Ilya and The Devil's Game

Chapter 1

It's 1:06 am on the alarm clock and it's still dark outside. Why did I wake up?

I know I heard something, but I don't know what it is. I listen for the sound of mice, scratching the floor with their disgusting, disease-ridden claws. Thankfully, there's no sign of the pests. I'm not exactly the type of guy that could even kill a cockroach.

I leave my sofa-bed and step onto the icy cold floor. The floorboards creak with each step. Blue light from the window streaks the butter-yellow walls of my cramped apartment, and it reflects from the glass of the china cabinet. The desk, an elbow-shove away from hitting the television or bookcase, is shrouded in darkness.

I check if anything fell off my desk. My engineering textbook from college and yesterday's copy of Pravda are still over a lovely flower-patterned cloth. I try to keep my eyes open while glancing at the newspaper. It's about the current relations between the U.S. and the Soviet Union. I roll my eyes after re-reading the "news".

While standing, wondering whether I dreamt of the noise, there's...a sound. It seems like what I heard, what woke me from sleep was muffled. Though it's clear enough to tell it's two people talking...no...yelling. One voice is bass-like, the other is higher.

The shouting is coming from a building outside. Looking out the window, I only see birch trees, frosted in snow, enveloping a small cottage with a flickering orange light inside. I lived here for a few months, but I've never before seen a sign of anyone in there. No one went in, and no one came out. The house seems leftover from the '50s, it should have been excavated during the making of Khrushchyovkas on this side of town.

They probably were always there. It's not like you spend your days looking out on the balcony. People have different lives than you, Ilya! They're getting louder; what if something awful is happening? Like kidnapping, murder or even...no, this shouldn't matter to me, it's just a regular argument. People argue all the time. I breathe to stop my palms from sweating, to stop all the random conclusions, but they continue to flood my brain.

The shouting from the house stops; there wasn't any sign of de-escalation or anything. It ended as fast as a lightning strike. A hurricane of thoughts comes in to worsen the flood. Was I wrong? Did something really happen? No, no they probably made up, it's good, everything's good. It's still dark, let's just sleep this away. Right as I face away from the window, a light flashes in the corner of my eye, and a low booming sound echoes. My back straightens and my head is silent for a single second. Was that a gun? It can't be! Regular people aren't allowed to have guns!

When I look through the window a second time, I see nothing. No people, no light, no... anything. My eyes focus on the house. Even though the night obscures its features, I stare. My worries start to slow, along with my heart.

Something is interesting about that house; I can't quite put a finger on what. Whatever that reason is, I don't mind finding out once I go there. I want to see it all, inside and out. Should I go now? ...What am I thinking! It's dangerous to go out now, at...3:47. Even though I don't let myself leave, I still stand here, with the cold embracing my hands and feet.

I look up at the sky; I can tell exactly how the stars have changed since the last time I saw them. I watch all the times' something small happened, such as an owl flying or a poor stray dog sniffing for scraps of food.

I will stand here until the glorious sunlight shines on my tired face.

I will know what has happened, is happening, and will happen in that house.