Lucifer's Son is a series of temptation, of good vs evil and explores real terror as Russia's Master of Horror Sergey Mavrodi introduces us to his world... the world of angels and devils, of Lucifer and Lucifer's son, the world of temptation and seduction in his latest masterpiece of deviltry and suspense. In a world of horror and fear that is almost too realistic to be fiction, Mavrodi's characters burst forth from the pages, come alive and open up their innermost beings... dark –sometimes vile – revelations that will shock and astound the reader, who--while filled with fear and anxiety--will be unable to put LUCIFER'S SON down until the last terrifying climax. “This Imaginative, Dark Fantasy explores the innate depravity in the hearts of man…Kristine Morris, Foreword Magazine Reviews. “…deliciously creepy explorations of the macabre.” Kirkus Reviews

Fallen angel, friend of mine!

Take me to your home divine

Bring me there, let me be

Hid with thee.

Over hill, over dale,

Over a river, tranquil and tame—

Sing me a song, tell me nothing is wrong

Today.

Tell me there is always hope,

Tell me to forget my woes,

That wrongdoing does no harm—

As it sometimes goes

Tell me all soon shall be well:

Problems will end, struggles will quell.

We’ll arrive to our home to dwell—

Straight to hell.

Tell me, angel of the night

A tale of dreams broken in daily strife

Of traces of fortune left in the wake

Of a life that was fake.

Tell me a tale of betrayals and lie

How to cheat whom you love on the sly.

Let’s talk of the filthiest human crud,

Of Judas’ blood.

So, how are things in hell?

Are you, guys, all doing well?

I’ll drop in on you some week

For a drink.

In a hurry? What a shame.

Please come back to me some day.

Check on me from time to time—

You’re divine.

The Angel

A gentle whisper of a breeze—

Sound of an angel’s wings.

He comes in and stands by me

Quietly.

Would you say at least a word?

Prophesy luck and reward?

Tell me I have earned some rest.

That I’m blessed.

I’m weary, my friend

Of the Earth’s toil and regret

I have seen enough of strife

In my life.

I have sinned, I know my faults

My mistakes I can’t recall

Go back to heaven’s realm—

Fare thee well.

A gentle whisper of a breeze—

Flap another angel’s wings

A black shadow comes to me

Quietly.

JACK.

1.

As tired as he was, Fedor sat still on a slim folding stool near the dying fire and stared into the red, twinkling embers while trying to fight sleep. His heavy eyelids were closing. All he wanted was to sleep. If he could only stand up and make his way to the tent, get inside, toss himself on an air mattress and go to sleep at once! Well, first he would have to kill all mosquitoes in the tent, although there were only a scantfew of them around on that warm July evening.

Fedor felt that shortly he would do all that. He would go to the tent, open it…

He shook his head and stood up with a jerk, knocking over the stool. He staggered to the lavatory mounted on a tree nearby, bowed and started to wash up. A couple of handfuls of cold water on his face returned him to his senses. He still wanted to sleep. However, he was not allowed to sleep, not now; he had to go and check the leger fish trap rigs.

Had he come here to sleep or to fish? He could have stayed at home and slept there if he wanted; he had all the time of the world for that. Nonetheless, the days were too hot, and he had nothing else to do. And if he didn’t go and check now, the live bait would be dead by the next day. Would that all have been in vain? Also, there just might be some fish in the rigs; if so, he had to collect them. He hadn’t checked the rigs since early morning, so he had to go. Had to go—no bugging out!

Hurrying himself along with those cheerful thoughts, Fedor took a bucket with live bait which was standing nearby and started to slowly descend the path to the water. Jack, his huge black tame Great Dane who had been sleeping by the fire, woke up, jumped up and followed him.

Fedor approached his rubber boat, put the bucket on the grass and pushed the boat in the water. There was no wind, and the boat stopped, resting near the bank. Fedor picked up the bucket and, holding it carefully in his hand, placed one foot onto the boat. Then, trying to maintain his balance, he sat on the soft border of the boat—damn it, the boat needed some inflating but he could do that later, waited for Jack to hop in and then pushed off the bank with his other foot. Quickly, he sat down on the wooden bench—Jack was watching him attentively—put the bucket between his legs to keep it from turning over, put the paddles into the water and started rowing.

The current was very slow, so the rowing was easy. The boat traveled straight ahead. The brilliant golden moon was giving a lot of light, and Fedor could see everything around.

Fedor rapidly crossed the river, which was rather narrow at that spot, and entered a shallow sand bay where he had often been. When the boat shoved into the shallow bank, Fedor stood up and, although everything was still, he hurled a heavy stone anchor which was tied to the boat’s prow onto the shore. Just in case—he didn’t want the boat to be washed away. You never know…I could step onto the bank and a strong wind could just take the boat away.

He took the bucket with live bait and, stepping over the border, waded to the bank. Jack, who had already jumped out of the boat, was prowling around. With his free hand, Fedor pulled the empty boat higher up on the bank, checked his pockets: knife, fish-bag—well, bag for the fish, if any—fishing line, sinkers, plummets, fish hooks—it seemed he had all of it. He turned to his right, where there were a couple of rigs which he had put in earlier that morning.

Which one should I start with? Nearest or furtherest? I’m going to start from the far one, he quickly decided. "It will take longer and give me more pleasure.

The far rig was not anywhere close to his landing. Fedor had been walking for a long time; the sleepiness had vanished, and he was now in a good mood. It was very quiet, no mosquitoes. A full moon was shining from a sky with no clouds in sight.

Oh, my God! The stars are countless! Every inch of the sky is studded with them. And that scent…what is it? The grass? The soil? The night! Looking at the stars and at the scenery all around himn and breathing the fresh, cool night air, Fedor suddenly came to the rigs.

"So, here it is?" he said aloud to himself. "It was too quickly. Somehow I thought it was a bit farther away. Oh, yeah, here is a familiar willow. Is it this one? Yes, for sure; it has a cracked trunk, and there should be a grave with a fencing—has someone sunk here? Yes, there it is; beyond the turn, there will be the bushes where the last rig was placed.

"These bushes? Or those? Or those? Well, let’s see; no, those. Hmm, I thought I placed them here. And why didn’t I place the rigs here? The spot is wonderful. Okay, let’s do it now. Here’s the bait. Or maybe I’ll wait and do it tomorrow; maybe it’s better to do it during the day. It’s easy to mess up. Okay, I’ll set the rigs tomorrow. If I remember. I’ll try to." Fedor continued talking aloud, as much to hear a voice as the need to speak.

"There, our bushes. Where is the rig? Here—here it is, our rig. Well, what do we have here? I see. We don’t have a damned fish here! What about the bait? Here it is, alive and cheerful. A very good one! Well, well, let’s see. No one wanted you. Okay, there you go into the water."

"It’s strange. Here we have a pit. Well, that’s one heck of a start."

As if called, the huge black Great Dane came close to investigate the fish trap. "Jack! Go away! No!"

"Well, okay. Let’s consider that the first pancake is always a failure, but you have to keep on cooking—or fishing. Heh-heh."

"Okay, let’s check the other one. Darn. Nothing here as well! I thought… Well, it’s high time for someone to be caught in here, with all this walking."

"Go away, Jack! Don’t meddle! I’m busy."

"There, half this bait has been chomped off. Gads! Those must have been some teeth! Never knew that alligators lived here. But great—that’s a good sign. Gonna catch this alligator now."

"Go away! Jack!Out!

"Here you go. There you go. Off you go." Fedor cast the rig out into the water once again. "Wonderful. Great. Nice throw—an expert one! Same spot as it was before. Well, that'll get the crocodile! Damn, I’m so excited that my hands are shaking!

"Well, well, well, well! So, where is the other rig? Oh, yes. There’s nothing more here now. The other rig is around the turn. Over there, right in front of the grave with the floater.

"Hmm, has he been scaring the fish away while bathing at night? If I’m not wrong, they usually bathe during the nights with a full moon. Or, quite on the contrary, they come out of the water. Out of the grave! Well, it’s not important. They come out, they bathe. The thing is, they trouble the water and scare my fish away. Maybe I shouldn’t have placed the rig here, and that’s the reason nothing was caught in the other two rigs. The damned floater scared away all my fish? Moreover, the moon is full. Hmm! But who ate off the bait on the second rig? The floater?"

Jack growled.

Fedor reflexively turned around, startled and froze. A subconscious horror took him, and, in the moonlight, he saw that someone—or something—was sitting on the grave. Fedor’s heart sank, and his self-talk broke off.

Somehow, he clearly knew who that was. He couldn’t perceive or explain the nature of his understanding, although he didn’t need any of that. He just knew. He knew—that was enough. It was as if he learned something or remembered it—something he knew long ago, but forgot.

As if dark and grim memories of his ancestors that had been sleeping at the bottom of his heart came to awakening, as if a dam inside him was destroyed, and a cold, blind, thick and heavy horror, having occupied all his body, washed away all secret, age-long and ancient guards and talismans, cold took him, and he recognized the elusive, infernal posture—the icy, frozen restraint and the stillness of the ghoul who had just got out of the grave and that was impossibly clear and deadly light of the huge full moon in the sky.

It was as if he had already seen and felt this in his life, long, long ago, in some other life; as if all of that had already happened to him, somewhere there in the past. Far, far away, in the dark, grim and bottomless past.

He was flooded by dreams or memories. The bits and remainders of some wild, strange and scary events started their strange dance in his head: a sacred procession, bells ringing, haunting voices chanting, candles flickering. Strict faces of the priests, more candles; a coffin, shroud, crossed hands on the bosom of the deceased, his unnaturally alive, scary, red face with vivid, clear, viperous, red, and moist lips. They are putting down the coffin, burying it. Blood! Blood, blood, blood—a lot of blood. Coffins. Coffins. A dead child with torn throat, the tormented naked body of a girl, lying on the ground. More blood, new coffins. More, more. Empty villages with no people. More blood and, at last, alarm. Twinkling light of the torches, aspen stick, the roaring crowd tearing the grave.

All of it had happened before. It had, it had, it had—at this very spot, sometime long-long ago. Very long ago. Very, very, very long ago.

But it had ended then. It’s all gone.

And now, today, it’s all repeated, as if it were in some horrible, terrifying dream when you’re falling down over and over again in a slowly whirling abyss that is sucking you down; you want to shout and wake up, but you cannot.

That wasn’t the end. Nothing was finished. The sorcerer was back.

***

The ghoul turned up his head sharply. Fedor felt his body covering with sticky sweat, his legs giving way and a soft, nasty, sick weakness filling his body. He was frozen from the terrifying fear. A hideous emptiness appeared in his heart. The feeling of horror became almost unbearable.

He knew what was going to happen. The deceased would stand up and come to him, and Fedor wouldn’t be able to run, to shout or to move under that empty and freezing glance. He would just stand still and wait, unable to do anything. Wait and look, look and wait. Oh, God!

The corpse stood up. The shroud was dim gray under the moonlight. Bony and slim bare feet were yellow under the shroud. Long hands with curved, gnarled fingers seemed clawed, as if they were clutches of a hideous bird of prey.

Fedor closed his eyes. He was shaking, trembling all over, and cold sweat was pouring down his face. He could not, he did not want to look. But the very thought that the ghoul would seize him right now, in this very moment when he was not seeing him made him shake with disgust. Fedor opened his eyes again.

The sorcerer was very near him. He was walking slowly, but, somehow, it seemed very quick.

Time stopped for Fedor. A step… one more. Right now.

At that moment, Jack leapt. Fedor caught a glimpse of some movement, and the next moment, a growling and shrieking tangle of the two bodies of the man and the dog rolled on the ground.

For some time, Fedor watched it blankly, then he clumsily turned away and started to run on his stiff legs. First he ran slowly but then went faster and faster. As he ran away from the grave, his strength came back to him, and he almost flew over the remaining yards.

In the boat! Forgetting about the tied stone, Fedor jumped into the boat and started to row frantically. He had never rowed like that before in his life. The stone was still tied to the rope and went after the boat, moving along the bottom of the river and clinging to it, but Fedor didn’t notice it. He was just rowing with all the strength that he had.

Suddenly, a fish splashed at the side of the boat. Fedor thought that the floater was following him; terrified, he rowed even faster.

When the boat touched the shore, Fedor instantly jumped out and, having forgotten about everything, dashed to the car.

Ten minutes later, he was driving along an empty highway. At one of the turns, he lost control of the car and went into the opposite lane. The highway was empty; there were almost no cars at that hour, but that near accident was like cold water for Fedor. He reduced his speed and drove slower, trying to come back to his senses and calm down. He pushed the button of car stereo. The music filled the car.

Day started breaking. Summer nights are short, and the day was quickly coming into its rights.

There was a traffic police post ahead. The sight of sleepy and indifferent policeman cheered Fedor up.

Music, people, an illuminated post. All the night’s events became bleak and blurred as he sat in a comfortable car. Quiet sounds of music wrapped around Fedor, and all that had happened during the night seemed distant and unreal, as if it had never happened to him.

"Maybe that was all a dream or a nightmare," he said aloud to reassure himself, but then he remembered it all—the night, the moon, the hideous white stain behind the fence. "It’s impossible—nonsense! Living dead!"

Suddenly, Fedor felt his body start shaking, and his forehead covered with sweat. Immediately he pushed the button of the stereo. Here you go. Louder, louder. Louder!

It helped.

"Damn! I should stop and think about it," he told himself, making the music quieter, calming down but still shaking from time to time. "Where am I going, anyway?" Fedor turned around and slowly drove back. Already reaching the post, he went to the roadside and killed the engine. Here, with people near him, he felt more confident.

For some time Fedor stared bluntly at the post, then he relaxed and leaned back on the seat."I need to think it over," he repeated drowsily to himself and closed his eyes.

2.

When Fedor awoke, the day was full. Numerous cars were driving on the highway in each direction, and people were walking on the roadside. The police officers at the post were checking the papers of a truck driver. In general, life continued. Fedor yawned, stretched and got out of the car, trying to stretch his legs. It was a clear, sunny day, the birds were singing in the forest near the highway, the people were hurrying; but all of that was happening as if it passed Fedor, not touching him. He was watching it from the side, as if from a cold, dark, damp cellar or basement.

A heavy and hopeless feeling of horror and anxiety was hidden deep within him, and it didn’t want to go away. It just simply went deeper for the time being. Reluctantly, it backed off, hid itself from bright rays of the sun, but it didn’t leave him. It was here, at hand. A thin, icy crust of fear on his heart never melted down. He couldn’t force himself to think of the previous night. All he wanted was to sit in the car and immediately drive away, far from this cursed place, to Moscow.

However, he had to go back. First, he couldn’t leave behind his stuff—the tent, boat; it was all still there. Bugger them! Why not? the thought came suddenly to his head. May they be damned!

Second, there was Jack. How could he leave him again? He had already betrayed the dog, running away; how could he leave him alone in the wood after all that he had done, after dog had saved him?

What if he’s wounded? What if he needs help? And how can I ever leave him? He’s alone in the woods, he won’t make it. He’s a friend! How could he leave a friend? Fedor had to go back.

"Maybe I should leave him," he murmered faint-heartedly and wondered at his own cowardice. "I’ll just drive away. What about a friend? I already betrayed him. How could I look into his eyes? But that’s not the point. I just can’t go back! I can’t!"

Fedor waited in hesitation and looked at the sky. The sun was high and it was long past noon. It was already 2 or 3 p.m. He had to make an immediate decision. The road would take some time, then he would have to pack all the stuff. And maybe he would have to look for Jack. Fedor shook at the thought that he would probably have to cross the river again, but he made an effort and pushed those thoughts away. He would see about everything on the spot.

The day was long, but Fedor didn’t want to wait until dark under any circumstances. He was dead certain about that. Hell no! Even if he had to leave and betray all he knew. He wouldn’t even be able to make himself do it, even if he wanted to. That was just too much for him. He wasn’t able even to think about that. So he had to go as soon as possible. Fedor already knew in his heart that he would go, so there was no sense in lingering. The sooner he finished it, the better.

Without further hesitations, he got inside the car and started the engine. It rumbled readily. There was enough gas. He had to go. Maybe he shouldn’t. Eh? He had to. He had to, he had to, he had to. "Enough of that talk! Let’s go! I’m a man, not a woman!"

Fedor signaled left and slowly started driving. He went past the traffic police post with all precautions—the police officer didn’t pay any attention to him—and, going faster and faster, he drove back.

***

The closer he got to the camp, the heavier his heart became. All the fears of the previous night came alive and tried to get free. He used all strength that was left in him to fight off these fears. The last miles were especially difficult. A violent wish to turn around and drive away—drive away! drive away!—became almost unbearable. The only way he could make himself cross the bridge was to clutch the wheel with both hands and look straight in front of him. When entering, he accidentally looked at the river, and the terror that took him was so great that he almost bumped into the guardrail, trying to turn around on the bridge. After that, he didn’t repeat that mistake and never lifted his eyes. He just dragged along behind a slow truck with local plates and stared at his dirty wheels. Only at the wheels! Only at the wheels! Convulsively clutching the steering wheel, he lowered the eyes and didn’t look around him.

In his mind, he already felt that something was wrong. He shouldn’t have come here. This was a bad idea. "Go away! Leave at once!" shouted voices in his head.

But he could not just turn around and leave; he just couldn’t. He was taken by some blunt indifference; he acted mechanically, unwillingly and apathetically, as if in a dream.

Here. Right turn. Another right turn. Here’s the arrow. Circle. Almost there. Here’s the exit. Right here. That’s it. Another turn.

He turned from the highway and drove onto the gravel. Little stones bumped at the bottom of the car. Forest to the left, field to the right, the river could not be seen from where he was, but Fedor easily discerned the forest on its opposite bank.

Without thinking, Fedor threw a glance there and immediately turned away. For a brief moment, he thought that he saw something white near the forest’s edge—a little white spot. He didn’t dare to look there again. He wanted just one thing—to finish it as soon as he could. He didn’t understand at all why he was going there. He didn’t care about his stuff or Jack. As he approached the river, his usual, normal, everyday human qualities and feelings—economy, shame, obligation, honesty—all of them just disappeared, dissolved, and gave way to the wave of familiar dark, blind, reckless horror which started to seize him again. He froze and stood still. There was nothing left in his soul, save great terror.

He had to leave! Turn around immediately and leave! Betrayal or no betrayal—he didn’t care anymore. If only he could leave! Leave! At once! Now! While you still can. The thing was that he wasn’t able to, as though he crossed an unseen line of an enchanted circle and could not get out of it.

The gravel road ended. Fedor turned right, down to the river. The road was dry, and the car slowly drove on the rough ground. It was the bank of the river. Further. Further. Here is the camp.

Seeing the tent, Fedor came to his senses. The feeling of fear and hopeless, sucking, deadly anxiety inside him grew, but now he could at least think and act on his own. He spoke aloud, hoping that the sound of his words would calm his fears. "Hmm. Where are the neighbors? There were other tents nearby and cars. Where have they gone?"

There was nobody on the bank. His tent was the only one. Not a soul around, not a living soul. Fedor looked around, and everything seemed ominous. Unruffled ribbon of the river, motion-less sun in the sky, still, thick, and hot air—no wind at all. Dead silence around, haunted silence. Even the birds seemed to stop singing.

He got out of the car and looked at the tent. The thought that he would have to bother with it and stay here was absolutely unbearable. "Damn it! Let it go to hell!" He just wanted to leave as soon as he could.

Fedor knew exactly what he would do. He was taken by a feverish, furious haste and a wish to act. Now he would go down to the river bank, just for a moment, to clear his conscience, to make sure that there was no Jack on the opposite bank, then he would jump back into the car and leave for Moscow at once. At once! He would do it now and would not stop anywhere. He didn’t care about the boat, the tent or other stuff. He had completely forgotten about all that. "Damn it! What about the boat?" Away! Off! Now, at once!

In the gleam of the afternoon sun, the opposite bank could be clearly seen from the spot where Fedor stood, and he didn’t need to go down, but, somehow, he knew that he had to. Hastily, he went down to the water, slipping and tripping; the boat was where he left it, no one had taken it. He lifted his eyes and stood still.

On the opposite bank stood Jack. He silently watched Fedor, he didn’t bark nor whine at his master’s appearance, but just stood there patiently and looked as if he had appeared out of nowhere.

Fedor also looked quietly at the dog; the longer he did that, the more uncomfortable he felt. The stillness of the dog was unnatural. His stare seemed to be strangely conscious, as if Fedor was watched not by a dog, not by his favorite, beloved Jack, but by something completely different.

And that something chilled Fedor to the bone. He recognized that look—the empty and lifeless look of the ghoul, sitting immovably on an empty grave.

Fedor edged backwards. Jack was still watching him, not moving at all. Fedor continued backing until he suddenly bumped into the car. He couldn’t even remember how he had ascended the hill, going backwards without falling down or tripping. Feeling the car behind him, Fedor continued looking at the creature on the opposite bank, slowly groped the door handle, opened it and bit by bit got inside.

It seemed that if for a moment he should lose the creature from sight, it would immediately re-appear near him. The thought filled him with unbearable horror.

Finding himself in the car, Fedor slammed the door and locked it, grabbed the wheel and pushed the accelerator. The car dashed on the uneven road, jumping on the bumps and constantly banging the ground with the bottom and bumper. But Fedor didn’t notice it. He didn’t notice anything.

Quick! Quick!! Out of here! He couldn’t stand the sight of still black figure on the bank. Fedor suddenly realized that he couldn’t call it "Jack," even to himself. It was not Jack. It was something completely alien. With brakes squealing, the car entered the highway and fled to Moscow, going faster and faster—75 miles per hour; 85; 100.

On a bridge, Fedor thought that he saw Jack suddenly appear front of the car and jump straight at the windshield. Frantically, Fedor turned the wheel. The speeding car crashed through the steel guardrail and fell down to the water from the height of some fifty feet.

***

When Fedor’s body was dragged out of the water, one of the idling police officers who watched the perimeter, suddenly spotted strange wounds on the corpse’s neck.

"Well. Those things look like marks from teeth." he said to his fellow policeman. Then he heard a noise and lifted up his eyes.

On the opposite bank of the river stood a huge black Great Dane looking at the motionless dead body lying on the ground. Noticing that it was being watched, the dog suddenly grinned and then growled loudly.

The policeman reflexively glanced at the monstrous fangs and then looked again at the wounds on the dead driver’s neck. Then he looked at the now widely grinning jaws of the dog, now looking more attentively. For some reason, the officer felt weird. He looked again at the corpse, at the dog, then at the corpse again; suddenly, unexpectedly for him, he crossed himself.

When he looked up again, the dog on the other bank had vanished. view abbreviated excerpt only...

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