BESERK! Read online

  9 Friday, December.

  Olga sat on her son’s bedside rubbing his palms, they felt cold. “Have some hot soup, son!” she urged. “You will feel good.”

  When he did not respond, she said “Gevorg! You are going to have your soup whether you like it or not. You are too much of a fussy-pot.” With that she headed to the kitchen.

  On the way she snatched up her mobile. Furiously she dialed a number. Within two rings it was answered. “Anna…Anna!”She hissed in the cell. “Where is Farzana? Is she back?” Farzana was the woman supposed to know the technique of bringing back the dead.

  Anna answered calmly. “No Olga dear, she is not back. Why are you so impatient?”

  “Anna, you know I am going crazy without him!” She was on the verge of tears. “I need him fast! I want him fast!” Then she broke down inconsolably.

  Just as she was about to heat the soup, she remembered something. Viktor’s most precious wealth! She had to protect it! She could not leave it lying around. What if that brute Zhukovsky found it? What would Viktor say when he returned?

  She tried to think of a place to hide it. The loft…the cupboard…under the bed… Then it came to her…the refrigerator! Zhukovsky would never think of searching there. Once decided, she set on the cumbersome task.

  Half an hour later she had finished wrapping it in a plastic sheet. She emptied the lower half of the refrigerator and hauled it in. Then she tried her best to cover it with groceries. Later she was back to heating the soup.

  11 Sunday, December.

  The delightful barks of stray dogs told the watchman Mustafa that the woman from the third floor, Mrs. Olga Kravchuk had arrived. She always fed them, biscuits and chopped duck’s feet. She was calling and talking to each of them and they were responding. She had named every single one of them.

  He hurried to the gate and was right; the tall Mrs. Kravchuk was feeding the dogs. She had cut her hair short, she looked a bit comical.

  When she saw the watchman, she hurried to him. He knew what questions to expect, just two.

  “Did my Gevorg leave the building?” she asked.

  He chuckled. He had not seen her son for a week.

  “Did any of his junkie friends visit him?” she asked him again.

  “No Madame…” he answered. The poor mother worried a lot about her son. Her boy was sick and had lost a good amount of weight.Some also said he was dying. But his junkie friends would not leave him alone. They would visit and supply him drugs.

  Pleased with the answer, she scratched inside her big purse and palmed him a hundred kupons. As she did so, he spied a couple of vodka bottles in her bag.

  Sensing it, she smiled at him sheepishly, “For my Gevorg…so he doesn’t go out with his junkie friends…From that day I made a pact with him that he would never go out. Whatever he wanted I would get for him…Ah Mustafa remember to collect some baked fish from me later.”

  Without another word the woman trudged towards the building. The old watchman felt pity for her, she was a good woman but tragedy kept dogging her. First, her husband’s death then her son’s drugs and drinking problem. For sixteen years he had worked for the Kravchuks and had seen it all.

  Olga barely reached the first floor when she felt winded. Perspiration was running down her neck and back. But she heaved her heavy load and continued, she did not want to leave her son alone for too long.

  Trudging on, she reached the second floor, reached the spot her husband died and stopped. She gazed forlornly at the spot. The lamps stood unlit, the powder on the outline was in disarray. She had neglected the ritual for a few days, really, more than a week. Lack of interest was not the case; Anna had informed her that the Farzana would not be back for some time.

  The only thing she wanted was to get him back! The thought spurred her. She ignored the tiredness and hurried up the stairs to her flat. She reached the door and got out her bunch of keys. The door had three self-locks on the outside and two draw bolts inside. She never really understood why Viktor had insisted on so much security. The door was of solid timber that would need a battering-ram to break it open. Did he mean to keep something out or inside? But nevertheless even after his death she religiously kept the locks and the draw-bolts.

  For now she did not want to dwell on it. She silently put down her heavy load, careful not to make a sound. Then she hurried to her son’s bedroom and peeped in. She was satisfied to see the cocoon of bedspreads undisturbed. She could experience the cold her boy was feeling the whole time through.

  Then her eyes darted to the refrigerator. She hoped he had not rummaged through it. She got out another key and opened the refrigerator and looked in, she felt relief.“Gevorg…son!” she called. “Wake up! I will make you your favorite lasasee’ny—salmon dish.” She began to rummage inside the refrigerator for some frozen fish.

  She knew he would be mumbling.

  “No…no son! No protesting! Then you and I can have a drink of vodka before our meal!”

  This time she was sure it was a grunt from him.

  When she got out the fish and locked it up, tears glistened in her eyes. Vodka was bad for him. He could barely swallow a peg. But that was the only thing that interested him.

  As she walked to the kitchen she passed her husband’s photo frame.She stopped before it. Only one burning thought ran through her mind. I want him back!

  On entering the kitchen, she heard a loud rattling sound. Startled, she hurried back. Viktor’s suspended photo frame was quivering. She looked around; until she spied an ajar window, damn breeze…she muttered and hurried to shut it

  Chapter 5: Hell Hole in Kravchuk Dacha

  12 Monday, December.

  The doorbell rang and Olga hurried to open the door. It was the cleaning maid Nikita; she came thrice a week to clean up. She was a young pretty girl. The first thing she noticed was her mistress’ extremely short, bad hair-cut. All her huge lovely curls were gone.

  “Good morning, Auntie” she greeted. Everyone younger called Olga, auntie. “What did you to your hair, auntie?”

  “Oh…oh nothing Nikita just a simple hair cut. My husband always wanted it.”

  Nikita looked at her quizzically. When she got no explanation, she found the broom and began sweeping.

  Today there was urgency in her work. Quickly she finished and went into Gevorg’s room. She had been away from town and heard that he was unwell, she was eager to see him. The two had had a few sexual escapades in the past. They had visited Simferopol, a small town on the banks of river Salgir and the picturesque port of Odessa. He always was caring and paid well for the sexual favors. His parents knew nothing about it.

  But what she saw on entering appalled her. Covered from head to toe, a mummy like figure occupied the bed, snoring loudly. There was a strong smell of urine, alcohol and cigarette smoke. At the edge of his bed, on the floor was a puddle of urine.

  Nikita hurried towards the bed to say a hi. But a loud cold voice froze her in her steps. “Nikita!” It was Olga. “Gevorg has just fallen asleep from sheer exhaustion. Don’t you dare disturb him. Do you also supply him drugs on a quiet? I hope not…Hurry up and finish the work! We are to have guests!”

  Nikita remained mum, worked hastily and left

  x x x

  After Nikita left, Olga looked around the room. The next act was to begin. She was making sure everything was in place. That bastard Zhukovsky was to visit them. Something about the property papers to sign, he had mentioned over the phone. But she could not trust him; he could really be coming to harm Gevorg or worse take him away. A thought she could not bear.

  Minutes later Zhukovsky arrived, a brute of a man. Towering over her nearly by a head and half a shoulder, he always reminded her of a Viking warrior.

  “Good morning, Olga.” He greeted her sourly.

  “Good morning, Zhukovsky.” She answered back cordially. They had always been on first name basis.

  A moment of unpleasant silence drift
ed.

  “Olga...uh.” He cleared his throat. A smell of expensive cigarettes and perfume emanated from him.

  “Oh…Come in.” she invited rather reluctantly. She gripped her mobile cell tightly, ready to use it at the first sign of hostility.

  Seating himself, he looked around the place. “Where is Gevorg, Olga?” He demanded.

  The question caused a knee-jerk reaction in her. “Why...Why do you want him?”

  “I just want him to sign a few papers.” He looked sharply at her.

  “He’s unwell whatever it is, I can sign, then you can leave!” Immediately she regretted being so brusque.

  She saw his face tighten at her rebuke.

  “I really do not know Olga…” He began angrily.

  Just then they heard Gevorg’s voice from the bedroom. “Ma…ma, who is it?”

  “Its Zhukovsky, son, he wants you to sign some papers.”

  “Tell him I am unwell I will do it sometime later.”

  Olga turned to Zhukovsky. He looked mad, he had heard it too.

  “Olga, could I at least speak to him?” He asked in a dry voice.

  “You heard the boy. He is unwell and does not want to speak to you!” She answered firmly.

  Zhukovsky stood up, his whole six-plus-frame standing in an intimidating posture. “Olga this is not over!” He threatened. “The next time, I come you better have your junkie son ready to sign the papers or I will send him…” He jerked his thumb upwards. “To his bastard father!” Smiling cruelly, he let himself out off the door.

  As he left Olga hurriedly locked the door and drew all the bolts. For the first time she was thankful for them. Once done, she felt her knees tremble, with difficulty hobbled to a chair and seated herself.

  Some minutes later she was dialing her friend Anna

  Later that night…

  Olga was awoken by a sound. It seemed like footsteps… Her first thought was Zhukovsky! Somehow he had managed to get in. It filled her with fear. She lay still trying to pinpoint the presence of the intruder.

  With extreme care she raised herself on her elbows and looked around. The inert form of Gevorg was visible on his bed. It could not be him; he was too weak to go to the toilet.

  Once again there was a sound, this time it was from the kitchen, the sound of vessels. Olga’s heart leapt with joy. It had to be Viktor! He had returned back! He was the only one to get up for a midnight snack!

  She sat up eagerly then stopped. Did he wish to surprise her? She felt she shouldn’t go in and spoil his surprise. She waited.

  Again there was a sound, this time a lot louder. She could not contain her excitement any more. “Viktor…” she called softly, not wanting to awake Gevorg. “Viktor.” She called again, her voice echoed hollowly in the dark.

  Once more she called. “Viktor darling, are you there?” When only silence greeted her, she arose and went towards the kitchen. She could no longer bear the suspense.

  “Viktor.” She called aloud and entered. The kitchen was in a state of semi-gloom. She tried to penetrate the darkness with her sight. Unable, she switched on the light.

  The place stood in utter desolation. So she too stood, but she knew Viktor had been there. She left the light on and began a long wait for him.

  Wednesday, 14 December.

  The telephone rang and Olga hurried to answer it. It was Anna and she sounded excited. “Olga darling, I have good and bad news for you! Farzana will be back in a day or two!”

  Olga heard her pause on the other side and take a long breath before continuing. “But she needs one last thing…an item from you. She needs a container…”

  “A container?” asked Olga.

  “Something to collect his soul in…”

  “What Farzana means is a container—a corpse…a dead body…” Anna explained.

  A startled cry escaped Olga’s lips. “That is impossible Anna! Could not we think of something else?”

  “I will see what I can do! Don’t you worry Olga.” With that she cut the line.

  Olga sat pensively, not knowing what to do.

  Chapter 6: Hell Hole in Kravchuk Dacha

  The ring of the doorbell disturbed her. Wearily she arose and walked towards the door, Anna’s demand was impossible. From where the hell would she get a corpse?

  She opened the door, it was Nikita. Letting the cleaning girl in she went back to her thoughts. Then a brilliant idea struck her.

  Nikita went on to work but her mind was working furiously. Something was terribly wrong with Gevorg. She could not wait to go and check him out. Moving quickly, she began her job, one eye on the pensive mother.

  Halfway through her job she saw Olga arise and enter the kitchen. This was her chance, she hurried into his room, a snoring sound was audible. A few cigarette butts lay scattered on the floor. The room smelt of stale cigarette smoke and alcohol.

  Nikita hurried to his bedside, every part of the body was covered, except his hair. She pulled the cover slightly and gasped at the sight.

  Instead of Gevorg’s head was a medium-sized clay pot! Crudely stuck on it was a Santa’s mask with plenty of human hair. A cell phone lay beside, blinking and emitting a soft snoring sound.

  She screamed with fear and backed away. Before she could realize, a shadow loomed over her. She felt a painful blow at the back of her head and fell unconscious.

  Olga stood over the limp body. She held a heavy bloodstained skillet in her hand. “Curiosity killed the cat!” she muttered.

  Then she went to the refrigerator and opened its door. Inside was Viktor’s well earned wealth… Gevorg—his corpse actually! It sat there, its knees pulled up close to the chest. Huddled and small structured, akin to an Aztec mummy. It sat at the bottom of the refrigerator wrapped in a transparent plastic sheet. Frost had covered most of the plastic, his hair and spectacles. Fresh vegetables lay around it.

  Looking at the corpse Olga said “See Gevorg, I needed a vessel and God has provided me one. I hope you don’t mind your father being in a woman’s body.” Jerking her thumb towards the limp form of Nikita on the ground. She bent over and wiped the frost off his glasses. “As soon as Farzana resurrects your father’s soul I will retrieve yours too then we can all live happily ever after.”

  Reaching for a bundle that rested near its feet, she said “Do you want me to make you your favorite baked oo’tkoo-kar’ho’shka—duck-potato dish?”

  The ringing of the doorbell caused her to start. It was unexpected. Who could it be? She wasn’t expecting anyone. Maybe it was Mustafa, come to take the leftovers.

  But when the doorbell rang incessantly, she panicked. It wasn’t Mustafa, it was trouble. Hurriedly, she banged the refrigerator door shut.

  The doorbell continued to ring. She hastily covered the dummy, masquerading as Gevorg, on the bed. The bell sounded louder and shriller. She wished it would stop.

  Rushing to the door, she remembered Nikita. The girl was still lying on the ground where she had left her. She returned back, the doorbell resounding like an irritant in her ear.

  Grabbing the girl by her arms she dragged her across the floor into the kitchen. Breathlessly, she ran to open the door. Sliding in the safety chain, she opened the door a little and gasped.

  The tall figure of Zhukovsky stood outside. “Olga!” he ordered. “Open the door!”

  “Leave Gevorg alone, please Zhukovsky, he is not well!” she pleaded.

  “Just a simple signature damnit! And you will never see me!”

  “Not today Zhukovsky leave him alone just for a few days!”

  “Olga! If you don’t let me in I will get the police and come. They will break down the door and arrest you and your stupid son.” He warned.

  Olga grew silent.

  Outside Zhukovsky realized he had scored a point. He waited expectantly. Some moments later he heard the safety-chain slid open.

  “Come in Zhukovsky.” She said stoically. “Gevorg is in the bedroom.” She let h
im to the bedroom and hurried to the kitchen.

  Zhukovsky wrinkled his nose at the odor of alcohol and stale cigarette smoke. He knelt besides the sleeping form and whispered. “Gevorg…Gevorg wake up.”

  There was a new odor now, it smelt like urine. Behind him he could hear Olga’s footsteps, it stopped near him. Once again he tried. He grasped what seemed Gevorg’ shoulder and shook it. It felt abnormal as if a cushion was underneath…Something was very wrong!

  He turned to Olga and was in time to see her swing something at him. He tried to avoid but it slammed into the side of his face. He felt a jolt of pain stun him.

  Before he could recover he felt another hit slam in his face. Then another…then blackness.

  Chapter 7: Hell Hole in Kravchuk Dacha

  Zhukovsky woke up groggy. His head ached worse than any hangover he had ever experienced. The pain had dulled his senses. Somebody was talking to him but the voice sounded disembodied. He tried hard to concentrate on the voice.

  Cold water splashed on his face dulling the pain slightly and easing his senses. He focused on the surroundings, it appeared strange. Then he focused on the figure before him. Slowly it grew distinct. Olga!

  Then it all came to him. She had attacked him with something…thrice. Anger filled him. He tried to arise but was unable. His hands and legs were tied to the chair. A duct tape was plastered across his mouth. Rage welled in him. He tried to rip the bonds but the nylon rope bit into his wrist. Besides, the chair he was tied to was of solid timber. Escape appeared difficult for the moment.

  Olga strode in front of him. “Ahh…you are awake!”

  She had a strange look and held a large kitchen knife in her hand. Walking to the refrigerator she opened the door. “Gevorg, I have got you a real man-daddy! You will not have to be embarrassed with the girl-daddy.”

  Zhukovsky stretched slightly and the sight inside the refrigerator made his stomach roll. One thought raced through his mind. Olga had gone bonkers! Had she murdered her son and put his corpse in the fridge…for what?

  Seeing Zhukovsky’s repugnance, she instantly cried in anguish “No…no it’s not what you are thinking! I did not kill Gevorg! The pain, the liquor, the drugs killed him! He died in my arms! My poor boy!”

  Slowly a change appeared in her demeanor. She smiled coyly and opened the door a bit wider. “See Viktor,” she addressed Zhukovsky. “I have taken good care of your son.”