Dark Shard 2. The Quiet House.

The Quiet House stood on the edge of the old town, in an area you wouldn’t want to enter after dark. Not that there were many drunkards or hooligans here — no, in this regard, it was perhaps the most protected place. Different orders reigned here, along with completely different sources of danger.

The Quiet House had long survived its first owners, who built it about a hundred years ago. It had survived the second and third, and all the other people who decided they could settle down here and restore a beautiful but dilapidated two-story mansion nestled in a neglected dense garden. The house was not a cruel monster by no means; it just loved order and peace and did not like people very much. They brought too much chaos and confusion to its measured life, creating a lot of noise and mess. Such a neighborhood was unbearable for the House, so it did everything possible to remain in comfortable solitude for as long as possible.

Most often, simple tricks were enough: creaking floorboards at night, slamming doors and shutters, dropping something from a chest of drawers. Most tenants moved out after a couple of months of such silent terror. Some were more persistent, and then the House began to get seriously angry — more sophisticated methods were employed: stealing a reflection in a mirror, letting a sticky mist into the bathroom, releasing giant spiders into the bed. The Quiet House was very inventive, and, of course, it had plenty of time.

So far, the most persistent tenant had been an elderly lady who lasted more than a year. She wasn’t even affected by the quite realistic ghosts in long bloody shirts, which the House shoved here and there around the rooms. Neither the severed hands crawling out of the toilet bowl, grabbing the old woman, nor the balls of snakes that regularly appeared in the cabinets, nor even the severed head in the refrigerator — nothing fazed the stubborn tenant. Well, in the end, the Quiet House proved to be even more resilient. Of course, it was not proud of this, but it eventually took extreme measures. One night, when the old woman went to the toilet, the House removed a couple of steps on the stairs. The police found the now somewhat damaged body almost six months later, and since then, the House had enjoyed solitude.

Years passed, and no new tenants appeared after the incident with the elderly lady. The Quiet House calmly stood in its cozy garden and went about its business, leisurely studying the rich library in its depths, chasing wild cats and monsters that flooded the city more and more. And the latter, at some point, began to become a problem. The house, of course, could effectively deal with a couple of monsters that accidentally wandered into the garden or even its insides, but every year, there were more and more of them, and the situation began to get out of hand.

And from this moment, our story begins from one ordinary, rainy autumn evening.

The house shivered from the cold streams of the downpour and, groaning, watched from the deaf darkness of the garden through the branches of old poplars that had almost taken over behind the warm lights of street lamps.

A taxi drove up to the rusty gates of the garden, which had been locked for many years. The door slammed, the engine purred, and the headlights disappeared around the corner.

The house tensed. It felt that this was not a monster but a man, but something in the sensations from him made the tiles on the roof stand on end.

The dark figure jumped over the high wrought-iron fence with one easy movement and disappeared from the view of the House somewhere in the darkness of the garden.

There was a knock on the door. The house shuddered in surprise and focused its attention on the eyes of the old gargoyle above the entrance.

The intruder looked different from the usual visitors the House was used to. In addition, an even more tangible threat emanated from the proximity of the black-cloaked figure. It became very creepy and uncomfortable, but the House found the strength to tense up and drop a couple of tiles on the visitor’s head. The man effortlessly evaded each one with inhuman agility and amazing elegance.

“Hi,” the guest said calmly in a quiet and surprisingly pleasant voice, “I won’t say that I am delighted with the upcoming neighborhood, but now we are living together. I know about your … features, so I will ask you right away not to try to show me all your talents. Believe me, I have enough resources to calm you down once and for all.”

A rather long, dramatic pause followed, during which the House threw a couple dozen more tiles at the guest, but he evaded each one effortlessly.

“So,” the stranger continued in an even voice, casually leaning against the carved baluster of the porch and folding his arms over his chest, “I can calm you down forever, but I don’t want to do this. You and I have many common interests and opportunities to help each other. If you’re willing to listen to me, kindly open the door and stop throwing my own property at me. I closed a deal yesterday to buy this property, and for your information, it’s being sold for next to nothing, with a note that the buildings on it are in disrepair and are destined for demolition. There were other buyers besides me. If you do not want to listen to my proposal, other people will buy you, who will not try to negotiate with you but take you apart. Has it become more interesting?”

The house thought. Of course, for the past few years, it had been waiting for something like that — for too long, there were no new tenants after the incident with that vile old woman. But it expected to stand quietly for another ten years, and there it would have completely crumbled without care. Yes, most likely, the insolent demons, who had already smashed two houses in this area to pieces and fragments, would have helped the natural processes in the end … The Quiet House had already gotten used to the idea of relatively imminent death. It was ready to survive the years allotted to it without attracting too much attention. But something in the new tenant’s voice and demeanor made it think. It’s one thing to rot alive nobly, but it’s quite another to be ingloriously demolished by soulless machines and not even leave behind a foundation. It slowly opened the door.

“Thank you,” the guest politely nodded and confidently entered the dark, dusty hall. He carefully looked around and sniffed the musty air with notes of decay, dust, under-demon excrement, and a slight aura of madness. He snapped his fingers, and the old wall gas lamps flared with a dim but steady flame. Then he took off his cloak, carefully hung it on the deer antlers over the fireplace, and hoisted a wide-brimmed felt hat on the second horn. The House watched the visitor from a stuffed bear in the corner, and from that vantage point, it couldn’t see the stranger’s face. The visitor took a carved chair, brushed off a heavy layer of dust, and placed it right before the stuffed bear. He sat down, crossed his legs, and looked the House straight in the eyes.

“So, let’s get acquainted. My name is Eka. And what’s your name?”

The House tilted its bearish head slightly in bewilderment. How should I answer you, you stupid piece of meat?

“Oh, yes, I’m sorry,” the guest snapped his fingers again, and the House felt something … new. It is difficult to describe this feeling — as if someone cut the rope, which pulled together for so long that it even forgot about its existence. And the House felt that there were still many such fetters — now it would be able to speak, although at first, it would be quite difficult.

“Nothing, it’ll get used to it. For now, let’s communicate telepathically, as it’s more familiar to us. Then we will teach you to communicate properly again.”

“Who are you?”

“You got used to it quickly. I, as I said, am Eka. A demon hunter.”

“What do you want?”

“At the moment, I need a safe place. And a strong partner. And an old friend.”

“Do you think… me?”

“Yes, I am sure. I will explain everything to you, but a little later, because I have just done a very long and difficult journey, and I would like to rest. In the morning, we will continue our acquaintance in more detail, as we still have much to discuss. And yet, what is your name?”

“Ozod…”

“Hm. It’s good to see you, Ozod.”