I was told this story by a participant in the events himself - a former university teacher who later became a homeless vagabond. Apparently, in his life some kind of failure befell him, and now he was in the hospital on the verge of death.
Here is his story:
- The weather was disgusting - an ordinary English summer. All day long the rain beat dejectedly on the rooftops and flowed in gurgling trickles down the countless drainpipes onto the City pavements. A huge cloud enveloped the dome of St. Paul's Cathedral. The sky was gloomy and in the coming hours did not bode well.
When dusk fell, the rain stopped for a while, and I was able to leave my refuge under the old archway, hoping to find a more suitable place to sleep.
It was not cold, quite the contrary. The air soared, as in the tropics, the stuffiness oppressed and grew more and more, but for some reason the refreshing thunderstorm lingered. I was so hungry that my eyes grew dark, felt nauseous, and I almost fainted. I dreamed of a clean bed. And I wandered dumbly in search of some room at a relatively affordable price.
And so, when my feet carried me out to the Holborn area, I saw this house for the first time. If some random truck had run over me then, I would not have to experience this horror, and I would not be telling you this whole nightmare now.
The house was small but very old. There are many such monuments from the time of Elizabeth in this area. One got the impression that its beautiful high windows smirk at my poverty and throw a brazen challenge in my face. Above the entrance, I saw a sign with the words that gave me great hope - "House for rent." It was already late, the streets were empty, and my head was buzzing with tension and fatigue, like the sky, not discharged by the long-awaited thunderstorm. And suddenly, as if whipping me up in my indecision, a large drop fell directly on my forehead. The drop was sticky and warm, like that night itself, and all doubts were immediately dispelled. Inside this self-confident and arrogant house, there is no doubt that I will have refuge from the coming storm.
I walked carefully to the door. Of course, she was locked. Just in case, I checked the windows on the first floor and swore: as always, I was fatally unlucky. But then I saw that one window was not quite tightly covered - apparently, the bolts were loose. I looked around. The policeman who was on duty at the corner just turned his back on me, two couples hurriedly ran past. There were no witnesses. The rest was a matter of one minute. The ringing of broken glass, the turn of the handle - and the window opened. Opened, and seductively beckons inward.
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With the last of my strength, I climbed onto the windowsill and, after a few seconds, having fallen rather awkwardly to the floor, I nevertheless ended up in the long-awaited place.
I don't know how long I was lying on the floor, trying to catch my breath. My heart was beating wildly, my temples were beating. Maybe an hour and a half, maybe just a few minutes. Probably, I lost consciousness all the same. Still would! For three days I haven't had a poppy dewdrop in my mouth! But then, in the end, I got up, closed the window so as not to arouse suspicion, and examined my pockets in search of a lying match.
When the match struck, I almost dropped it at the sight before me.
The room was furnished with expensive antique furniture in the 17th century style. There was a silver candlestick with 7 candles on a large marble fireplace, and I immediately lit them to get a better look.
At first I thought that I was hallucinating from hunger. But no - everything was real. And I, an unfortunate homeless vagabond, found shelter in a place that cannot be described in words. It was a real paradise of antiques!
Candlestick in hand, I went to the door of the room and lingered a little at the threshold. I suddenly felt uneasy. From the outside, the house looked empty and abandoned, and the sign of surrender was evidence of this. Inside, there was luxurious furniture, and everything indicated that people lived here. Am I wrong?
I could well have gone not where I wanted to, considering my deplorable state of that time. If the owners find me, I will be in trouble. As far as I remembered, a policeman was standing nearby, and if I was taken to the station, all my excuses would be unconvincing. From the point of view of the owner of the house, I was a real burglar thief.
Jail? Yes, she represented a kind of refuge, but my natural pride always forced me to give up the benefits of imprisonment. However, what pride can I have?.. I only chuckled at the thought of her, remembering my unenviable position. And it was then that I heard this terrible sound for the first time.
At first I thought that the noise - or rather, some kind of vague buzz - was born in my head, and I prepared for new surprises that my extremely exhausted body could present to me. The roar grew, then almost stopped, but not quite, as if some invisible plane circled high above the house. I stopped and shook my head to get rid of that annoying tinnitus. But no, the humming did not stop, and it was as if I had thrust my head into a bee hive.
As soon as this comparison came to my mind, I noticed that the room was warmer. Swaying, I reached forward and pushed open the heavy door. It opened, and a second later I found myself in a spacious hall. And at the same moment, the buzz ceased.
By the light of candles I saw a small door leading, probably, to the kitchen, and immediately staggered there - there will probably be something edible there! I walked slowly, fearing that the creaky oak floorboards would give me away to the owners.
Opening this small door very carefully, I saw that it leads into the hallway, and from there you can get into the kitchen.
I raised the candlestick over my head and looked around carefully. There was another door to my right - probably a bedroom. After that I looked to the left and almost screamed with joy.
On a small kitchen table was laid out food that I could not even dream of. Putting the candlestick on the floor, I immediately pounced on her and began to eagerly eat literally everything that came to my hand. All principles of high morality disappeared in the blink of an eye. After all, I am a human being, a living being, and have not eaten for several days. Who can reproach me for the fact that I could not refuse my exhausted body and was unable to endure the attacks of hellish stomach pain?
Then I again heard this unpleasant, crushing sound - a low, lingering hum. But now I already knew for sure that this was not the fruit of hungry hallucinations - my head had already cleared up. I lowered my glass, which I had just filled with some sweet wine, and began to listen.
Apparently, the hum was coming from the bedroom. After drinking some more wine, I went to the door and put my ear to the keyhole.
Zzzz-zzzz-zzz!..
Yes, I was not mistaken - the sound came from there. Then I decided to see what was going on there, but through the keyhole I saw nothing - the room was rather dark. An unexpectedly strange desire took possession of me. I wanted to find out where this hum was coming from and, at the risk of waking the tenants, nevertheless dared to carefully turn the doorknob.
The buzzing stopped almost immediately. Slowly, very slowly, I opened the door and looked inside. And my heart sank with terror.
In the middle of the room there was a coffin on two chairs, and on the floor next to it there were two candlesticks with short stubs sticking out. In the corner I saw a large four-poster bed, on which clothes were strewn about in disarray. The coffin lid lay next to the bed.
At first, in the dim candlelight, it seemed to me that there was a Negro in the coffin. I moved closer, and as I got closer, the hum began to intensify.
And suddenly, as if a veil rose from the corpse, revealing what remained on his gnawed, festering face, which appeared before my frightened gaze. Almost suffocating from the infernal stench, I recoiled and closed my eyes so as not to look at this disfigured naked creature. The eerie smell of decay caused nausea to wave in my throat. Trying not to breathe, so as not to feel this wild stench, I backed away, but something fell under my feet, I stumbled, hit the door with my back, and it slammed shut. In a second, I was already fighting off thousands of flies that flew from the corpse and now violently attacked me, taking revenge for having interfered with their feast.
I desperately began to wave my hands away, but without much success. It seemed to me that this whole room came to life and turned into millions of tiny sticky hairy legs grabbing me from all sides. And this nightmare rumble did not stop for a second - the sound of wings beating in the fetid air. One fly, larger than all the others, landed on my upper lip and tried to stick its fat body into my mouth. I remembered the corpse she had just eaten, and I felt sick. I hit myself hard on the lips, squelched this fat fly and heard it hit the floor heavily.
Somehow I was able to get to the hallway door and open it. Fighting off the flies, I lost my candlestick and now felt my way into the living room, constantly stumbling and gasping with horror. The bedroom door slammed shut behind me, and I thanked God for saving me. There was something very strange in the behavior of these winged demons, as if they had a single mind, acted together and attacked me according to a certain pattern, as if they were led by one supreme leader or a common mind.
Left in the dark, I began to look at random for the door that led into the hall. Finally, my fingers groped for the handle. I turned it abruptly, then again and again, but the door did not open - the lock slipped, and a terrible thought pierced my brain: having slammed all the doors with spring locks, I imprisoned myself in this devil's house.
Distraught with horror, I began pounding at the door with all my might. Again and again, my whole body leaned against this insurmountable oak barrier, wasting my newly restored strength on useless, desperate attempts to get out of the hallway. And I almost lost hope, when I suddenly remembered about the kitchen.
- Idiot! - I swore loudly and, stumbling, rushed in the darkness to another door. There, only there, deliverance awaits me! I turned and shook my fist at those nasty buzzing creatures locked in the bedroom behind that creepy door.
They wanted to get my body - to drink warm blood and torment living flesh! I felt it, I knew it even then, in the room, when I fought them off. But I managed to deceive them.
Laughing triumphantly, I rushed into the kitchen, hoping to go through the back door to the street. To my right there was a large window through which the light of the moon entered the room. I tried to turn the latch on the back door and - oh Virgin Mary! - she gave in. But then my laughter verse. The damned door didn't move in any. I pushed and pulled her, but it was in vain. And only after taking a closer look at the door, I realized what was the matter. Sharp tips of nails stuck out at regular intervals along its entire perimeter - my only exit was boarded up from the outside with large nails.
But why?
Suddenly a bell rang from the street. I looked out the window. How strange these well-known places look at night!
In front of me was some completely unknown part of the city. The neighboring houses were so close that it seemed that you could reach them with your hand. I noticed that they were all very unusually painted, and the roofs converged so close that there was hardly any room for light - only narrow strips of sky between the houses.
The bell was ringing closer. Now he could be heard quite close by, and through him I made out the sound of wheels on the cobblestone pavement. Someone else's monotonous voice was heard, but I still could not make out the words.
What merchant could come here with his cart at a time like this? But whoever he was, I could hope to get help from him, I just had to somehow attract his attention to me. I scrambled onto the table by the window and looked down. The house stood on a slope, and it was impossible to jump from here - this window was too high.
In the end, a cart appeared on the street, pulled by a dejected black horse, which was being led by a gloomy man. He held a bell in his hand and at times shouted something. There was another man sitting on the wagon, and both had such mournful faces as if something very serious had happened.
On the table I saw an old lantern and, finding a match, lit it, brought it to the window and began to slowly swing it from side to side. Soon they will notice me, stop and help me out of this damned house.
Well! He noticed me and waves his hand. But what is he shouting all the time with such strange persistence? I smiled and nodded, beckoning him to come closer.
And then his words reached my ears. Am I out of my mind? I didn't know anything about this corpse in the next room before. So why did he pointedly pointed his finger at me to the porch and shouted again: "Take out the corpses!" - and then he pointed to the cart, which was loaded - what did you think?.. I shuddered when I saw that people were piled in one incredible creepy pile in the cart, and when the moonlight fell on it, I saw that some of them were still alive!
Still not realizing what was happening, I looked at the houses opposite and screamed desperately. On each door was a large bold cross drawn in chalk - a sign of death, a sign of hopelessness; a sign, understood all over the world - the CROSS OF THE PLAGUE!
The cart rolled on, and I stood as though struck by thunder and could not move. I was stunned. Really, having got into this house, I fell through three hundred years ago? Perhaps I have already died in that dark arch, and this is all my own hell? I pressed my head in my hands, and at that moment I again heard an ominous buzzing above me.
Trembling with fear, I tiptoed to the door, holding my lantern high above my head. The hum was so intense that it could no longer be compared even with a swarm of bees. The flies went berserk at the resistance of their victim. But living prey was probably much more pleasant for them than a corpse!
The house was extremely stuffy and I was very thirsty. I remembered food and wine, but, barely glancing at the table, immediately recoiled in disgust. Could it be that just a few minutes ago I could have eaten this food, which was teeming with fatty white worms and fly eggs? Or did it all have time to rot during the time I was away?
And then over my head I heard a loud triumphant buzz, turned my head and froze, unable to move.
A huge fat fly the size of a walnut sank majestically onto a piece of rotten meat. She didn’t move, but there was something defiant and sinister in her posture. A second later, two more of the same kind joined her, and now the buzzing was heard even in the living room.
I glanced at the bedroom door and a scream of horror escaped my chest. From under the door, insects the size of large cherries, no less, crawled in a continuous stream. Stopping for a moment at the crack, they spread their wings and flew onto the table. There they took up a fighting position, lined up in even rows behind their three leaders.
An infernal rumble filled the entire room. The flies were triumphant. With devilish methodology, they prepared for the final attack. They managed to outwit me, and now they were just waiting for the signal to attack. And I stood paralyzed, watching as they did not cease to line up in creepy rows. For a few seconds they sat motionless on the table and waited for the last soldiers of this mad army to take their places. And then, as one creature, they at once rose into the air, and everything around them buzzed from the movement of their millions of wings, and this hum of death hymn spread throughout the house.
Screaming wildly, I ran into the kitchen, dropping a lantern on the way, and thousands of flies roared in vortices around me, sat on my face, neck, and hid in my ears and mouth. I could not see anything and, blindly fighting off them, forcibly climbed onto the table by the window. It was at least sixteen feet to the ground, but I did not hesitate for a second. There is a plague in the house, flies carry it on themselves, which means that all food was also contaminated! As soon as I remembered food, I felt a desperate attack of nausea.
Finally losing my head, I swung and knocked out the glass with my fist. And although my fate was already a foregone conclusion, I decided to deceive these creatures. Better to eat my corpse, but never a living body!
- Take out the corpses! - I cried hysterically.
And then he closed his eyes and stepped into the void.
* * *
At this the tramp fell silent, and I learned the end of the story from his doctor, whom I met on the street, when leaving the hospital.
“They picked him up in one of the alleys in Holborn. Accident - a truck ran over him - legs. Poor fellow, he was almost dying of hunger and, of course, delirious. And since then, I can’t make him forget all this nonsense that he told you today.
Throughout the evening, I thought about what I had heard. Is this story true or is it a delirium of the patient? Without finding an answer, I went to Holborn, but could not find the house that was mentioned in the vagabond's story. The ambulance driver showed me the place where they picked up the unfortunate man. For a long time I made inquiries and found out that the road passes here over the burial place of the victims of the great epidemic of the Black Plague!
Anthony Verko