That night the village slept in silence when three fugitives knocked on the door of a lonely hut. A cold wind followed them, but stronger than the chill was the fear of being caught. They believed that here, on the edge of the forest, they would find shelter. Instead, they stumbled upon a strange child — one who turned their fate upside down.

Uninvited Guests

Three men — ragged, exhausted, but determined. They had escaped from prison, where every day felt like an eternity. Ignat trembled in fever, his face ashen, lips cracked and dry. Pavel, the most cautious, tried to keep control. And Bugay, a brute with wild eyes, only grinned, glancing greedily around.

A little girl of about seven opened the door. Her eyes were huge and translucent, her voice thin, like the ring of a bell. She introduced herself as Ivanova Petrovna — but with such adult confidence that the fugitives exchanged uneasy glances.

“No parents. I live here alone. Do you want some tea?” she said calmly, as though three strange men on her threshold were nothing unusual.

Icons in the Corner

While the girl busied herself at the stove, Kuznets prowled through the house. In a dark corner he discovered several ancient icons in gilded frames. Their faces were stern, but in the painted eyes flickered something alive, something watchful.

He brushed away the dust, and suddenly the air grew heavy, suffocating. Without hesitation, Kuznets shoved the icons into a sack. He didn’t notice how the girl paused, sighed softly — as if she knew that from this moment there was no turning back for them.

“What a find!” he croaked with a grin, returning to the table.

The Strange Meal

On the table, herbal tea was steaming beside a plate of pies. The men devoured the food, except Ignat. He sat hunched, shivering, refusing even a sip. His sickness worsened with every breath.

“You’re not afraid of us?” Pavel asked mockingly.

“Why should I be? I know what you came for,” the girl answered calmly.

Her words struck like a whip. The men stiffened. Pavel frowned, Kuznets twitched his shoulders, and Bugay laughed harshly. But the girl’s gaze pierced them — steady, ancient, merciless.

The Night of Trial

At last they decided to leave. But as soon as they stepped outside, the night turned strange. The road twisted endlessly, the air grew thick, fog crept from the ground. Each step echoed, as if the forest itself were mocking them.

By morning, villagers found the fugitives staggering into the square. Their hair had turned white, their faces shriveled, eyes empty — as though they had lived decades in just one night.

Frozen in Fear

When the villagers dared to enter the hut, they stopped on the threshold. Inside everything was untouched: the tea, the pies, the chairs drawn close to the table. But the icons were gone.

And on the bench sat the girl. Her face was no longer childlike. In her eyes glimmered a power old and cold, something far beyond human.

The villagers froze. They understood: this was no child. This was a guardian. One who had protected the sacred icons for centuries. And anyone who dared touch them would pay the highest price.

The Mystery of the Hut

Since then, no one dared approach the hut. They whispered that it stood between worlds, that a spirit disguised as a child lived within. And that anyone who entered with unclean hands would leave changed — if they left at all.

And the story still lingers in the village: three fugitives, turned gray overnight. But worse than their hair or faces were their eyes — eyes filled with a terror that no one could name.

The girl still waits in her hut. Waiting for the next who dares to repeat their mistake.