Artem and Vera Svetlov shared a marriage lasting three decades — thirty years marked by quiet routines, subtle mutual understandings, and a deeply forged tenderness that replaces fleeting passion. They had accepted that their partnership was a secluded sanctuary for two, isolated from a future devoid of children’s laughter. However, in their thirty-first year together, a miracle arrived: a child.
At fifty-four, Vera faced considerable skepticism from doctors and her envious friends alike, who doubted her capacity to endure the forthcoming hardships. Yet, she silently placed her hand on her growing belly, sensing the secret movements of a new life within. Choosing against abortion, she walked spring streets, swaying like a ship burdened with the most precious cargo — hope.
Her perseverance paid off when their daughter was born: delicate, rosy, with almond-shaped eyes wide open to an unfamiliar world. They named her Arishka.
“The birth of Arishka brought radiant hope, yet soon gave way to chilling concern as her fragile nature became apparent.”
Joyful anticipation soon turned into anxious fear. The baby was unusually quiet and lethargic, struggling to feed, with breaths marked by harsh, intermittent wheezing. Avoiding eye contact, the regional doctor delivered a grim diagnosis: Down syndrome. The world contracted into the sterile walls of a fluorescent-lit office, the diagnosis heavy as a tombstone.
Shaken, Artem and Vera returned silently to their fading village. The doctor, attempting kindness, suggested seeking a place for the child in a specialized care center — “where children are nurtured and taught.”
“And afterwards? Where to?” Artem asked in a low voice, pressing against his seat. “An asylum?”
“An old age home or a neuropsychiatric institution,” she corrected, her words dripping with the chilling cynicism of a broken system.
The journey back seemed endless. Breaking the silence, Artem’s usually sturdy voice trembled as he declared:
“She was never meant to fade away within the cold walls of a lonely shelter surrounded by strangers.”
Vera exhaled, as if waiting for reassurance. Tears welled in her eyes, not from despair but relief.
“I feel the same. We will raise her ourselves and love her wholly,” she affirmed.
Throughout the years, the Svetlovs never regretted this courageous choice. Arishka’s world remained small yet vibrantly alive. Her enthusiasm for simple things — the warming first sunlight, sparrows dust-bathing in the yard — was contagious, inspiring those around her. She tended a tiny garden patch alongside her mother, cultivating hardy peas and beets that improved annually.
- Arishka’s fierce affection extended to their chickens, whom she zealously protected from neighborhood cats.
- She communicated with them through a unique, silent language that seemed mutually understood.
Summers brought transient life back to the village, with grandchildren arriving for nourishment and fresh air scented by cut grass and smoke. Among them was Pashka Voronov, a notorious city lad known for his mischief and courage, respected and feared in equal measure.
Underneath his rebellious exterior, Pashka possessed a noble spirit. He broke slingshots used by boys to harm birds and defended the defenseless. Witnessing local boys torment a tearful Arishka, he instantly sprung to her rescue, vowing to guard her from harm.
From that day, Pashka became her guardian angel, giving Svetlovs the courage to let their daughter play outside.
However, the village’s decline was relentless. The closing of the school and kindergarten, the reduction and eventual cessation of bus services, and finally the shuttering of the local shop signaled the end. Only a few farms remained active, keeping poultry and goats alive.
Elderly residents passed away, their homes left empty and crumbling, swallowed by weeds and nettles. Family members who could moved away: Pashka’s grandmother was hospitalized and taken to the city; the blacksmith Hakim and his family also departed in search of work.
Only a handful remained, including the Svetlovs, who had nowhere else to go. They lived on Artem’s pension and modest earnings from Vera’s special homemade bread, baked weekly in a traditional Russian stove following an ancestral recipe. This fragrant bread was so beloved it drew buyers from neighboring villages, famed for its freshness lasting weeks when wrapped in linen.
Arishka was never allowed near the oven; the flame was her mother’s only dread.
Then, abruptly, their stagnant peace shattered with the roar of heavy machinery, like prehistoric beasts demolishing all in sight. An enigmatic figure named Plotvinsky had purchased the abandoned homes, intent on developing the land. The surroundings, a pristine pine and mixed forest near a clear river, promised tranquility — perfect for extinguishing it.
The locals rarely encountered Plotvinsky himself, but his presence was palpable in the buzzing chainsaws felling ancient trees and bulldozers leveling historic cottages. He cleared nearly a hectare and enclosed it with a fence topped by barbed wire and surveillance cameras, their ominous hum alerting to any movement.
When his monstrous mansion construction concluded, the villagers exhaled briefly, only to be overwhelmed by nightly fireworks accompanying his extravagant parties. Despite this disruption, there were minor upgrades: replaced poles and graveling of the main road — small favors from a man who never introduced himself.
One summer morning, Artem and Vera drove thirty kilometers for supplies. At home, their eighteen-year-old Arishka was strictly forbidden to leave the yard for safety reasons. Vera’s eyes, filled with a newfound dread, warned, “Listen, daughter, nowhere to go. Those on their iron beasts won’t see you. They’ll kill you without noticing.”
Returning that evening, the parents found the house empty — Arishka was gone.
The silence inside was palpable, chilling the soul. Vera’s heart plummeted into an abyss.
Desperate, they turned to neighbors, but no one had seen her. Following a dark premonition, Artem led Vera to Ivan Drokol’s remote house, a local hermit known for his odd fascination with Arishka. Though rumors painted him a poacher wielding a crossbow, he was their last hope.
Ivan was deep in a drinking spree, unable to provide clear answers.
Their final prospect was Plotvinsky’s estate, from where loud music and drunken shouting spilled — a spectacle amid despair. Approaching iron gates activated floodlights and suspicious security cameras.
Without a doorbell, Artem pounded on the metal. Eventually, a brutish guard confronted them with a vacant gaze.
“What do you want?” he grunted.
“We need to see the owner,” Vera trembled. “Please…”
After initial reluctance, the owner himself appeared — a short, fit man with slicked-back salt-and-pepper hair and cold, analytical eyes. He invited them to a cedar gazebo, illuminated softly.
Upon hearing their plea, he instructed his guards to search the nearby forest.
Throughout the night, quad bikes scoured the silence, their engines slicing through it, feeding Vera’s fragile hope. She sat on the porch, repeating, “How could she leave? I told her not to go…” While Artem remained silent, suspecting a cover-up.
Ivan Drokol eventually discovered Arishka’s body near a mossy pond, marked by the remnant of a yellow ribbon from her sweatshirt. Investigators ruled it drowning, dismissing bruises as decomposition stains. The Svetlovs refused to accept this verdict but lacked the resources to fight.
Whispers circulated the village about an old woman claiming to have seen Arishka leave with strangers on a quad bike, but such rumors were quickly silenced.
A year later, Vera fell ill. At night, Artem heard her chanting fervent, ancient-sounding calls for divine retribution against the killers; her words were less prayer than a powerful curse.
Three years afterward, Pavel Voronov, the medical graduate and childhood friend of Arishka, returned with a companion to revisit their devastated village. They found Artem in bed, barely conscious, recalling the tragic losses.
- Arishka’s murder destroyed the family’s peace.
- Vera passed away shortly after, consumed by grief and her vow for vengeance.
- Pavel pledged medical support but was determined to uncover the truth.
Neighbors shared the grim tale, revealing sinister dealings: Plotvinsky’s nephews confessed accidentally causing Arishka’s death during reckless play. Plotvinsky himself covered up the truth with bribes and intimidation.
As his empire crumbled under scandals and fear, Plotvinsky sought forgiveness from Vera — an act doomed by the curse and his eventual death, apparently by an arrow lodged in his heart.
The community speculated on the avenger’s identity, with whispers pointing toward Ivan Drokol and unknown assassins. For some, this was poetic justice.
Before departing, Pavel and his friend shared a quiet moment with the neighbors, a sombre remembrance of the life lost and the haunting shadows of past deeds.
Concluding reflection: This tragic story reveals the resilience of love against adversity, the devastating impact of loss, and the haunting echoes of justice sought beyond legal reach. It underscores the profound human capacity to nurture hope amid sorrow and the relentless pursuit of truth in the face of cruelty and neglect.