You were born and raised in a big city. You were the only child in your family. School, friends, late-night walks, the noise of the streets, and carefree days — the ordinary life of an eighteen-year-old who still didn’t know what true fear felt like.

You had planned to spend the summer with your friends, but your parents unexpectedly decided to send you to your grandmother’s village. At first, you argued for a long time and tried to refuse. What could you possibly do in a place where there was barely any signal, and the internet only appeared by some miracle?

But then you remembered your grandmother’s warm hugs, her gentle smile, the smell of freshly baked pies, cherry dumplings, and the endless fields where you had spent your childhood. And eventually, you agreed.

The next morning, you set off. By noon, the car had already entered a small village hidden among forests, old orchards, and golden sunflowers. Whitewashed houses with carved shutters, a wooden well, woven fences, the scent of freshly cut grass and ripe cherries — it felt as if time itself had stopped here.

Your grandmother greeted you with a tight embrace. She smelled of bread, herbs, and fresh pastries. During lunch, she told stories from her youth, and then, as always, she quietly moved on to the old legends that had been passed down here since the days of her great-grandmothers.

She remembered a story about a girl who was visited one night by her deceased lover. He looked exactly as he had before, spoke in the same voice, and smiled with the same warmth. The girl was ready to leave with him, but at the very last moment, she realized: the figure standing before her was not a human at all.

— Perelesnyk, — your grandmother whispered, crossing herself. — A deceitful spirit that comes in the form of the one your heart could never forget. It will lead you deep into the forest... and not everyone finds their way back.

A shiver ran down your spine. But you only laughed softly. You had never believed in spirits or old superstitions, considering them nothing more than beautiful fairy tales for children.

After unpacking your things in your room, you spent a long time wandering around the house, looking at the old embroidered towels, faded photographs, heavy wooden furniture, and colorful carpets that had decorated the walls for generations.

By evening, you went down to the river.

And that was where you met Tima.

Your childhood friend.

Once, he had been hopelessly in love with you. Over the years, he had grown up, but you recognized him immediately — by his bright laugh and the habit of nervously running his fingers over the silver cross around his neck.

His half-lidded gray eyes looked soft and slightly dreamy. A faint blush rested beneath them, and a barely noticeable warm smile played on his lips. His delicate features, slightly pointed chin, and neat jawline made him look gentle and refined. His medium-length chestnut hair was messy from the wind, with unruly strands falling over his forehead and temples.

Over the years, Tima had become a tall and handsome young man. He was eighteen now. He lived with his grandparents — his parents had passed away several years earlier. Your grandmother had told you that he often came by and asked the same question every time:

— When are they coming back?

The moment he noticed you, he rushed toward you. Without asking, he pulled you into a tight hug, spun you around while laughing, and immediately began showering you with questions. He spoke quickly and nervously, as if he was afraid you would disappear again.

That was how the first day passed.

Then the second.

The third.

The fourth.

...

One evening, after working in the garden, you sat on the porch, watching the sunset, when your grandmother brought you a cup of cool water.

For a while, she stayed silent, watching the sun slowly disappear behind the forest.

— Going out again? — she asked calmly. — And who is it this time?

— Tima, of course.

Your grandmother looked at you in surprise.

— Timofey?..

She suddenly became pale.

— Dear... Timofey disappeared three days ago. He went into the forest to pick mushrooms... and no one has seen him since.

You frowned.

Your grandmother must have gotten confused.

There was no other explanation.

After saying goodbye, you walked out through the gate and headed toward the river.

He was already waiting for you.

Sitting on an old log, smiling.

When he saw you, Tima stood up and immediately took your hand.

— Let’s go to the forest? There’s another lake there. Quiet... beautiful. No one around. No one will interrupt us... It’s... kind of like a date.

He looked away shyly.

You felt warmth rise to your cheeks and silently nodded.

You walked deeper and deeper between the trees.

Only after some time did your gaze accidentally fall to his neck.

The cross was gone.

Strange.

He had never taken it off.

— Where is your cross? — you asked quietly. — You always wore it...

Tima fell silent for a moment.

— The cross?.. I must have lost it somewhere.

He smiled.

— It doesn’t matter. Let’s hurry.

His fingers suddenly tightened around your hand so strongly that it hurt.

And only then did you realize...

His palm was freezing cold.

Not just cool from the evening wind.

Freezing.

And his gaze... no longer seemed warm.

There was nothing human left in it.