Run

"!"

I'm nineteen years old and a university student. I live alone in a rented apartment with my cat, Chucha. The buildings in our neighborhood are built opposite each other, so I can see the Alekseevs' apartment from any window. They're a very nice family. I went to the same school with their eldest daughter, Anya, and her sister, Katya, is three years old—the little girl has hearing loss, very little. I often saw Anya in the courtyard walking with her sister. One day, she complained that the neighbor downstairs, whom her parents avoided (rumor had it she was a witch), had come over and started whining about Katya's loud music keeping her awake, even though it was only eight o'clock in the evening. I told Anya she could bring Katya over anytime, and I'd babysit the baby and watch TV at my place—my neighbors almost always work at night. But Anya refused, saying she wasn't afraid of any neighbor. That was my last conversation with her...

That evening, as usual, I was sitting and watching TV, Chucha lying next to me. It was July, so all the windows in the apartment were open. The familiar music from the cartoon Katya was watching drifted from the window of the building across the street. I was slowly drifting off to sleep, when suddenly the music stopped abruptly, and the lights in the Alekseevs' apartment went out. I went to the window—not a single sound or movement, the apartment was plunged into darkness. For some reason, my heart started pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat. I stood there, staring out the black windows.

A man's loud shout, "Run!", brought me out of my stupor; I realized it was Anya's father. I grabbed the phone and dialed Anya's home number. It started ringing. I heard the phone ringing in the Alekseevs' apartment. Then the phone was picked up, and I heard a hoarse, furious voice mutter something incomprehensible—a kind of mumbling. Terrified, I hung up.

I didn't know what to do. The first thing that came to mind was to call the police. With trembling hands, I dialed the number. "Police, we're listening," came over the speaker, but then my attention was drawn to Chucha—her pupils dilated, she was staring down my dark hallway. I felt movement, gradually approaching me. Then the power went out. I screamed, dropped the phone, grabbed Chucha, and ran into the corner.

I sat in the dark corner, hugging the cat, unsure what to expect. My heart pounded with terror, my blood ran cold—I'll never forget that. And something unknown and terrifying was moving straight toward me. It was something very large, and as it got closer, I could see it was an old woman with long black hair that dragged along the floor. I squeezed my eyes shut in fear. I smelled damp earth, something cold touched my hand—and then I couldn't take it anymore. I pushed Chucha away, grabbed a stool that was nearby, clumsily hit the creepy creature, and ran out to the landing, where I rang the neighbor's doorbell. For about five minutes, I couldn't explain anything to my surprised neighbor. Other neighbors came out and called the police. When Chucha, terrified out of her wits, ran out from behind the open door of my apartment and jumped into my arms, I fell and lost consciousness.

I woke up in the hospital. For a long time, no one told me what had happened to Anya and her family. Only later did I learn that Anya and her father had been found dead in the kitchen—both had died of heart attacks. A neighbor later added that Anya and her father's fingernails had been pulled out, and the door had been locked from the outside, with nail cuts found on it.

Anya's mother, along with Katya, was found a day later, two kilometers outside the city—sitting at the train station in a devastated state. When the police arrived, the first thing she said was, "I ran..."