not left. In the wall he was stuck to, there were shelves connecting the two rooms. The kitchen and the hall. They formed a kind of hole in the wall, and through them it was possible to see what was in the other room, and it was through them that Azalen noticed the werber, and then saw the werber sticking his muzzle through them. Because he probably also noticed that something was moving.
The shelves were so tightly packed that it was difficult for the werber to squeeze his snout between them. Azalen took advantage of this by moving along the wall. He stayed quietly away from the shelves. He was afraid that if he stood too close, the light from the werber’s circles would illuminate him and the werber would notice him. The werber tried to squeeze his snout in for a moment, sensing a glowing opportunity, but he wasn’t sure if he was feeling it right.
Finally, he positioned himself so that he could see inside the kitchen and turn his eyes toward Azalen, but fortunately, he had to position himself at such an angle that the light from his ear circles illuminated the room where the werber’s body was located, i.e., the hallway, more than the room where his snout was located, i.e., the kitchen.
So even though the werber was really close and Azalen could feel his breath, he managed to move far enough away that the werber couldn’t see him. The werber looked around, but after a moment he focused his gaze on the center of the kitchen. It was as if he was expecting movement there. Azalen also looked there and, to his misfortune, noticed a light on the refrigerator and knew that the growing light was not a lamp, but a second werber.
The second werber, whose head emerged from the darkness after a moment, stared at him, or rather, not at Azalen himself, but at the place where he was standing. As if it wasn’t sure whether what it had noticed was real or just his imagination. After staring for a moment, it stretched out his long paw and pointed it at Azalen, who crouched down as quietly as he could.
Werber’s paw made a circle just above the top of his head. Werber tried again. This time, he stretched his paw even further so that his fingers touched the wall. Just to be sure.
After a moment, the werber gave up and the werbers jumped out of the apartment through the window. This time for sure, because he saw it. Azalen stood in the dark for a long time before he decided to leave the apartment and leave the building. He ran to his building and entered the code. He found himself inside and, seeing his walls, immediately felt safer. It was his building. He ran up to the top floor in the dark. He took out his keys and quietly unlocked the door. The light was on in the kitchen.
Azalen’s heart skipped a beat when he noticed that the kitchen window was open. He looked around the apartment and saw his dog lying in the hallway. He raised his head when he saw Azalen, but only slightly. Fortunately, it was not because of pain, but because he was sleepy. He wagged his tail sleepily. Half asleep, he realized that his master had returned.
Azalen made sure the door was locked. He closed the kitchen window and then checked that every window in the apartment was closed. He drew the curtains so that it would be less obvious what was happening inside and turned off the lights. He picked up his dog, Lilke. The sleepy dog looked at him, and as Azalen carried him toward the bathroom, the dog snuggled up against his chest. Azalen laid him on the rug in the bathroom. Lika was surprised because her master never did that, but now she didn’t care. Azalen closed the door. If a werber appeared at the window, the last thing Azalen wanted was a barking Lilka who couldn’t be calmed down.
He approached his mother, who had fallen asleep on the sofa. He woke her gently and spoke to her, full of emotion but trying to remain calm. However, he didn’t quite manage it.
– The Werberys are outside.
– What? What Werbers? – she mumbled.
– Well, the Werbers, the real Werbers. There are lots of them. A whole bunch. At the bus stop and in the neighborhood.
– Are you drunk, son?
Everything came together in Azalen. You could hear in his voice and feel in his emotions that he wasn’t joking.
“No, really. There are Werbers outside,” replied Azalen, slightly offended.
“Son, go to sleep,” replied his mother, rolling over onto her other side. “We’ll talk when you sober up.”
“No, I’m not drunk. Really.”
– Mychym.
– They attack people.
– Yeah, yeah…
– Okay,“ he replied irritably, ”but don’t open the window.
– I wasn’t going to,” she replied.
Azalen went to his room and lay down on his bed. He would have loved to cuddle up with Lilka or talk to his mom about what had happened today, what had just happened, but for safety’s sake, he preferred Lilka to stay in the bathroom, and his mom didn’t believe him and chose a good night’s sleep instead. However, he couldn’t sleep well. He also couldn’t text any of his owl friends because of connection problems, and he felt terrible.
After tossing and turning in bed and reliving his memories, with the screams of the dying man who was trying to save his son ringing in his ears, and the faces of the dead woman, child, and man returning to him, he felt so bad that he took the blanket and went to the bathroom. He lay down on the floor next to Lilka and snuggled into her warm fur. He still felt terrible, but at least he felt less alone in his feelings. And Lilka, sensing that something was wrong, snuggled up to him and his trembling heart.
However, Azalen could not rest easy that night, seeing what was happening outside. He kept thinking about it, thinking about how many people would die that night and what a nightmarish encounter with the werbers they would have to endure. He thought about how powerless he felt and how little he could do. He was afraid for his friends and wondered how many of his neighbors he would never see again. In addition, he couldn’t sleep because he was afraid that his mother would open the window after all, even though he had asked her not to. The cool tiles on which he lay cooled his heated body, but they couldn’t calm his thoughts. He felt really alone now, even though Lilka was lying next to him.
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