1705, December twenty-one,
Zhukovsky, Russia.
Dearest Annika, December, 21,1705
Now, lost from all pain and bypass worries in the glaciers of Bryansk, Russia, I catch a glimpse of my hideous shrinking, yet gruesome bloody- as hell- face, shrinking brown like the remnants of leaves from the ground of a yet above- and once-living- oak tree. At the clear and dense, but muddy remains of the ice from river Moskva is where I spot the house.
It's a small and dense wooden shack, with a single white door to the opening. There are no windows, only showing an empty space in the house- that is rather vast and open that could have been a mistake in its making- considering that space looked out of sync with the rest of the design of the shack- but in short, was the shack itself a mistake to build in the first place?- along with the rain that has turned the wooden house stained and soggy, it is quite something. But, it is the right address, near the Moskva river, but the problem that I may have not realized was: Is there anyone in the rather secluded shack?
After I looked inside the shack, I could only spot a single note on a pair of snow boots that says:
Only the dead have seen the end of War
Oh! Dearest Annika, if you had seen the look on my face, you could have ought to know that I was shaking in fear. The fear that whoever put that note on the snow boots- written in black chalk- and the fearsome words: war, written in pig's blood was not to shrivel my pain enough, An old doll starts walking towards me, saying, "War is dead to those who are dead." And, if you had seen the looks on the doll's face, the chin that moved up and down, up and down, with wild, rather starving eyes, you couldn't imagine what happened next.
P
As all wonderful ghost stories end, it's not all that it seems. Shortly after Patrick Ivanov is found murdered at the shack, his wife, Annika Ivanov, is found dead beforehand. And as for the child, Rei, it isn't known.