Black Quagmire

My name is Andrey Vyacheslavovich Kalinin. I am thirty-six years old. In the past, I was a fairly successful private security guard; and for the last four years, I have been a writer—author of popular thrillers. Right now, I am hanging by my hands to the branches of an old tree at a crossroads of forest roads near the village of Black Topь. Below me, there’s a wide clearing where, now and then, campfires crackle greedily. The time, judging by everything, is approaching midnight. The moon is shining brightly in the sky, and around the fires bizarre creatures are raging in furs—with animal faces and sharp swords about half a meter long…