The Unsolved Mysteries Contest

Title: Frost Bitten

Pen name(s): esquilo-negligenciadas

Beta's pen name(s): seastarr08

Virgin Writer (yes/no): Não

Unsolved Mystery: The Dyatlov Pass Incident

Characters: Alexei, Ocella, and a pile of panicked Russian skiers

Disclaimers: With regards to the (known) facts of this incident, I have taken a very small liberty or two. With regards to the tsesarevitch and his fictional Roman sire, my only rights are to the history, insomuch as everyone has a right to history; the remainder belong to Ms. Charlaine Harris. With regards to things squeamish people might find distasteful, there's a little bit of that.

In late January of 1959, a group of nine ski-hikers from the Ural Polytechnics Institute and an experienced ski instructor went into the Ural mountains for a fun ski expedition. Only one, Yuri Yudin, survived by virtue of turning back to nurse a growing illness. The remaining nine skiers died the night of February 2nd, having been driven from their tents in a state of undress and into extremely hostile weather conditions. While most of the circumstances have since been explained by science and reason, the question remains:

What would cause a group of experienced, sensible skiers to leave the safety of their tent in an obvious panic for conditions that would almost certainly kill them?

Alexei Nikolaevich Romanov, Tsesarevich and Grand Duke of Russia, had always been prone to strong convictions. First, that his Papa and his Mama and his four sisters loved him unconditionally. Then, that one day he would be the ruler of all Russia, assuming the bleeding didn't kill him first. He was also convinced that, given the ever-present threat of death, it was up to him to make life enjoyable, even if it was at the occasional expense of others. Eventually, he had come to be convinced that Grigori Rasputin was the creepiest man in all of Russia, even if he was further convinced that the monk was trying to make him well, with notable success. And finally, as the Bolsheviks drew power and he and his family were shunted from holding place to holding place, he became convinced for the first time in his life that he would die by the hands of others, rather than by the failure of his own body.

Just a few weeks shy of his 14th birthday, on July 17th, 1918, he did.

When he woke up again three days later to the short, dark man with the funny accent, to say his convictions were shaken would be an understatement. Of course, his new life (if one could call it that) with his new Master, Appius Livius Ocella, was an excellent breeding ground for new convictions.

One: He hated everyone, but especially the Bolsheviks.

Two: He hated that even in death he was ruled by blood.

Three: He hated that it had taken dying to make him strong.

Four: Most importantly, he hated Master, even while he loved him desperately.

The first few years were difficult, between the hiding and all of Master's harsh lessons, but he had always learned quickly, and he took great delight in taking lives as revenge for the life that had been taken from him, first by his condition, then properly by the Bolsheviks. He tried, once, to get away from Master for long enough to kill the bastards who had ordered his execution, Lenin and Sverdlov, but Master had caught him and the punishment had been swift and unrelenting.

They stayed in Russia, mostly, even though that was were he was most likely to be recognized, because he found it harder to control himself the further they went from his homeland. It was a vast country, however, so it was not difficult to move around, even if the human populations were at times scattered and small.

It was about forty years after his death, when they had moved into the Urals to feed on the skiers and Mansi nomads, when Alexei was finally able to give Master the slip for more than a few hours. He wandered aimlessly, enjoying his temporary freedom, and in his wanderings found a camp full of young humans, most of them not much older than his sisters had been. He crouched in the snow, watching them set up their tent, sticking their skies upright in the snow and milling about to flatted the drifts. One of them appeared to be taking photographs in between assisting. Eventually, though, they retreated into the tent, where he could hear them eating and chatting happily amongst themselves.

He waited until the sounds settled, and the breathing of several of them became slow and even, before he approached the tent, scratching at the canvas entrance once it was in reach. After a short time, one of the men came to investigate, peering cautiously out into the cold, windy night. It was all he needed, though, to glamour the human into untying the tent strings and letting him in, where he methodically glamoured the rest of the ones who remained awake, charming them into not noticing how young he looked, or that he was dressed in a completely inappropriate manner for the weather. He sat near the middle and introduced himself, making polite conversation.

The one who had let him in was the group's leader, Igor, and he was also introduced to Zolotarev, who was much older than the rest of the group, and Nicolas, who had a French surname. The remainder had fallen asleep, though one of the women and an oddly elfin-looking man were restless. He kept an eye on them, just in case. Zolotarev was quiet, watching him from behind a moustache; it was not as bushy as Papa's had been, and the man lacked a beard, but he felt an unexpected kinship with the ski instructor. He smiled, finally, just before turning back to Nicolas and Igor, who were chatting about their studies at the Ural Polytechnical Institute.

"If you are students, what brings you out into the mountains? Are you doing a project?"

Igor shook his head, smiling cheerfully. His face was round, with wide lips and narrow eyes, and he had a trusting disposition-laying in the glamour had been easy. "No, we are on holiday. I am hoping someday to venture into the polar regions, so this trip is both fun and challenging and excellent training. How did you come to be out here, Alexei?"

The tsesarevich frowned slightly, catching Igor's eyes. "Why I am here is no matter," he answered, his voice taking on that almost singsongingly hypnotic quality that Master had taught him was most effective for laying in the glamour. He twitched, catching Nicolas's attention next. "All that concerns you is that I am here, and that I want to be friends." He spared a glance for Zolotarev, who seemed not to have heard, having gone back to regarding a map.

"Now," he started again, clapping his hands once with delight, "what do you do for fun when you are not skiing? I like to hunt." The youthful vampire's eyes flashed at his little joke, even as he leaned in, eager to hear their answers.

*~ЦAHP~*

Appius Livius Ocella would never admit it to anyone (including himself, most nights) but there had been little planning that went into trying to bring over the last of the Romanovs. He was a good maker, but he was not good at the actual process of creating new vampires, so why he had tried to make two at once he couldn't really say. Why the Romanovs was much easier-they were among the last remaining vestiges of Rome, of the empire, and he resented the Bolsheviks trying to destroy them. Of course, he'd been helping them, in his own way, since long before that.

The St. Petersburg massacre had been an interesting time for him-he'd never spent much time in Russia before, preferring the more western portions of Europe, but in working to subdue Gregory he had learned to enjoy the country and the company of the Russian vampires, especially Fedor and Velislava. It had been the latter who had introduced him to the starets Rasputin; she had learned that the monk was searching for a way to reinforce his claims as a faith-healer and help the tsesarevich, and knowing of his...affection for the royal family, she figured that his ancient blood might help where nothing else had. She had been right, and Rasputin had been entertaining.

It was probably all the blood he had been feeding Alexei that had made it possible to bring the boy over when the girl (he could not recall which one, not that it mattered) had been beyond his reach. He'd tried, of course, dripping his blood directly into their wounds, trying to save even one that way. In the end, only Alexei had come through, but that had been more than enough.

Eric had been a strong-willed child, but eventually he had come around. Not so Alexei, not fully. The boy was much better at heeling than Eric had been for a long time, but there was a cunning to him that made him harder to control, that required him to give very precise orders. And the boy was quick, so quick, and was very reluctant to learn about moderation and stealth. It was...trying.

One would think, then, that being in the isolation of the Urals would help with this, would make him easier to rein in. For a time, it had, but for weeks he had felt the boy growing restless, and tonight he had slipped away, vanishing into the forests. He would find his child, without doubt-after all, he could track him easily-but it would take time, and still more time once he was found to make sure he was properly chastened. He smirked to himself as he set off through the trees, chasing his wayward son. For a vampire as ancient as he, with infinite time, it was amusing that his views on wasted time held over so well from his tenure as a human.

*~ЦAHP~*

It had all gone downhill so quickly; one moment he was having a friendly sort of interaction with the three men, and seemingly the next he was sitting alone in a shredded tent. He could barely hear them running over the sound of the wind, but he thought they might be coming back together after scattering initally.

Nicolas had been the one to ruin everything, letting his mouth run on about politics until eventually he arrived at the Romanovs. Alexei had been nearly blind with rage by then, but his glamour had been good, and only Zolotarev seemed even a little unsettled. He lashed out, grabbing the idiot's arm and showing him how "great" it had been when the royal family died, what a "happy time" it was. It wasn't normally very clear for anyone but Master, but he thought, with the rage, that Nicolas might have gotten everything, if the screaming was any indication.

Of course, the screams woke everyone else, and they all started screaming when they noticed Alexei, whose fangs had run out at the first mention of his family. This second round of screaming was the last straw for Igor and Zolotarev, who broke through the glamour and scrambled for the exit. The rest, in a state of extreme panic which Alexei found highly amusing, cut through the tent instead of trying to get past the terrifying, fanged boy. As he began to laugh, they grew even more panicked, rushing through the slashed wall of the tent in a notable state of undress and sprinting off down the hillside as fast as they could through the deep drifts.

But now his playmates were far away, so if Alexei wanted to continue his hunt he would need to leave the relative shelter of the tent and chase after them. While the cold didn't cause him harm, the strong wind and blowing snow provided a notable nuisance, so he was reluctant to move until he was certain they had regrouped. Then again, they might not ever come back together, and he would need to make sure at least Nicolas was dead, since he knew that Alexei was that Alexei. Master would not be pleased if he left a loose end like that.

With an unnecessary sigh, the tsesarevitch rose to his bare feet and started his pursuit, taking his time following their half-obscured tracks through the snow.

*~ЦAHP~*

His unruly child was close, but for once he was staying put, or at least not moving very quickly. Slowly, even. Surely it would be easy to catch him at those speeds. Anyway, there was something off in the woods that smelled suspiciously like fairy. It had been a long time since he'd had fairy-they weren't common in Russia, much less up in the mountains. To ignore the opportunity would be a waste, and anyway, Alexei couldn't get into too much trouble out here. Finding him could wait.

He had tracked them down the slope to where they'd come together again, huddling under a large not far into the forest and speaking in harsh whispers. It would be no fun to hunt them as they were, so he'd settled into a snow drift to wait and listen.

"The things I saw! I...I think he's the tsesarevitch!"

"Shut up, Nicolas."

"But it can't be the tsesarevitch! They're all dead, and did you see the teeth on that one-it's not human!"

"Don't encourage him, Lyudmila. We have more pressing issues."

"Oh. Right. Sorry Georgyi, Yuri."

"Maybe we should try to start a fire."

"With what?"

"We're in a forest. Get some branches. Maybe someone can climb up and see if he's still at the camp."

"I'll go."

"Thank you, Alex."

Alexei could hear the one called Alex struggling to climb the tree with half-frozen fingers, his feet slipping on icy branches. He giggled to himself. They wouldn't be able to see anything in this weather, not with their weak human eyes, and they certainly wouldn't be able to see him, half-buried as he was in snow, even though he was barely a stone's throw away. Well, a human's stone-throw-he could throw much further.

As he waited for the skiers to start talking again, his mind strayed to Master. Certainly he had noticed almost immediately that Alexei had taken off, and Master was not one to leave that sort of defiance be, so where was he? Alexei had been on his own for hours, which must be a new record, especially out here in the wilderness where they didn't need to take nearly as many precautions and Master could chase after him directly. He was starting to get worried when sounds from the treeline caught his attention again.

"I don't see anything."

"I'm not surprised. He's out there, and we're going to die here."

"Calm down, Yuri. We're going to make it."

"Incoming!"

"Agh! Son of a bitch!"

"Sorry, Rustem. It snapped in the cold."

"Well, it hit me in the head. Be more careful coming down."

"This isn't working. I can't feel my fingers, and this wood is too wet."

"There's a fire-starting kit back in the tent..."

Alexei perked up-might they be coming back? And-he sniffed-was the one that got hit on the head bleeding? Even better.

"Yeah, but he's out there somewhere."

"We'll have to risk it. We won't make it without fire...and more clothes."

"You're right, Igor. I'll go with you."

"Zina..."

"I'll go, too."

"Rustem, you're bleeding."

"All the more reason to keep moving. Keep the blood warm and flowing, it'll clot itself."

"That is the stupidest idea-"

"Shut up, I'm going."

"So am I."

"Yes, Zina, I got that. Fine, let's we three go. I think it's about...there?"

"It's as good a direction as any."

"Settled. Everyone else, stay close together, try to conserve heat."

"Yes, Igor. Come back soon."

The small party of three passed within feet of his snowy hideaway, too set on their impossible task to notice his dark hair and bright eyes through the snow. Grinning, he pulled himself out of the snow and started after them, skulking low to the ground.

*~ЦAHP~*

As he grew nearer the source of the fairy smell, Ocella began noticing bright, dancing lights ahead of him, hovering near the tops of the trees. If he didn't miss his guess, that meant pictsies, though what the little creatures were doing so far from Caledonia, he had no idea. That question alone should have given him pause, perhaps even have shaken him of the desire to hunt, but their sweet perfume smelled intoxicatingly good. Better than full-sized fairies, even.

*~ЦAHP~*

Igor had collapsed some time ago, and Rustem not too long after. Zina was taking steadily slower steps, and Alexei figured she would be gone soon, definitely before she made it halfway back to the camp. He was eager for her to fall, so he could be the last thing she saw, not unlike the other two. He'd stopped to feed from them, and while he wasn't able to drain them completely because the blood was so thick and cold, he had fed well; Zina would make a welcome contribution, and then he could see to the other six.

He glanced up and saw she had disappeared. He bounded forward, finding her facedown in the snow and trying to drag herself back up. At least, that's what he assumed she was doing, since all she was accomplishing was twitching her fingers and grunting almost inaudibly. He bent down, pulling her head up by the hair, and grinned cheerfully at her.

"Good evening, Zina. I am Alexei Romanov, and you are about to die." She made a little noise that might have been an attempt at a scream, but her eyelids were frozen shut, so he didn't get to see the terror in her eyes. Shrugging, he pulled her to him and bit down on her neck. It was a lot of effort, though, drinking her blood, so he gave up after a few small mouthfuls and dropped her back into the snow to die, jogging back to where he'd left the others.

He could tell long before he got back to his viewing-spot that they had left the tree. There were two bodies left behind, one of them the one with the delicate, elfin features. They had been stripped down to their underclothes, presumably after death, then left wherever they lay. He smiled. They had looted the dead to try to stay alive just that little bit longer. It was funny, really. He laughed aloud, but the wind swallowed it up, carrying it away before the last four could hear and be afraid.

If he was remembering correctly, Nicolas and Zolotarev were in the last group, along with the other woman, Lyudmila, and one other man. Perhaps the tree-climber, Alex? He couldn't be sure, since his friends had not named the sleepers for him. No matter, though, he would find them all. Hopefully some of them were still alive.

*~ЦAHP~*

He'd gotten very close indeed before he'd realized that the pictsies weren't actually pictsies. Arguably, he'd gotten too close, since his hand was currently stuck in one of the hovering balls of light, dragging him through the forest like neither he nor the tree he'd uprooted trying to pull free weighed anything. The scent had dissipated with the closing of the trap, and now all he could smell was magic. He'd tried to go to his child, to appear by the boy's side, but something was preventing it, probably the witchery. He loathed witches, and would be more than happy to kill this one whenever the opportunity presented itself.

*~ЦAHP~*

They were easy to find, stumbling blindly through the woods and wearing pants and shirts as shoes. He cackled with glee, and this time they heard, stopping as suddenly as people who were barely moving could manage. He ran circles around them, drawing steadily closer, herding them together until they were back-to-back and he was within arms' reach. The woman spoke first, through violent trembling.

"You," her teeth went to chattering, and she had to wait before starting again, "you killed the others, the ones that went back, didn't you?"

Alexei frowned, tilting his head to regard her. "No, not directly."

"What do you mean, 'not directly'?"

He lunged forward, punching her in the chest, then reaching into her mouth as she doubled over, ripping out her tongue. He looked at it disdainfully before tossing it aside. "I mean I did not strike the killing blow, but I certainly didn't help matters."

Lyudmila had fallen to the ground, squeaking much like Zina had and breathing heavily. Alexei continued around the knot of frozen humans, considering. When he came to Nicolas, he smiled.

"What do you want of us?"

"Want? Oh, nothing, Nicolas, but I am enjoying playing with you." He pursed his lips, considering. "Actually, there is one thing I want. Can you guess what that is, Nicolas?"

"Our deaths?"

The diminutive vampire shook his head sadly. "No, what I want is to be free of the past. Your death," he stepped forward, faster than the doomed man could blink, "is just a consolation prize." His face completely blank, the boy dragged Nicolas to his knees, then brought his fist around in a great arc, crashing onto the top of the man's skull with a sickening crunch, then tossed the limp body at Zolotarev, who was knocked backward into a tree.

Alexei stepped up to the last member of the group, settling into parade rest as he regarded the shivering man.

"What is your name?"

"Kolevatov. Alexander Kolevatov."

"You are the one that climbed the tree?"

"Yes."

"I commend your efforts, Kolevatov. What I would like you to do now is gather up your companions and walk that way." He pointed deeper into the woods. "There is a ravine not far from here, and it will get you out of the wind, at least. I imagine you will still die, but it will give you a better chance than standing here."

What Alexei did not say was that Nicolas was already gone, but he kept silent while Alex went about helping his companions, even loading the inert body that had been his friend onto his back when he failed to rouse. As they started stumbling forward again, the tsesarevitch faded back into the trees to watch them from afar. He watched as they nearly fell into the ravine, descending in a barely-controlled fashion and huddling together at the bottom. He perched at the top, watching as they realized that Nicolas was dead, then as Lyudmila joined him, gazing upwards in terror. He saw when Zolotarev stripped off Lyudmila's coat and hat, only to die himself shortly after. He giggled to himself when he realized that Alex had noticed that his companion had all perished, panicking briefly before falling into an exhausted sleep.

With the last stuttering heartbeat from below, Alexei stood and started back through the forest, strolling in the general direction of Master and well away from the remains of the skiers. He wondered again why Master had not appeared to fetch him yet, as the night was more than half-gone, and it was not like Master to give him his head like this. He expected to be punished, and surprised himself when he concluded that the fun he had had was worth whatever Master saw fit to do.

As such, he was cheerful when Master appeared before him, looking strangely disheveled and eyes wide with bloodlust.

"Master!"

"We are leaving, Alexei."

"Leaving? Leaving for where?"

"Far away. Perhaps the Orient. I'm in the mood for something exotic."

"The Orient? That sounds interesting, but leaving Russia..."

"I did not ask your opinion. We are leaving."

"Yes, Master."

He wasn't sure, but he thought, as Master stomped away, that he heard him mutter something about witches. Or maybe it was fairies.

For more information on the Dyatlov Pass Incident, this website has the most factually-accurate account:

http (colon) (double-slash) www (dot) aquiziam (dot) com (slash) dyatlov_pass_1 (dot) html

There are also several follow-up articles linked off to the side.