By: Commissar Roman
One day Ian invited his bestest friend in the whole wide world, Zach, to his multi-million dollar mansion in the cold wastes of Siberia. Built upon the remains of a Gulag from the days of the USSR, it had watchtowers recently reinforced with Stalininium, and manned with skeletal guards that Ian's parents had risen from the grave naught a month ago. They stood in constant vigil with their weapons ready. Their bodies had been preserved by the snow for decades. They emanated cold, their torn, faded uniforms were coated with frost. Their rusted helmets on their heads, straps hanging loosely, where their chins had once been.
Zach's parents’ bright red Lada stood out like a flower in the snow. They pulled up to the massive cold gates with a happy honk as the car deposited Zach and sped off speedily. He looked again at the text message Ian had sent to invite him again. It read: “Hey bestie! Could you come over to my summer house this weekend B) it’s at 69420 Siberia boulevard in Russia XD.” Suddenly the impenetrable looking gates rumbled and squaked as ancient pulleys turned. The gates opened to reveal Ian pulling with all his might on a cable the width of a bottle of sprite. When the gate opened wide enough to permit Zach he stopped, breathing heavily to welcome him.
“My parents are out of town btw,” he said breathing heavily.
“ ‘Aight” responded Zach, who was wearing several layers of colourful winter clothing to counteract the stinging wind. Ian, on the other hand was wearing shorts, big leather boots, and an ushanka with a hammer and sickle pin.
“Welcome!” Ian gestured toward the house. He accidentally slapped a metal wall and the clang went all throughout the valley; he winced and shook his hand.
They entered through the marble doorway. The doors were made out of mosin-nagants bound together to form a door, on one side of the door the bolts of the rifle were attached to the door, making the door a door. When the door was opened Zach saw that the back was sealed with what appeared to be both flex glue and flex tape, thus making the door unbreakable. Inside was the entrance hall. Wall to wall was covered in hanging swords, axes, maces and strewn pieces of plate armour and chainmail.
Beyond the entrance hall was the living room. There was a huge roaring fire in the fireplace. Above it a painting of awesome size. It depicted Otto von Bismarck, the chancellor of the German empire, his pickelhaube complemented his immaculate, massive mustache. Zach inspected the painting and saw that Ian had done the piece himself. There was a large TV mounted on the wall, and in the corner an old TV with a Nintendo 64 and two Duck Hunt guns laying on the floor next to it. There were two large red plush chairs and a couch, and a bear lying in front of the fire. When they walked in in it rolled onto its paws and padded lazily toward Ian and nuzzled his legs.
He petted it and fed it a large raw steak from which he pulled from his back pocket and said, “This is Boris, my bear.” Zach peered through a window and saw a mounted Dp-28 Soviet machine gun in the backyard with several bullet-ridden targets.
He walked up one of the many staircases tentatively, fearing what he might find. He came up to a long hallway with brass plates inlaid with iron lettering that indicated the room number. He opened a door at random and found a dimly lit room filled with mannequins that looked exactly like a specific person, although Zach couldn't quite place his finger on it. The name “Brendan” came to mind although he had never heard that name in his life, or even on TV, or on the internet. Images flashed in his mind, images of sacrifice, death and golden altars, he had not known of B̵̛̞̳͎̤͇̞̻̗̃̓́̚r̴͔̬̗̼̹̞̳̣̄́̓̀̐̃̆͡ͅē̷̠̤͖͍̫̠̣͉̗̋͆̅͘͘͜͝ņ̮̠̰̣̬̒̓́̅̎́̍͗͢͞d̸̗̞͓̠̗̦͎̘͔͑͆̇̉̃ẻ̶̥̭̪̣̣̻̪̬̇́͑̔͘͜n͇̯͕͚̻̭͑̈͒͑̋̓, the glorious god, but he knew now. Zach cried, for the great god sleeps, he sleeps and dreams of the end times, for when he wakes from his deep slumber his dreams shall become reality. The visions cleared and Zach found himself lying on the floor in the fetal position. He rose and dried his tears, and he mourned, for the glorious god would not come soon enough. Each of the mannequins were clad in jeans, round horned-rimmed glasses and a button-up-shirt with the sleeves rolled up, the clothing covered in dust, a few were posed as if they had been writhing in pain, and most were kneeling to a tarnished gold altar. A few of them where keeled over with their hands around a dagger or sword or sickle that was in their stomach. A dark brown stain in a circle around each of the “dead” mannequins, there was the same stains on the clothes of the mannequins, a layer of dust covered an expression of agony on their faces. A brown dust covered skeleton was on the altar, its ribs broken, an iron spike in its mouth, pinning it to the altar, a crude knife made of obsidian lay in its chest cavity. He exited the room quickly. He opened another door and found Ian's room. He was sitting on plaid sheets, Zach could see an elevator at one wall which was clearly the only way he could have gotten there. The walls were covered in paintings, all of them of one cat. It was a cat that looked akin to a pancake and very upset. It was looking up into the right and in front of it was a banana.
