Since dawn, substantial snow had been continuously cascading—heavy and sluggish, like someone carelessly scattering flour from a shovel in the atmosphere, unconcerned about where it settled. A lone vehicle crawled along a snow-blanketed rural road, a minuscule dot in the expansive, frozen expanse. Inside, the windshield wipers squeaked in a steady rhythm, snow crunched under the tires, and a baby’s sporadic wails pierced the quiet.
Igor grasped the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white. His gaze remained fixated on the barely discernible road ahead, shrouded by the unyielding blizzard. He had remained silent for ten minutes. Next to him, Tatyana sat in a taut stillness—her shoulders drooped, lips pressed together, and her eyes were distant and void. She appeared not just exhausted but utterly depleted. The family had moved to the village, yearning for a fresh beginning, a chance for Tatyana to restore her health…
“Perhaps we should switch on the radio?” Igor finally broke the quiet, not diverting his attention from the road.
“Why?” she replied flatly, without shifting her gaze. “To drown out the baby’s cries?”
Igor let out a loud breath.
“It’s starting up again…” he muttered under his breath, then added a bit louder: “I drive, I struggle. In this weather, and in your vehicle, which always betrays you…”
“My vehicle?” Tatyana retorted bitterly. “Because you wasted your money on cigarettes?”
The baby stirred and began to wail anew. Igor jerked the steering wheel abruptly, feeling mounting frustration inside.
“Wonderful. We arrive in the village, start over – and you immediately strike me down. Perhaps it would be wise to remain silent? At least to reach our destination in peace…
“Enough. Just… be quiet,” Tatyana nearly whispered, pressing her forehead against the window. She shut her eyes, and a tear slipped down her cheek.
The vehicle skidded slightly on a bend, but Igor regained control. An old house came into view behind the frosty trees—blue, crooked, as if abandoned by time.
“Here is our destination,” he announced, halting at the edge of the field. “We’ve arrived.”
There was no road beyond—only snowdrifts and unpaved terrain.
Tatyana cautiously exited the vehicle, cradling the baby in a blanket. Her steps were tentative, like someone who no longer trusts that the ground beneath her feet is stable.
She took a few strides—then stumbled. The snow was deeper than it appeared. She yelped, fell to her knees, embracing the baby.
— What are you doing… — Igor hurried to her side, taking the child from her arms. — Be careful! What’s the matter with you?
— Don’t yell… — Tatyana whispered. — Just don’t jostle him…
— I know how to hold him myself, — he replied irritably, assisting his wife to stand. She walked on silently, her eyes reddened, leaning on her husband.
The house greeted them with silence. The creaking of the steps, the clinking of the lock, a chill of wind—and snow that had to be removed by hand. The key struggled to fit into the rusty keyhole.
— Well, I’ll be… — Igor shook the door, exhaling vapor. — Don’t fail me now, you old clunker…
At last, the lock yielded. They stepped into the darkness.
The musty scent of mold, dust, and dampness assaulted their nostrils at once. In the glow of the phone, scattered sacks, fragments of rope, and grain were visible. Everything was cloaked in a gray film of neglect.
“Oh God…” Tatyana murmured. “Are we supposed to live here?”
“For now,” Igor responded curtly. “We’ll tidy it up and adapt bit by bit…”
He located a broom and a bucket and began to clean energetically. The rustling, creaking floorboards, bangs—the sounds were reminiscent of the noise on a sinking vessel. But it worked.
— Let’s make a nursery, — he stated, continuing to clean. — This one. The radiators are old but function. The walls are intact. The windows are double-glazed.
— And the ceiling? — Tatyana asked doubtfully. — And the mold in the corner?
— We’ll scrub it, dry it, insulate it. Just hang in there, Tanya. For him, for his benefit.
She didn’t reply. She simply sat on the sofa, wrapped in her coat.
The room had warmed slightly. Though the walls were cracked and peeling, one of them displayed a picture: the Nutcracker wielding a sword, surrounded by mice. A fleeting thought crossed Igor’s mind, but he quickly dismissed it.
— So much for your protector, Dimon, — he chuckled, hammering a nail into the wall. — The Nutcracker stands guard.
Night fell suddenly, as if someone had flipped a switch. Everything around turned gray and silent. Only a faint sound behind the wall caused Tatyana to flinch.
– Igor… Did you hear that?
– Probably mice, – he shrugged.
– No, there is someone… whining. Outside.
He listened. And indeed—a thin, drawn-out sound, breaking off intermittently, emanated from the snowstorm.
– I’ll check right now, – he said and stepped outside.
On the porch, amidst a snowdrift, sat a dog. Dingy brown, with a dark muzzle and eyes brimming with unspoken sorrow. She was trembling, her paws tucked in, her tail between her legs.
– What’s the matter with you? – Igor crouched down. – You’ll freeze, silly.
The dog lifted her head. There was a trust in her gaze, as if she had come here and nowhere else.
— Come on, — Igor said softly and gestured for her to enter.
Lada darted into the house and immediately made her way to the nursery. She approached the crib and halted abruptly.
—What in the world?! — Tatyana gasped in alarm. — Get her away immediately! She’s going towards the baby!
— Stay calm, — Igor attempted to reassure her. — She’s friendly. Look — she’s hardly even breathing. She’s just cold.
— I’m scared. I don’t want her near him, — Tatyana said emphatically.
Igor hesitated, but eventually nodded:
— If anything happens, I’ll toss her out. Okay? Give her a chance.
She turned away without a word. That night, she slept restlessly, holding her son tightly in her arms, while the dog lay motionless at the foot of the bed—like a statue, unblinking and unmoving.
Morning broke bright and dazzling. Sunlight danced across the frosted windowpanes, casting peculiar, whimsical patterns on the ceiling. A rooster crowed outside—sharp and persistent, as if announcing the dawn of a new day. The room bore the scent of dampness, cold timber, and something else—foreign and indescribable.
Tatyana was the first to awaken. She rubbed her eyes and noticed an unfamiliar lightness in her chest—for the first time in ages, she wasn’t coughing. She quietly tiptoed to the nursery. Dima was fast asleep, breathing steadily, and the dog lay next to his crib, stretched out taut, as if on guard.
“You’re still here …” Tatyana whispered. Her voice was subdued, but something new sparkled in her eyes.
Sounds from the kitchen were heard. Igor was busy at the stove, dressed in a sweater and shorts, carefully cracking eggs. The sun streamed through the windows, and something alive seemed to be beginning to blossom in the house.
“We’re having a celebration today,” he smiled without looking back. “Breakfast! And look – we now have chicken!”
Tatiana raised an eyebrow.
— Alive?
— Yes, I procured it from my neighbor, Grandpa Misha, across the ravine. And I got some eggs — homegrown.
She sat down at the table. Lada gingerly lay down at her feet, but Tatyana feigned ignorance.
— What did you name her, by the way? — she inquired after a brief pause.
— Lada. In honor of my grandmother. She was quite a benevolent soul.
— In honor of my grandmother, — Tatyana echoed, slightly frowning. — And when were you planning to inform me about it?
— Well… I told you now. Morning, tea, scrambled eggs, familial revelations.
She sighed. Snowdrifts crunched outside the window again — someone likely passed by the house.
— Sometimes it appears to me that you live as if you have no one—no wife, no child, — Tatyana remarked quietly, not lifting her eyes. – You make decisions independently, without even consulting me. Not about the chicken, nor about the dog… You even bestowed upon her a name without my knowledge.
– Tanya… – Igor settled next to her. – You’re aware of how wearied you are. I didn’t want to increase your burdens. I endeavored to manage everything on my own. Truly.
– Endeavored? – She smiled bitterly. – And the fact that she lay down right next to the crib? Is that also part of your “endeavoring”? Are you not at all concerned?
– Yes, – he leaned closer, – I simply comprehend how drained you are. The move, illnesses, cold, the little one… And this dog. Perhaps she is the only one who has taken us sincerely here.
Tatyana didn’t respond. She only ran her fingers through her son’s hair, then slowly arose, straightening her back with effort.
– I need to recuperate. The cough has returned.
Lada followed her gaze, tailing her silently like a shadow.
The day turned out to be eventful: Igor insulated the windows, sealed the gaps, sought the sources of drafts. Soft music emanated from the old radio, fostering an illusion of coziness. The air was imbued with the scents of wood, dust, and something more—the house seemed alive, but only beginning to learn how to be a home.
Lada didn’t stray from Dima’s side for a moment. Wherever Igor wandered with the baby in his arms, there she was—attentive, focused, with an unusually vibrant look.
— As if she were observing, — he mumbled under his breath.
— It’s unsettling, — Tatyana replied from behind the curtain. — Dogs don’t act like that. As if she’s anticipating something.
Igor stepped outside onto the porch to smoke. The snow crunched under his boots, the frost nipped at his skin. He pulled out a cigarette—and suddenly heard a rustle behind him. He turned around—Tatyana stood in the doorway, wrapped in a shawl.
— Again? — his voice trembled. — You promised to quit.
— Just nerves, — he attempted to justify himself. — I can’t change my habits overnight.
— You’re a father, — she said sternly. — And I trusted you.
He snuffed out the cigarette and crushed it in the snow. Anger boiled within her – at herself, at the village, at this house, at the dog that watched her from the shadows almost like a person.
That night, Tatyana awoke with the sensation of someone’s presence—too close, too real. Lada was seated by the baby’s crib, tense as a wire. The fur on the back of her neck bristled.
“Igor, wake up,” she whispered.
He flinched, opening his eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
“Look at her. She’s growling.”
Igor approached. Lada was indifferent to him—her gaze was fixed at the corner of the room. Her ears were flattened, her teeth bared.
“Lada?” he called out cautiously. “Hey… calm down.”
The dog remained stationary.
“Oh, God…,” Tatyana murmured. “What does she see?”
– Perhaps you imagined it? – he tried to soothe her. – Or it was a mouse. Or it’s nothing to fret about…
– Nothing to fret about?!” she erupted. – She stands there like a guard and bares her teeth! Is that normal?!”
Igor was speechless. He placed his hand across her back—Lada flinched but didn’t back down. He gently led her into the hallway and closed the door.
– If you drive us all insane, – he whispered to her, – you’ll spend the night in the barn.
The dog gazed at him and followed him—but without anxiety.
The days flowed in dreary monotony: porridge in the morning, a snowstorm outside, a baby’s wail, Tatyana’s cough… And always nearby—Lada. Part of the house, like the floor or the walls.
Another morning felt bleak. The snow turned a dirty gray, as though losing its meaning. Igor stood by the porch, twisting a rag in his hands. His eyes stung from fatigue, his chest throbbed dully. He sensed that something was amiss in the house. As if the air had thickened, making it hard to breathe.
In the barn, he noticed something fallen. He approached. A chicken. Lifeless, mangled. Feathers torn away, neck broken. Big paw prints in the snow. Blood.
“Lada…” he whispered.
The dog emerged from around the corner. Her tail drooped, her muzzle was dirty. There were crimson stains on her fur. She froze. She didn’t growl or whimper. She merely looked directly into his eyes.
“What have you done…” Igor exhaled.
Tatyana followed him outside.
“What are you doing there?” she asked, spotting the carcass. She recoiled. “Is this… hers?”
— Looks like it.
— Oh, my God… I warned you! And you were defending her! And now this!
— Maybe it wasn’t her…
— Her face is bloodied, Igor! — her voice trembled. — She growls at night, watches the child, and now she’s killed a chicken! And what if tomorrow it’s Dima?!
— Tanya…
— Today. Either you take her away, or I’ll do it myself. Do you hear?
She stormed into the house, slamming the door. A moment later, Igor heard the unmistakable sound of a bottle of sleeping pills being opened.
He approached Lada and squatted down. She didn’t budge.
— What should I do with you? — he whispered. — I don’t know, Lada. To be honest. I don’t know.
The dog resisted getting into the car. He pulled, pleaded, grew angry, pushed. She fought back. But then, at some point, she relented. She climbed inside on her own.
The journey was long and quiet. The engine growled, the blizzard obscured the headlights. Snow flew like scenes from a movie ending tragically. Igor clutched the steering wheel, as if trying to grasp something significant. There was emptiness within.
He halted at the bridge. He let go of Lada and drove away. Without glancing back.
Upon his return, the house welcomed him with silence. Without the dog, it felt different. Empty. Cold. As if someone had extinguished the lights.
Tatyana was sleeping. Dima was peacefully breathing in his crib.
Igor tried reading, then chopping wood, before ultimately just sitting, staring blankly at the wall.
Rustling.
He flinched. Listened.
Again. Behind the wall. As if claws were scratching the wood.
He circled around the house. Everything was quiet. He returned.
A rustle again. And a creak.
He stepped outside. He stood there, gazing into the night. The snow was falling in thick flakes. He retrieved his cigarettes. He held them in his hand. Then crumpled them and tossed them into the snow.
And suddenly something brown darted to the right.
“Lada?” he called out.
A dog raced out of the darkness. Covered in snow, disheveled. Straight to the house. Without pausing, without looking back. She barreled through the door, colliding with the frame.
“Damn it!” Igor yelled and ran after her.
There was barking in the house. Sharp, furious. From the nursery.
– Tanya! Wake up!
Tatyana emerged as if in a trance.
– What’s happening?
– Lada. In the nursery.
– What?!
They burst into the room.
The bed was overturned. The sheet was thrown off. Lada was standing, quivering, her mouth agape—something was protruding from it.
A long, gray, nasty tail.
She shook her head—and a rat plummeted to the floor. A massive one.
Tatiana screamed.
– Lord… Lord, shield us…
Lada moved towards the baby, sniffed, licked his nose and settled down next to him, turning her head towards the door—as if still keeping watch.
Igor approached as if in a fog. Slowly bent down, grabbed the dead rat by the tail. He lifted it to the light—the creature was the size of a large cat. Its fur was matted, its teeth yellowed.
“She has been guarding him all this time…” Tatyana murmured, gazing at Lada. “Igor nodded. His voice had inexplicably vanished.
Tatyana knelt in front of the dog, cradled its head in her palms, pressed her forehead against its muzzle:
“Forgive us… Forgive me. If it weren’t for you…”
Tears streamed down her cheeks. Lada took a deep breath and rested her head on the floor. Calmly. As if she knew: it was all over.
“It’s grandma…” Tatyana whispered. “She came to us through her. From the other world.
Igor stepped out into the yard. He lingered there for a long time, gripping the stiff body in his hand. Then he tossed it into the snow, burying it with his foot. He returned to the house. He settled next to his wife and rested his hand on Lada’s back.
“Thank you,” he said. “Forgive us, fools.”
The room was filled with stillness. Only Dima was peacefully snoring in his crib, and the blizzard outside was gradually subsiding.
Lada lay quietly, her eyes closed, her breathing even. There was no longer any anxiety or tension within them—only fatigue and calm, unwavering loyalty.
Tatyana slowly knelt before her and began to stroke her neck, her cheeks, her soft ears. Her hands trembled, her face was pale, her lips pressed into a thin line.
“Forgive me…” she murmured again. “If it weren’t for you… Dima might not have existed. And we… We would have simply crumbled apart.
The dog remained unmoving, merely looked up—filled with an almost human sadness and dignity. As if she was communicating: “I understand everything. I forgive you.”
Igor stood by the wall, pressing his shoulders against the wallpaper. In his hands was a blanket, concealing the already lifeless creature. He couldn’t bear to look at it. He simply couldn’t.
He stepped outside, descended to the yard, grabbed a shovel. Silently, with effort, in damp boots, he dug a hole in the frozen earth. He placed the rat inside, hastily covered it. He leveled the snow, as if erasing any trace.
Then he returned. He didn’t glance at Lada.
The morning commenced with tranquility. Dima slept soundly, even smiling in his dreams. Lada rested in the corner, as if she had never departed.
The kitchen carried the scent of semolina porridge. Tatyana stood by the stove, wrapped in a long robe, her hair neatly arranged. For the first time in many days—without a hint of fear in her gaze.
“I want her to stay,” she stated without looking back.
Igor remained silent, seated at the table. Lada approached and laid her head in his lap.
He patted her mechanically.
“That’s true,” he said softly. “Now she’s family to us. Like a guardian angel.”
From that day forward, everything transformed. The house came alive. The silence ceased to suffocate. The sun peeked into the windows more frequently. Dima grew, and Lada grew alongside him—not in size, but in spirit.
One day, three adolescents from a neighboring farm showed up. They were rascals, racing around the yard, knocking on the windows. Igor was in the barn, Tatyana was inside the house. And Lada was on the porch.
She emerged and stood before them. She didn’t growl, didn’t bark. She simply stared directly into their eyes. So that they froze, exchanged glances—and fled without a sound. No one dared to approach without asking.
A month later, the village began to thaw. The first shoots sprouted, the air softened, and the evenings lengthened. Igor no longer lit a cigarette. It seemed as though the craving itself had vanished.
“Sometimes I think,” he remarked one evening, sitting by the stove, “if I hadn’t let her in that day… or hadn’t returned on time…” He paused. “I nearly lost everything.”
Tatiana placed her hand on his shoulder.
“But now we understand who we are to one another. And to her.”
Nearly two years elapsed. Spring returned to their quaint village house once more. Along with it—a new chapter in life.
A diaper was drying on the porch. The house was infused with the aroma of milk and chamomile. Tatyana lay on the bed—pale, but joyful. Beside her was a newborn girl, with dark eyelashes and a strong, pink fist.
Dima was darting around the yard in old felt boots, Lada was by his side, never lagging behind.
A car came to a halt at the gate. Igor and his mother disembarked—cheerful as always, with suitcases and packages.
Tatyana peered out the window and laughed.
A red carpet was unfurled before the porch on the snow—an old carpet. And on it, as if at a parade, stood Igor, Dima, and Lada.
“You’re such a jester, Igor,” Tatiana smiled.
He approached her and gently lifted her up.
“I promised. The second one is a princess. For her – carpets.”
Slowly, ceremoniously, as if at a royal reception, he walked along the carpet. Lada followed alongside him, as if she understood how significant this moment was.
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