Faceful of Bloody Ejaculation Smells Worse Than It Sounds

At this point, I’m convinced my annoying hipster neighbor isn’t so much of a hipster wannabe pagan who needs to be slapped a couple of times to regain his senses. The guy must be involved with some really sick shit. I doubt he himself can do anything at all. He’s a wimp, a little loud worm with a tendency to skid mentally as he repeats the same insult over and over like a third-grader. That said, his strange friends are probably the fucked up ones. I do not know how he didn’t piss them off yet, though.

Anyway, this guy, “Niklas…”, yeah, I know, the Russian guy definitely has a Scandinavian or German name, right. Judging by his fashion choices, he’s probably heard of Niklas Kvarforth and thought he could pull off the same attitude. Too bad Kvarforth probably can throw down and is at least entertaining with his schtick while this guy is just a sad poser. Don’t worry, I’m Russian too… and that’s how I know he’s not really "Niklas".

So yeah, the guy’s a total poser who is into ridiculous "Magjhik" and other "arcane" shit that is as arcane and magical as my grandmother’s homemade cold remedies, pure bullshit or alcohol. That fucking weirdo leaves bottles filled with water to be charged with moonlight energy. He also keeps holding parties or orgies involving goats by the sounds I keep hearing through my walls. I swear some alien creatures keep showing up at his place. I usually don’t judge, but man, this is some next-level hedonism. One of his buddies has a face that looks as if it is repeatedly beaten black and blue and these aren’t tattoos.

Bloody fucker goes around speaking about all these idiotic traditions he’s supposedly maintaining. A lot of the common neo-pagan stuff is entirely new and has nothing to do with actual traditions of anyone. It’s kind of funny really, considering how the Russian church always sort of maintained a connection with the traditions of old. A lot of the saints they venerate are basically the old Gods given new names, a lot of folk practices originate in the old worship, and so on. That fuckwit wouldn’t know that, now, would he? I’m sorry if I offend any neo-pagans, but many people in that crowd tend to follow made-up new age fuckery. That’s a fact.

Anywho, I’ve had a bunch of run-ins with this moron, about his awful partying habits, about his bottle problem, but the way he drives his car. A lot of issues, he’s just a terrible person to live next to. It’s gotten heated a bunch of times. That’s why I know his mouth tends to jam on the same fucking phrase he’ll repeat a million times over like a braindead little shit. I always held back. I know all too well that "Niklas" is the kind of person to insinuate a fight, go down without much resistance really quickly, and then sue. That’s how it goes around here. Nobody fights. Y’all either stab, shoot or sue. You can’t throw hands. So, I couldn’t throw down with this bastard.

Until a few days ago, I had it with him. He was blasting his blackened folk industrial trance and chanting along with his friends like a bunch of dying apes. I couldn’t sleep, it was a bad day for me. Old injuries were nagging, work sucked, and the weather was messing with my bones. I was in a foul mood, so I got out of bed and saw myself to his place in my pajamas. Damn near slammed the door off its hinges with my fist and demanded that he turn off that fucking garbage he calls music. He started stuttering as he always does, threatening me he’d beat my ass if he was alone. Started poking me and talking all that shit about my pajamas, of all things. One thing led to another, and I punched him in the abdomen. He flew down, smashing his own face on the concrete by my feet. I turned and walked back home without another word.

I was expecting one of his friends to come by and say or do something, but nothing came. After an hour or so of waiting, the anger had finally got out of my system and I felt drowsy again. By that time, the noise from the neighboring house died down. The night seemed as dead silent as it should be.

Went to bed as if nothing had happened. I had the weirdest fucking dream. I don’t remember too much of it, but what I remember was doing random everyday stuff. Surprisingly, I was fully aware that it was a dream as long as I was performing my daily routine until it’s time to come back from work. Then I felt something was wrong. You know that really shitty feeling of anticipating something awful to happen. A sort of fear that feels like claws grasping at you and squeezing your chest really tight? This was what I felt.

I come back home, throw my pack on the balcony as I always do and I head to my room and that’s when everything goes absolutely mental. A buzz saw goes off in my head, and I see this blonde woman sitting on my bed. I had no idea who the fuck she is, but we’re talking as if we’re familiar and I call her Shura, which is the name of an actual friend of mine, but she looks nothing like this woman. The woman’s threatening me with unintelligible gibberish. I brush her off and leave my room.

The next thing I know, I am walking outside heading home again. I get home, and the awful feeling is back. Pins and needles pricking my skin, heavy breathing, and just dread. Pure dread. I see something foggy fly into my room and I follow it straight into the closet. The next thing I see is myself standing by the closet, anticipating a monster to crawl out. My heartbeat is through the roof. My skin is crawling and I call out “Shura” and the closet door slides open slowly, nearly giving me a heart attack. This weird-faced Labrador with excessively long fur on its back that looks almost like a hair cape crawls out and starts wagging its tail. The animal’s eyes were pure fucking white orbs. They were like twin portals into the bowels of perdition.

The weirdest thing about dreams is when you recognize it’s a dream and you’re stuck between the in-dream emotional state and the understanding that it’s not real and you kind of feel hopeless. It was one of those. After the dog thing came out of my closet, I find myself semi-awake in my bed. Maybe, I don’t know. It was this quick moment in the darkness and then the dream repeated itself, this time more intensely with me yelling out Shura’s name louder, more fearfully, and then again… a weird moment in between the realms, in pitch blackness and then I’m dreaming this same thing again.

I know it’s all a dream, and yet I still can’t shake off the awful feelings and the absurdness and confusion of it all. The third time, as I screamed Shura’s name, I was sure I was going to wake up, but that dog thing simply crawled out of my closet again, and that’s when I understood what the fuck she was saying. Something about turning into a wolf and eating my face off. I woke up feeling confused and genuinely shaken. Usually, my dreams are fucking weird, but I don’t wake up feeling shaken. Some mad dream about Werebrador woman who’s supposed to be in the likeness of my friend but looks nothing like her. I have no idea. I woke up with a massive headache and carried on with my day.

Nearly forgot about the incident that night, but then one of my neighbors told me that Nicky broke his face. I wanted to tell him it was my doing, but then I thought it wasn’t worth it. Nobody likes the fucker, but there was no point in bragging. I had realized I might hear from the cops sometime soon, but I could never imagine I’ll be seeing the uniforms for what ended up happening.

About that woman in my dream, this Tuesday, I came back from work, tossed my pack on the balcony, and headed to my room. Once there, my heart skipped a bit. The window was open, and I clearly remember closing it before heading to work. The icy winter breeze sent chills down my spine and the sickening feeling of fingers touching the inside of my throat strangled me as I shifted my gaze towards the partially opened closet.

I tensed up as I walked towards the closet, cautiously placing my head on the closet as the fingers in my throat became a lump of dread and saliva. My ribs were crushing my lungs as the unexplainable fear ate away at my mind.

It was nothing, just a coincidence, right?

I swung the closet door open, the stench nearly knocked me out.

In my closet, there was a ball-shaped object wrapped in bloody semen-soaked newspapers. The stench of that was almost bad enough to negate my anxiety. Sadly, it wasn’t, and I forced myself to pull off the filthy newspapers, nearly throwing up myself into unconsciousness.

I wish I hadn’t done that. Under the disgusting newspapers was the head of a woman, with one eye missing and a huge gash across the length of her face. It was the face of the woman from my dream.

I was torn between feeling sick and being mortified, so much so that I slapped the closet door so hard it moved back and forth a couple of times. A river of razor blades flowed through my throat as the closet door slid shut one final time, and I saw the head’s remaining eye blink at me.