ONE FRIGHTENING NIGHT IN KAZAKHSTAN

Every summer I would visit my grandmother in Kurchatov—a former military town lost in the Kazakh steppe. Empty five-story buildings with broken windows, rusty playgrounds, roads disappearing into the darkness. A place as if stuck in time.

(city ​​near the former nuclear test site of the ussr semipalatinsk-21)

Grandmother always knew how to scare me. Not out of cruelty—but to make me cautious.

"Don't swim too far in the evening, or the Vodianoi will drag you away." "Look in the mirror when you forget something at home."

I believed. I believed so much that I still believe in some of these omens.

But that year, she said something that sent a chill down my spine:

"Don't stay out late. A child has gone missing in our town."

I nodded, but the next day I dismissed the thought. "Grandma is just worried," I decided.

That evening.

That evening, my friends and I, as usual, were playing on the only lit playground. By ten o'clock, the darkness around it had thickened so much that it seemed nothing existed beyond our circle of light. No sounds, no houses, no people. Just a solid black void.

After playing with my friends, I said goodbye and headed home alone (all my friends lived near this playground).

I lingered outside and decided to take a shortcut home, down the most abandoned street. (Yes, just like in that horror movie, but I was 7 years old, driven by foolishness and bravery.)

There were no living houses—just empty shells with gaping doorways. I was walking with headphones on, but at some point, I took one off to listen.

Silence.

Not just the absence of sound—but a thick, heavy, almost tangible silence. The kind that makes your ears ring. I quickened my pace, and then...

The crunch of gravel under tires.

I didn't turn around immediately. I just listened. The car was moving slowly, almost silently, as if gliding behind me on the road. And only when I dared to glance over my shoulder did I realize the worst—its headlights were off.

My heart pounded so hard I could literally feel it pressing against my ribs. I quickened my pace. The car did too. I walked faster—it sped up. And then, in the pitch darkness, the fog lights came on two murky yellow eyes, illuminating me in the dark.

The road was deserted. To the left—a small thermal power plant, to the right—the dark skeletons of houses. Not a soul. No one who could help.

The car was right next to me.

And suddenly... a click. The car door opened slightly. I didn't see, but I knew for sure—someone had gotten out. At that moment, a whisper came from the car, etching itself into my memory forever: "THIS ONE WILL DO!"

I don't know if it was real, or if my brain added the horror. But I ran.

The car chased after me, the headlights blinding. I dove into the maze of abandoned courtyardI knew them like the back of my hand.

A flashlight. The beam darted across the walls, revealing peeling plaster, broken bottles.

I ran, stumbling, my heart pounding so hard it seemed audible in the silence.

It seemed I had escaped. My heart was pounding wildly, my mouth dry. I slowed down to catch my breath, and...

In front of me, blocking the road, was that same car. How did it get here? From where? It should have been behind me!

An arm reached out of the window—grabbing my hood.

I jerked away, my hoodie slipped off, and I broke free.

I ran without looking back. I took detours, zigzagged so they wouldn't lead to my grandmother's.

I burst into the house, covered in dust, my knees scraped, my T-shirt stuck to my back with sweat. Grandmother looked at me but didn't ask anything (overall, I looked as usual).

I didn't show my fear.

But at night, under the blanket, I shook so hard my teeth chattered.

A year later

This incident stayed in my memory for a long time. Nightmares wouldn't let go. The next summer I came again.

Everything went smoothly.

Until the last day when my grandfather couldn't take me home.

"You'll go with a taxi driver," he said. "To Semipalatinsk, your father will meet you there."

I went outside.

A white "Shestorka." The same one. I froze.

"Get in," said the driver.

I opened the door.

And smelled that smell.

The smell of an old car interior, tobacco, something else... That same evening.

"I... won't go," I managed to say and slammed the door shut. I begged my grandfather to take me himself, and he agreed.

Half a year later, that taxi driver was arrested.

Have you ever run away from something you didn't believe in?..