The heating in my old car was never the best, but this year it decided to finally and irrevocably give up the ghost. The fans were spinning, but so reluctantly that you could almost hear the faint curses of all that machinery hidden somewhere behind the dashboard.
Winter that year attacked suddenly and with full force, which no one in Sivierna remembered for at least a dozen years. Even though my city was beyond the Urals, the amount of snow that fell that winter was overwhelming; On the morning of that fateful day, I went out into the yard to throw out the garbage. The door barely cleared the fresh snow in front of the house.
I remember the sharp, razor-sharp frost that engulfed me as soon as I put my nose out of the house. I threw out the garbage and quickly returned to the relatively warm house.
This is how I start my story. I've never written anything like it, and I suspect I never will. I just know it. Don't ask from where: some things are instinctively felt by man, and others he just wants to forget. The fact that I am now sitting in my chair with a cup of coffee in my hand is a kind of miracle for me, for which I will thank God for the rest of my life, no matter how long it lasts.
The events that started on January 23, 1999 changed both me and my view of the world and people. Mostly on people. Now, sick and tired but still alive, I tell my story from the past as if it were my duty to tell it.
As I said, the Siberian winter that year attacked with all its predatory power and paralyzed tiny Sivierna, then inhabited by maybe 5,000 people, for a good few days.
Snow began to fall at the end of December, but it was getting stronger every day. And when people began to look at the sky and murmur that white powder was falling that day with all the force available in nature, then this one, as if hearing these voices, fell even more furiously.
On January 23, residents were welcomed by a pristine sky, glaring sun and a nearly one-meter layer of white powder lying on the streets.
People who had not shoveled snow for a long time, disgusted with the senseless fight with the white enemy, that day rushed to work. The improvement of the aura poured new strength into their hearts. After all, they were children of the Siberian land, used to the cold of frost. Therefore, by noon, the few streets of Sivierna became almost passable, and the pavements, sprinkled with salt and sand, attracted people for walks.
However, the frost did not subside. That day, on my window thermometer, I read close to minus 30 degrees Celsius. The stove in my house burned day and night, and as a lumberjack I could afford it. Before winter, as every year, I stocked up on wood by cutting down a dozen thick, old poplars growing in the dense forests around the town. The warehouse, which I could get to by going down the stairs, held dizzying amounts of wood, and I didn't have to leave the house to get it. Others were not so lucky: I saw an old neighbor hauling wood in a wheelbarrow from the cottage at the end of the garden. His wrinkled face had turned a livid gray after a few rounds back and forth, and the poor fellow would have frozen halfway through the fourth wheelbarrow course if I hadn't helped him then.
Here in Sivierna, neighborly help meant more than just borrowing sugar or salt. It was a cooperation without which, after a few years, only frosted ashes would remain of our town. The Siberian soil was hard and harsh, and no one could survive on it alone. But don't think that I didn't like it, on the contrary: I loved this place that was always frozen, both in winter, when the frost seemed to crush your bones, and in summer, when I fished with old friends on the river , closing my eyes against the blinding sun.
This is where fate has thrown me, and a real man doesn't complain about the land he's been given, he just squeezes as much out of it as he can. My father, at the age of 95, never swore when he came back exhausted from the forest after felling trees.
- Take whatever fate gives you, son... he used to say back then... The sooner you accept it, the longer you'll live.
He was right. always had. He outlived all his friends, and on the day he passed away, he still managed to chop the wood he had brought the day before.
In the winter of 1999, I was 40 years old and still working at my father's sawmill. It was run by my grandfather before, and my great-grandfather before him, before he was drafted into the Tsar's army.
The land here was ice-bound and infertile, which is why fruits imported from beyond the Urals were quite a rarity. Everyone else who didn't work in sawmills grew cabbages, carrots, potatoes, beans and rye. Meat was eaten here more often than vegetables, because the cows and pigs did not mind the climate at all.
On that day, January 23, I decided to take advantage of the improvement in the weather and go to Czerblińsk, which is almost 100 kilometers away, to get some animal feed and a new ax, because my old one was worn out and devilishly dull.
As I walked out of the house where my car was parked, Malshall found me shoveling snow from under the porch.
- Warm today, isn't it? he shouted in greeting.
His fierce red jacket contrasted with the pristine white of the snow.
- Yes... I agreed, squinting into the sun's glare. The snow seemed to sparkle as if it had been sprinkled with glitter... I'm going to town... I announced, rummaging through my pockets for my keys... Do you need anything?
- In fact, I'd like to get out of here for a while ... he muttered, looking reluctantly at his snow shovel ... my mother insisted that I clear all this shitty snow from under the house by evening. By evening, can you imagine?! For the rest, fuck it, I can do for peace of mind. But tomorrow they say it's going to rain like hell again, so what the fuck is the point?
- Have you been watching TV? I was curious, because the quality of reception in the old TV sets that everyone had here was really tragic.
- Yeah, it caught me yesterday for a while. So I turned on this old box and just happened to come across the weather forecast. The weather girl, you know who, she had such a short skirt. I'm telling you what's what, but those legs are...
- And what did they say? I stopped because I didn't care what kind of legs he had.
Malshall snorted something offended under his breath and said
- Well, well, it's going to snow, and it's supposed to be like hell. The whole city will be hit again. he smiled, imagining the chaos in the streets tomorrow morning.
- Dirty winter. I murmured. Malshall nodded.
- So you're going to the city, right?... he asked after a while, breaking the silence. I nodded...I can come with you, huh?
He didn't have to ask. He knew full well that I would not refuse. Anyway, I liked that grumpy old man. Malshall smiled, showing yellowish teeth, and dropped the shovel with relief.
I unlocked the car and he made himself comfortable in the driver's seat. A stray ray of sunlight reflected off the mirror and painfully blinded my eyes. I blinked and got behind the wheel. On the battered watch I had worn for as long as I could remember, the hands showed exactly eight o'clock in the morning.
I looked up at the pristine sky again and smiled.
- It's going to be a good day, I thought.
If I had known then what was going to happen, I would have escaped not only from the car, but also from Sivierna. However, if we knew about all the bad things, the history of the world would be a lot less bloody, wouldn't it?
The engine of the car started with considerable difficulty, it was a miracle for me that the oil did not freeze. Groaning and groaning mercilessly, the car rolled reluctantly onto the freshly cleared road and moved along Main Street.
Wherever I looked, the neighbors were shoveling snow from under the houses, taking advantage of the improvement in the weather. The children threw snowballs at each other and built monstrous snowmen, as they had plenty of building material. Winter could be beautiful.
I drove slowly, feeling the car slide on the icy road despite the chains on the tires. It took me fifteen minutes to leave Sivierna, which was more than twice the usual time. Now you can realize how small this town was.
My passenger sat silent, his eyes fixed on the slowly moving landscape outside the window. He rarely left the town, so he took in every telegraph pole and every tree we passed.
It was almost 10 o'clock when the sun had gone behind the clouds and I could finally stop squinting. We passed a sign informing us that we had 50 km to the city. At the pace we were going, I expected to be there before noon. And then I saw a line of cars stretching almost to the horizon, where it disappeared around a bend in the road.
I braked so as not to crash into the back of some dilapidated car. My car skidded in the icy road, but luckily I managed to stop just short of the rear bumper. Malshall tore his absent gaze from the window a little, looked at me and asked
- Why are we standing?
I did not answer. I tilted my head, trying to see what was blocking the way, but I couldn't see anything. Such a number of cars in this part of the country was something completely unusual.
It is as if in New York City only a few buses flew through the streets during rush hour.
I got out of the car intrigued. As soon as I opened the door, an impossibly cold wind blew through me, which seemed to cut like hundreds of razors. There was no doubt that the frost had increased since morning, and hard.
I didn't have a thermometer at the time, but I was sure it was at least 30 degrees below zero.
- Get back in the car or you'll freeze.
The voice was muffled and came from the car in front of my car. Its owner didn't risk sliding the window open, so I barely heard what he said. I approached the window.
- Don't you know what happened here?
- Allegedly there was a bump. replied the other, pointing to where the line of cars disappeared around the bend. No doubt it was at least a few kilometers.
- How long will it take?
- I'd like to know myself, I've been standing here since morning, it'll be about 2 hours already. replied the other, and even through the window I could hear an angry snort.
I also saw that the stranger is wrapped in a thick blanket, has an earflap on his head and is clutching a thermos in his hands.
- Heating went down... he said seeing my surprised look... I feel like I'm swimming in a frozen lake. I'm frozen to the bone, damn it. I would have backed out, but the oil turned to a block of ice.
Maybe roadside assistance will finally remember us. I nodded with a little hope in my voice.
I went back to the car. Compared to the cold outside, the inside of the Ford was almost hot. Malshall glanced at me, and I told him what I knew.
As was his custom, he wasn't overly concerned at the prospect of spending a few hours out in the cold. He tucked his hands into the sleeves of his cavernous jacket and said indifferently
- I'm going to bed. Wake me up when this fucking road is cleared.
I was left alone. I leaned back in my chair and took out my watch. I watched as its hands lazily raced across the silver dial. Maybe it was just my imagination, but my old Swiss watch, given to me by my father, began to run slower. I wound it up, but the second hand turned reluctantly. The only thing missing in this goddamn cold was my commemorative watch. I decided to wait a while longer and return to Sivierna.
Some time has passed. I can't tell you how much because when I opened my eyes and realized I had fallen asleep, my watch stopped. Despite trying to wind up, the mechanism did not want to work. I cursed and looked at Malshall. He was still sleeping in the same position he had been in before.
- Hey man. I grunted and nudged him on the arm.
I realized I was cold. Not cold, but COLD. I can't describe this feeling. It was something other than just an overwhelming feeling of coldness.
The thing spilled over you, as if you suddenly had liquefied nitrogen in your veins instead of blood. I nudged Malshall again, and he turned his head slowly towards me.
I didn't need to check his pulse.
I was just suddenly shocked to know that the man was dead. I couldn't go numb with fear. It was absolutely not possible. The cold permeated every atom of my body. It's just that for the first time in my life I felt so much fear.
The sight of his dead friend, however, did not cause him. After all, I've seen death many times while helping the local gravedigger with funerals. What scared me were his eyes. Empty, yet strangely alive, they seemed to look not at me but at me, despite their upturned pupils.
I jumped out of the car. In disbelief, I saw that the sky had turned a steel gray. Dusk was falling.
And it was COLD.
I'm not talking about normal cold. This something that was felt in the air was much deeper and not measurable with any thermometer. It penetrated deep into you and filled you with an unnatural and indescribable fear.
I walked along the endless line of cars. I looked in the windows of every car. In the first few I saw no one, but finally I saw a man with his head resting on the steering wheel, his face covered with frost. I stopped, feeling a strange mixture of horror and fascination, and opened the door slightly.
The frozen hinges creaked. I touched the man's arm, even though I knew perfectly well that he was frozen. The body slumped limply into the passenger seat. My heart beat faster, blood pounded in my temples. I was about to slam the door shut and go back to the Ford when the man looked at me.
I couldn't move. His pupils, empty yet eerily alive, were fixed directly on me. I have never forgotten that feeling. I think that even in death, wherever I go, that indescribable feeling of drowning in those eyes will haunt me.
I'd rather die than have to look again into those two bottomless pits animated by something that was certainly not of this world.
I don't remember how long I stood there staring. Maybe a second, maybe an hour. Time no longer had any meaning, and not just because of the frozen watch on his wrist. What had happened on the road out of Sivierna was beyond human reasoning.
I also don't remember the way to my car. I don't know if I was running or crawling on my knees, stunned by the dead man's gaze. All I remember is COLD. Ubiquitous and almost touchable.
I don't know why, but it was blue. I can't explain it, that's just how it was. My entire memory of those events is a pure blue, and every gap in my memory is filled with it.
When I finally got to the car, Malshall wasn't in the passenger seat. I don't know how it happened, the man was dead, I'm sure of it.
I wasn't surprised by his disappearance, though. I was also not terrified by the fact that the oil and gasoline froze to stone, I was terrified by the footprints in the snow leading to the forest growing along the entire road. Someone went to the forest.
I got it wrong. Malshall headed for the forest. The same one who died this morning.
I was paralyzed for a good while. It's just that the sheer volume of events that day weighed me down like a giant stone. A huge, frozen stone. I didn't know what to do, I couldn't walk back to Sivierna. 50 kilometers in such conditions killed the most persistent man. Don't forget that I was a child of this land, I knew the Siberian cold, but this was something else. You weren't afraid of the cold, you were afraid of what lurks in it.
I took an ax from the backseat. She was dull, but she should still be good at chopping wood. I decided to do what I did best. Chop wood and light a fire.
I needed to warm myself, to drive away this hideous cold. Reluctantly, I set off towards the gloomy forest. The darkness just beyond the first line of trees was thick as tar, and I suspect that if I dipped my hand in it I would never get it back.
The physical work warmed me up, and after a while I had enough small pieces of wood to light a small fire with a lighter. At first the fire burned reluctantly, as if overwhelmed by the frozen air. But then he began to digest the wood more and more, and the cruel cold seemed to ease a little.
I could end this story like this. I could say that I spent the night by the fire, and the next morning the roadside assistance arrived and drove me home. I could. But I'd have to lie.
That night never ended. For me it still goes on. I knew it from the moment the roaring fire turned blue. I jumped to my feet and wanted to run, anywhere, but outside the circle of heat from the fire, it was so cold you could actually feel the invisible razor blades cutting your skin. I turned around and huddled by the fire.
I looked around. Shivering shadows danced around in a jagged circle.
And then they came out of the forest. people with those empty yet eerily alive eyes, I saw Malshall among them. I almost hugged the fire, for it seemed to lose all energy in the presence of these apparitions.
The monsters surrounded me, positioning themselves on the edge of the glow cast by the turquoise flames. It was impossible to count them, maybe a hundred, maybe a thousand. I don't remember their silhouettes, I don't remember their faces. Only those eyes, hundreds of eyes, like incandescent fireflies, suspended in the curtain of darkness. The fire was extinguished and the circle tightened. I don't know what happened next. I don't remember.
Or maybe I don't want to remember?
Did I mention this night was never over for me? It was true. I don't remember how, but I got home. I don't know. I don't know, I just don't know and I don't want to know why this Frost let me out of his freezing cold hands.
He only remembered the look. A look in the mirror when I finally crossed the threshold of my home. I saw myself. A blank yet strangely lively eye winked at me.
This eye was blue.