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I don't know who was this. I even have no idea if this was a human. I know the only thing: he really exists and meeting with him is the worst thing that may happen to you.

In short, I broke my leg once. I decided to play a role of Spiderman being drunk and fell down from the height of 3rd or 4th store. I broke a heel (it is likely the most fucking unserious brake). The doctors prescribed me sitting in the cast during 3 months. The iron destiny! Soon I messed a day with night sitting around the house and doing nothing and went to bed when it would take into my head. One night in March (I remembered for sure it was half past three) I decided to smoke in the staircases on crutches. I live in a regular 8-storey building in a dormitory suburb. The lamps are always stolen in our staircase so it was dark and I couldn't see even neighbor's door. In short, I went out to the hall. I stood the crutches against the wall and leaned back against the door.

Suddenly I catch a glimpse of a silhouette on the upstairs when I lit up my cigarette. This was a man's silhouette obviously, but something strange was in its shape. Actually I have never been a coward and didn't believed in a rot. So I thought that a certain drunk man is going home. So I just thought, fuck it, let him bug out. I kept on standing. 10 seconds passed but I didn't heard any steps in the dark. The light of the cigarette wasn't enough to see something. I lit up a lighter. I gazed around and saw the man standing in the same position: he stood back to me and one leg was on the upper stair. All this looked as if he came upstairs, heard me and stopped dead in half-step. I felt creepy for the first time but made no sign and shouted at him. I regarded him just a drunk and didn't took into account the fact that he stood motionless in an awkward position for half a minute. I shouted him something like: "What the hell are you standing here?" and than took a closer look. At that very moment the "creature" turned its face to me. I stood dead and couldn't move a finger and even stopped breathing. All this was due to his face – it was terrible: black eyes, pale skin, some shapes instead of nose and mouth. It was exactly shapes as if somebody just drew them amateurishly. The flare went out in my hand but I didn't feel a relief. I kept seeing his face in the dark as if it was a day. I saw nothing – neither his figure, nor staircase, nor elevator – except every detail of his fucking face.

My hand burnt by the cigarette turned me back to the reality, but I still was afraid to move. I stood steadily and realized that something bad would happen if I move. At that moment the creature turned round and I certainly couldn't stand it. I left the crutches as they were and jumped to the door in a second on my broken leg. I shut the door and pressed myself against the darkest corner of the hall. I had sat in this position for 20 minutes without shiting. The horror left me little by little. I breathed deeply and looked at the trembling hands. I remembered that I hadn't smoked yet and took out a cigarette. I smoked it and relaxed fully. I thought that I looked absurdly: a husky young fellow pressed himself against the corner as a kitty. Besides, I accounted for this story to be a game of imagination which had lived alone during 2 months. I laughed at myself in the bottom of my heart. And then I remembered about the crutches, which I left in the entrance hall. I thought that I must go and take it before somebody snatched them. I jumped to the door and was nearly to open it when something had stopped me. I looked into the peephole – there's no knowing what the Evil One will do! Oh, yes, it was like a scene from a shit American horror film. There was his face staring right into my eyes in a distance of 5 centimeters from me.

I don't remember what had happened next. My parent told me the following: the ringing of the phone jolted them at 04:30 a.m. They heard my hysterical voice on the line talking the holy shit. The father rushed at my place. He called the police and told that somebody attacked me. When they arrived, the door had been shut. The father opened it with his key. My belongings from the coat rack were spread out on the floor, the cast (!!!) was put off my leg for some reason. The phone was shattered, the same was with the cell phone too. I was found mentally incompetent in the corner of the toilet. They poured me out some whisky and sent me away into the hospital to take toxicology results. The examination showed nothing of course. Than they decided to draw a diagnosis of schizophrenia to me, but my father didn't let them. In whole, the story ended well.

But since that time I am afraid every time I came out of the bright and noisy elevator into the dead silence of the dark staircases. I wait that terrible black eyes will appear again. When I pick up the swill late at night I wait that he stands behind the chute's corner back to me as usual with slumped back into a strange and ridiculous curl. And I imagine his face: calm, unhuman, and pale...

I met him at 3:33 a.m. if to take into account that I had checked the watch at 3:30 a.m. last time and it took me 2 or 3 minutes to came up to the staircases on crutches. I don't object if you regard it as a bull shit, but take care of yourself when you smoke in the entrance hall at night. Don't follow my mistake. Don't look into the peephole in such circumstances!!

I don't know who was it? I even have no idea if this was a human. I know the only thing: he really exists and the meeting with him is the worst thing that may happen to you.