Claws of Mercy

Claws of Mercy
Natalie Yacobson

Ruslan arrives in the middle of nowhere to build a palace for a local oligarch. Only the palace looks more like a pantheon of evil gods, and accidents happen at the construction site every day. From one day to another a golden statue of an Egyptian god named Alais is to be delivered here, but the builders are already having nightmares. Ruslan finds himself in a strange hospital, where patients simply disappear and the mysterious nurses resemble beautiful ghosts.

Claws of Mercy

Natalie Yacobson

Translator Natalia Lilienthal

© Natalie Yacobson, 2024

© Natalia Lilienthal, translation, 2024

ISBN 978-5-0062-1722-5

Created with Ridero smart publishing system

A gloomy hospital

“Here they heal” read the sign on the gate. For some reason, he thought it read “Here they kill.”

In any case, the backwoods place boasted a splendid attraction. If only an infirmary could be called a landmark? Probably, since the building itself resembles a palace with marble columns. That’s what museums look like, not hospitals. The walls themselves reek of luxury and antiquity. Seven ominous angelic statues are perched on the edges of the staircase, as if in mockery of doctors who cannot save human lives unless the higher powers allow them to. Ruslan saw drops of blood on the wings of one of the angels.

“Do you believe that a statue can come to life and crush someone with its own hands?”

“More like wings,” Ruslan didn’t realize whether he was joking or answering his colleague quite seriously. Dima had been pestering him with questions since morning. His incessant chatter drowned out even the radio in the car. Together they drove to a place that was so remote that it was time for legends to be written about it. Some rich man had thought of building a huge palace complex in the middle of a swampy area and wild forests, and they, two young guys, for lack of better work, had to go to the construction site in the middle of nowhere. It is equally far from Moscow and Siberia. You won’t find these places on a map.

“Yesterday, a friend called me from here and said that a construction worker had been crushed by a marble statue,” Dima persisted. “It was just on the porch of the local hospital.”

“Is it being repaired?”

“To fix something… probably… he was crushed by a fallen angel statue. Can you imagine? What a situation! I can’t believe it!”

The stretcher was indeed carrying a dead body wrapped in bloody sheets. Ruslan thought it was a dead man. Why are they bringing it to the hospital? There must be a morgue inside.

A slender girl in a nurse’s uniform flashed through the archway of the entrance. Her white coat also had blood droplets on it. Although it was now a gray overcast day, but it seemed that the girl brought with her the breath of night. It was probably because of her blue-black hair and equally dark eyebrows and eyelashes. She rather resembled a fairy of the night than a nurse. Ruslan was suddenly drawn to her so strongly that he forgot all his business.

“Don’t look!”

The nearby voice was menacing and metallic. Dima was definitely silent. It felt as if this one of the statues had spoken to him.

How could a statue fall at night and crush someone? After all, all the pedestals were occupied, and therefore none of the statues had broken. There was no way the statue could have fallen without breaking.

It seemed to Ruslan that all the marble angels were squinting ominously at him.

“Let’s go, or we’ll be late,” Dima said hurriedly.

Ruslan pressed the gas. The pedal clanked unpleasantly under his foot, as if it might break. The dark-haired nurse had already gone back inside the building. Or rather, someone had dragged her inside. It was a tall, swarthy man whose hands seemed clawed from afar.

Statues

“The tales here are horrible,” Dima was rattling on the road. “Ever since several villages disappeared, people have been saying all sorts of things.”

“They are about witches, about woodsmen, about mermaids in the swamp,” Ruslan said sarcastically. He didn’t believe in myths and tales. It was as silly as believing in horror movies or comic-book horror stories. Yes, there are many deserted kilometers of road, but there are no devils and sorcerers unless you make them up yourself. It is better to persistently press on the gas and enjoy the meters of asphalt left behind. The tires rustled gently on the road, which turned out to be flat. Probably recently repaired. No wonder if some oligarch had bought the land here to build on. Ruslan didn’t even know exactly who they were going to work for. It was a fact that the construction would take a long time, which meant that the salary would be secured for a long period of time.

He dozed off at the wheel. Immediately he dreamed he was approaching the doors of the palace, that is, the doors of the hospital. The full moon was shining. Its glare is on the statues. The beautiful brunette nurse is sitting on the stairs in front of the entrance, her lips bloody. She is holding something in her lap. From afar, it looks like someone’s severed head.

“Hey!”

Ruslan calls out to her, and she looks up. There’s darkness in her eyes.

“Be attentive!” Dima said. He helped, otherwise the car would have hit a tree.

How did you get off the road? Ruslan rubbed his eyes sleepily.

“You better get behind the rudder!” He rummaged through the glove compartment for medicine. His head was bursting with pain.

Dima willingly traded places with him. He’d just gotten his driver’s license, so there wouldn’t be any problems. Let him drive. Besides, there’s no one on the road. Even if they break the rules of the road, there’s no one to fine them. And even if someone kills them on the way, no one will find their bodies here. It’s all wild and deserted.

Well, why is he thinking dark thoughts? Is it the dreams that overexcited him? Or was it the gloomy facade of the hospital?

There was no medicine in the glove compartment. Where did the pack of pills go? Ruslan definitely had them with him. Probably he left it in his bag. It wasn’t a bag, but some kind of notebook in the back seat. Ruslan pulled it out. It was a black leather-bound notebook with some bizarre symbols stamped on the cover! It looks like pentagrams. What modern production can’t think of to attract customers! Ruslan often noticed notebooks with skulls and skeletons on the covers in the windows of stationery shops, and sometimes there were images of dark fairies and vampires. Gothic style was becoming popular.

“Is this yours?”

Dima glanced at the notebook and shook his head negatively.

“Then where did it come from?”

“Maybe one of the hospital visitors put it in the car window on purpose,” Dima suggested.

“Are you kidding?” Ruslan ruffled his blond hair. His head ached even more.

“What’s joking got to do with it? Aren’t there enough superstitious people out there? And there are even more psychics – charlatans who play on people’s trust to lure away money or gifts.”

“What are you getting at?”

Ruslan didn’t like this conversation. It was too ominous.

“Well, many losers pay for dubious rituals to throw their misfortune on someone, and then deliberately throw away expensive things in a crowded place, which is sure someone will pick up. There is an example: if you take a thing from the dead, you will soon die. Or if you take a thing that belonged to someone spoiled, his spoilage will be transferred to you.”

“It is nonsense!”

Ruslan shivered. His friend talks as if he’d planted the notebook himself. But there was no notebook in the car until they stopped at the hospital. Probably they decided to get rid of it because its owner was already in the hospital morgue. But why wasn’t it just tossed into the dumpster?

Although there was no dumpster, no ice cream stand, not even a soda machine near the hospital. Ruslan slowed down near it, hoping to buy a can of Fanta. It didn’t work! They didn’t sell drinks there. There was no pharmacy where you could buy plasters and bandages nearby either. Too bad he hadn’t thought to bring a first aid kit earlier. The calluses chafed by his new sneakers ached unbearably.

Ruslan opened his notebook for nothing. The paper was shabby and yellowed. The notebook must be old. There were no marks on the title page, and the first pages were clean. Ruslan began to leaf through them and came across the notes. The lines ran unevenly, though the handwriting was calligraphic.