The snow pelted the ground in heavy, whipping gusts, carried by the fury of the blizzard. The cold bit at her skin like a thousand needles, but it wasn't the cold that made her heart pound in her chest. The crunch of snow underfoot and the howl of the wind blurred all sound, except for the rush of her breath-a sharp, quick intake of freezing air that stung her lungs with every desperate step.
The forest around her felt alive, but not in the way it should. The dark trees loomed over her like silent, watching giants, their gnarled branches reaching for the sky. Their shadows, thick and endless in the blizzard's grip, seemed to close in as if she were running through the very belly of some dark beast. The wind howled through the treetops, making it sound like the trees themselves were whispering secrets- that made the blood freeze in her veins.
Her boots sank deeper into the snow with each stride, the white world beneath her feet becoming heavier, more treacherous. Her body was slick with sweat, but the freezing wind cut through her clothes, making it feel like she was running through a frozen wasteland. Her white winter coat clung to her slender frame, the hood drawn tightly over her head. The fur-lined edges of the ushanka kept the wind from biting too deeply into her scalp, but her hands, wrapped in white mitten gloves, trembled, her fingers almost too stiff to hold the silver necklace—her only possession—pressed tight in her fist.
Each breath felt more shallow than the last, her exhaustion clawing at her as much as the fear. Panic gripped her chest, forcing her heart to race, each beat louder than the wind itself. She didn't know how long she had been running. She didn't even know how far she'd come. Only that the darkness was closing in. Only that there was something, or someone, right behind her—close enough to feel the cold breath of the wind moving past her, though she dared not turn around to see.
Her eyes were wide with fear, glistening under the pale light of the full moon that struggled to break through the swirling storm. Every step she took felt heavier, her limbs growing weaker by the second. The air was too thick with the blizzard to make out anything clearly, but she could feel it. The presence. The thing—or was it someone—pursuing her. Something that didn't belong to this world. A mistake. An accident. She had seen something. Something she shouldn't have. And now it was chasing her. Or maybe it had been chasing her all along. The terror made it hard to keep her thoughts straight.
Her body ached from the running, her lungs burning, her feet freezing, yet she kept going, driven by a primal instinct to escape. She could feel her pulse thrumming in her throat, so fast and wild that she was sure whoever—or whatever—was behind her could hear it. Could smell her fear.
She didn't know where she was heading. Didn't know what was ahead. But then, as if by instinct or sheer force of will, she spotted a light ahead—though it wasn't warm. It was faint, distant, and seemed to flicker and fade like a dying ember. A clearing, and in the middle, a wooden hut. It looked like it might have once been a barn. No light shone from the windows, only the dull silhouette of the structure against the snow-heavy trees. But it was there. A place to hide. A place to seek refuge, even if just for a moment.
Her heart slammed against her ribs, the sight of the hut like a small but vital thread of hope in the endless expanse of white. The blizzard felt almost deafening now, the wind pressing against her as if trying to force her back, but she refused to slow down. The clearing was so close. She could reach it. She had to. The crunch of snow underfoot and the cold wind swirling around her didn't matter. All that mattered was the wooden structure ahead.
Every step forward was a battle, but it was a battle she had to win. She had no choice.
She pushed her body harder, her legs aching, her chest feeling as though it might burst from the effort. Her mind was racing, the panic still clawing at her insides. Was the thing behind her still there? Was it getting closer? Was it waiting for her to turn and face it?
But then, her boots slid over a patch of ice. Her body pitched forward, and she stumbled, barely managing to catch herself on a nearby tree trunk. Pain shot through her knees, but there was no time to stop. She needed to keep going.
The hut loomed closer, just a few more steps away. Her pulse hammered in her ears. The cold seared her skin, her exhaustion pulling at every muscle in her body. But she reached the clearing, the bare tree branches seeming to reach out toward her as if urging her to hurry.
The hut.
It wasn't much. A simple, worn structure with dark windows, no light showing inside. It was a place of refuge—if only for a moment.
And just as she reached the edge of the clearing, a gust of wind sent the snow swirling around her, blurring the world even further. She couldn't see anything now, the storm consuming her vision entirely.
Her hand clutched the pendant even tighter, the cold metal pressing into her skin like a lifeline.
Her breath came in ragged gasps as she stood before the barn's door, hands shaking violently from more than just the cold. The wind howled behind her, whipping snow and ice into her face, but it was the barn door—stubborn, unmoving—that held her attention now. Her eyes were wide, panicked. She reached out, hands trembling as she gripped the rusty lock. The thick metal felt ancient beneath her fingers, coated with frost and layers of grime that only added to her frustration. She yanked on it, trying to twist the lock open, but it refused to budge. Her body screamed for warmth, her heart pounding in her ears, but there was no time to think.
With a desperate, frustrated cry, she pulled off her mitten gloves and tossed them aside, the cold immediately sinking deep into her fingers. She felt the rawness of the metal on her skin as she tried again, but her fingers kept slipping from the rusted surface. She gritted her teeth and gave one final wrench, but the lock didn't budge. The icy wind was unforgiving, pressing her back like a force of nature.
Her breath quickened, and for a moment, her surroundings seemed to blur. She felt trapped, her eyes darting to the darkening trees behind her. "Come on, open, you damn thing!"
she muttered in Russian, her voice trembling with fear. The words fell from her lips almost without thought, desperation creeping into her tone. She whispered the words again, but in a different language. "Open, damn you."
The lock remained unmoved. A scream of frustration rose in her chest, a cry that almost strangled her. She stepped back, her legs weak beneath her, her body pleading for just a moment of respite, a chance to breathe. The blizzard was relentless now, the icy wind howling through the trees like a wild beast. She couldn't afford to let up. She had to get inside. She had to—
She couldn't wait any longer. With all the strength left in her, she launched herself at the barn door. Her body collided with it with a force that sent shockwaves through her aching frame. For a brief, heart-stopping moment, the door held fast, then the ancient wood groaned, the rusty hinges creaking as if protesting her arrival.
With a sudden crack, the door splintered under the pressure. The lock broke free, and the door gave way, slamming open with a loud, echoing bang that sent a rush of cold air into her face. She stumbled forward, unable to catch her balance, her momentum too great. Her foot caught on the edge of the wooden floor, and with a harsh cry, she crashed to the ground. Her chest hit the floor with a painful thud, the wind knocked out of her as she landed with a grunt, the cold stone and dust scraping at her skin. Pain shot up her arms and legs, but there was no time to stay down. She had no time to feel sorry for herself.
Pushing herself up, her vision blurred with the sting of tears she refused to let fall, she scrambled to her feet and rushed into the barn. Inside, the air was thick with dust, so thick she could barely see. The faintest light filtered through cracks in the rotting walls, casting the room in dim shadows. The musty scent of old hay and wood filled the air, suffocating her as she took a few staggering steps forward. Her heart thudded loudly in her chest, each beat pushing her onward despite her exhaustion.
The barn was silent, eerily so. The weight of the storm outside seemed to press down on her, suffocating her with its cold fingers. The deeper she stepped into the barn, the darker it became. The air was stagnant, as if the place hadn't seen life in years. There was a strange, almost claustrophobic feeling here, as though the very walls were watching her, waiting.
Her hands burned from the cold, the skin raw from the contact with the rusted lock. A thin stream of blood trickled down one of her fingers from the cut she had received while trying to pry open the door. She didn't have the energy to care. She didn't have time to care about the cold or the pain. She had to get out of sight. She had to hide. And, as if her body was acting on instinct, she turned and saw an old wooden ladder, partially hidden in the far corner. It was dark, the steps worn and creaking as though the ladder itself might collapse with the slightest touch.
Without thinking, she darted toward it. Her movements were frantic, uncoordinated, but she couldn't stop now. She grasped the rough wooden steps, her bare hands stinging from the frigid wood, and began to climb. The rungs beneath her feet were slippery with dust, and she had to fight the urge to look back. Every sound, every creak, made her jump. But she forced herself to focus on the ladder. The ladder that would take her to a place she hoped would keep her safe.
Her breath was ragged in her chest, a rhythm she couldn't control. She pulled herself up, each step slow, deliberate, and with all the desperation she could muster. As she climbed higher, the darkness of the barn seemed to close in around her, like a living thing. She could barely see, the dim light only offering a sliver of visibility, just enough for her to know where to place her feet.
With one final push, she reached the top of the ladder. The attic space above was pitch black, the air heavier and thicker than anything below. Her fingers trembled as she gripped the edge of the wooden platform and pulled herself up into the dark. The moment her feet hit the floor, she was already moving—crawling on her hands and knees, her skin crawling from the overwhelming sense of confinement. She didn't look back. Didn't dare to.
She found herself in a small, narrow space, tucked away in the farthest corner of the attic. She collapsed against the wall, gasping for breath, her body shuddering from the combination of exhaustion, cold, and terror. Her head was spinning, the world around her dimming as if she were fading. She could hear her heartbeat thumping in her ears, louder than the howling wind outside, louder than everything.
Her body was heavy. Her fingers were frozen, almost numb, and she clutched the pendant tightly in her hand, the cold metal biting into her palm. She didn't know how much longer she could keep going like this, not knowing what was out there, waiting.
But for now, she was safe. She had to be.
Her body trembled, the cold biting through her clothes as she lay curled against the floor in the dim attic space. The moments of frantic escape felt like a blur, the fear now settling into her bones. She could still hear the storm outside, the wind battering the walls as if it were trying to tear everything apart. But that noise—the wind—seemed so far away now, drowned out by the rapid thudding of her heart in her chest. She could barely breathe. The world was spinning around her, spinning away from her control.
The ladder.
Her mind suddenly flashed back to the ladder below. The one she had climbed with such desperation, the one she had left behind, still leaning against the wall in the corner. She had to kick it down. She had to make sure it wouldn't be used against her, that they wouldn't follow her up here.
But her legs wouldn't move.
Her mind screamed at her to get up, to move, to kick the ladder down and be ready to escape if needed, but her legs were heavy, like they were trapped in cement. It felt like a strange paralysis was settling over her. Her body refused to cooperate. Every part of her ached, and yet, she couldn't get up.
Tears welled in her eyes, though she didn't have the energy to let them fall. She couldn't understand it. She was always strong, always pushing herself, but now she felt like she was made of stone, a mere shadow of her usual self. The fear—the panic—was so thick in the air that she couldn't escape it.
Her legs twitched. She tried again, her muscles screaming in protest, but still, they refused to work. She gritted her teeth and forced her arms to pull her forward, inch by inch, desperate to reach the ladder.
"Come on," she whispered in Russian, her voice hoarse and trembling, "move. Move, please…" Her words felt like nothing more than empty air, swallowed up by the darkness around her.
It took every ounce of willpower she had, but slowly, she crawled forward, the cold wooden floor scraping against her clothing and skin. Each movement felt like an eternity. Her hands, raw from the freezing cold and the earlier panic, burned as they scraped against the splintered boards. She could feel her coat tugging at the floor, its fabric tearing slightly under the pressure, her white thermal pants pulling against the rough surface beneath her.
And then, without warning, her body gave way. Her clothes—those protective layers she had clung to for warmth—ripped open. The fabric was no match for the unforgiving wood, and a jagged tear ran down her side, exposing the chilled skin beneath. The cold was unbearable now, the air like a blade slicing through her every movement.
But she didn't stop. She couldn't. She reached, her fingers barely grazing the edge of the hole where the ladder had been left. The desperation in her heart fueled every inch of her crawl.
And then, it happened.
Without any warning, her hair was gripped by a hand—cold and relentless—yanking her backward with such force that it felt as though her scalp might tear away from her skull. A scream tore from her throat, but it was muffled by the sheer force pulling her down.
Her entire body was lifted from the floor, her limbs flailing uselessly as she was yanked backward, down, down, down. The world spun as she was thrown through the air, her body twisting uncontrollably, and then the cold, unforgiving floor met her with a brutal thud, a meter below. Her head cracked against the ground with a sharp pain, and the air left her lungs in a ragged gasp.
Everything went still. The blinding, suffocating stillness of it all. Her body ached, her breath shallow and fast, as she struggled to gather any sense of balance or control. But it was useless. She couldn't move. Her body was numb from the shock, the fall, and the cold. The moment she hit the floor, her vision swam, her senses flaring in and out as if she were about to lose herself entirely.
She had failed. She hadn't been able to protect herself, and now… now she was at their mercy.
The only sound she could hear was the pounding of her heart, echoing loudly in her ears.
Her vision swam, the world around her a blur of shadows and pain. Her head throbbed, the sharp pulse of the injury that had cracked against the floor still echoing in her skull. She could hear the faint whistling of the wind outside, distant and muffled, as if the world beyond this dim, broken room had already ceased to matter. The darkness in her eyes seemed to deepen, pulling her into its cold embrace, but she tried—she tried—to focus.
There was someone in front of her.
A figure, hooded, standing over her with a posture that radiated cold authority. The edges of the figure seemed to distort in the half-darkness, but one thing was clear: the outline of a gun, held firmly in their gloved hand. Her breath hitched.
The sound of her heart thundered in her chest, faster, louder, drowning everything else. Her lips parted as she tried to speak, but nothing came out. The words were trapped somewhere deep inside her, lost in the haze of her panic. She tried to raise her hand—her fingers, stiff and trembling—but the effort was futile. Her body refused to obey her commands, like a prisoner to its own weakness. The world tilted, and the figures before her seemed to grow distant, as if the very air was pulling her away from them.
But the figure in front of her wasn't moving. The gun was still there, trained on her, its cold steel an unyielding presence.
No. I can't let it end like this.
Her mind screamed, but her body didn't respond. She fought against the tide of exhaustion and terror that pulled her deeper into helplessness. But the figure before her only stepped forward, just a little closer, and the cold of the gun's barrel was suddenly pressed against her temple.
Her heart clenched.
Then, the shot rang out.
It was loud. It was brutal. The sound of it ripping through the air—through her—was the only thing she could focus on. Her skull exploded in a sudden burst of white-hot pain. Her entire world went dark for a split second. But there was no time to process it.
A second shot. Then a third.
The cold steel tore into her flesh, over and over again, each shot punctuating her agony with its cruel precision. The pain was unbearable—every pull of the trigger another blinding flash of fire. Her body went limp, unable to resist as the impact of the bullets pushed her further into the dirt-stained floor.
"I… can't feel…"
Tears welled up in her eyes, the first of which slipped down her pale cheek, mingling with the dirt and blood that stained her skin. She couldn't move. Her body felt like a foreign weight, too heavy to lift. The blood began to pool around her, soaking into the floor. Her chest tightened, gasping for breath that didn't seem to come.
Her hand twitched, but there was no strength in it. Her fingers couldn't curl, couldn't grab, couldn't pull herself out of the darkness she felt herself sinking into.
The last thing she could hear was the faintest sound—almost imperceptible—her own voice, struggling to break free.
"I'm sorry…" The words were barely a whisper.
She couldn't even recognize her own voice anymore, it was so weak. The world was slipping away, her life threading its final moments in a way she couldn't control, couldn't stop.
But, in the distance, somewhere deep in her consciousness, a light flickered. It was faint, like the smallest star in the vastest sky, and it pulled at her from the depths of her fear.
Was it… hope? Or was it something else? Something beyond her understanding?
Her breath stilled as her vision blurred completely.
The darkness closed in.
And then—nothing.
A moment passed before the figure stood over her, the gun no longer raised. They knelt down beside her, their gloved hand reaching out to gently close her eyes.
"Sleep now, little girl," the figure said softly in Russian, their voice low and cold, "You were just unlucky."
Then, without another glance, they turned and disappeared into the darkness, leaving her lifeless body alone on the floor.