Since early morning, the sky had been dumping dense flakes of snow onto the ground — sticky, thick, as if someone above was generously sprinkling flour from a shovel without caring where it would fall. A lone car was slowly making its way along the snowy country road, like a dot amid the endless winter landscape. Inside the cabin, one could hear the windshield wipers squeaking, snow crunching under the wheels, and from time to time, a baby sobbing in the back seat.
Igor gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white. His gaze was fixed on the road, barely visible behind a veil of blizzard. He had been silent for ten minutes. Next to him, Tatiana sat in tense silence. Her shoulders were slumped, lips pressed tight, eyes glassy. She looked not just tired — rather, utterly exhausted. Their family had moved to the village hoping to start fresh so Tatiana could restore her health…
“Maybe we should turn on the radio?” Igor finally broke the silence without taking his eyes off the road.
“What for?” she answered hoarsely, not turning her head. “To drown out the baby’s crying?”
Igor exhaled loudly.
“Here we go again…” he muttered to himself, then a little louder added, “I’m driving, I’m trying. In weather like this, and in your car that’s always letting me down…”
“My car?” Tatiana repeated bitterly. “Because you spent your money on cigarettes?”
The baby stirred and began to cry again. Igor jerked the wheel sharply, feeling irritation growing inside.
“Great. We arrive in the village, start all over — and you immediately start slapping me down. Maybe better to just keep quiet? At least to get there in peace…”
“Enough. Just… shut up,” Tatiana almost whispered, pressing her forehead to the window. She closed her eyes, and a tear slid down her cheek.
The car slid slightly on a turn, but Igor held it steady. Beyond the icy trees appeared an old house — blue, crooked, clearly forgotten by time.
“Here’s the destination,” he said, stopping at the edge of the field. “We made it.”
There was no road further — only snowdrifts and rough terrain.
Tatiana slowly got out of the car, holding the child wrapped in a blanket. Her steps were uncertain, like someone who no longer trusts the ground beneath their feet.
She took a couple of steps — then stumbled. The snow was deeper than it seemed. She yelped, falling to her knees, clutching the baby.
“What’s wrong…” Igor rushed to her, taking the son from her arms. “Careful! What’s wrong with you?”
“Don’t shout…” Tatiana whispered. “Just don’t shake him…”
“I know how to hold him,” he replied irritably, helping his wife to stand. She walked on silently, eyes red, leaning on her husband.
The house greeted them with silence. The creak of steps, the click of a lock, a cold gust of wind — and snow that had to be cleared by hand. The key barely fit into the rusty lock.
“Of all things…” Igor shook the door, blowing out steam. “Don’t fail me now, old wreck…”
Finally, the lock gave way. They entered the darkness.
The smell of mold, dust, and dampness hit their noses immediately. In the phone’s light, scattered bags, scraps of rope, and grain were visible. Everything was covered with a gray film of abandonment.
“God…” Tatiana whispered. “Are we really going to live here?”
“For now,” Igor answered shortly. “We’ll clean up, settle in slowly…”
He found a broom and bucket and began actively cleaning. Rustling, floorboard creaks, banging — the sounds resembled more the noise of a sinking ship. But he worked.
“We’ll make a nursery,” he said without stopping. “This one here. The radiators are old but working. The walls are intact. The windows double-glazed.”
“And the ceiling?” Tatiana asked doubtfully. “What about the mold in the corner?”
“We’ll wipe it, dry it, insulate it. Just hang in there, Tanya. For him, for his sake.”
She didn’t answer. She just sat down on the sofa, wrapped in her coat.
The room was slightly warmer. The peeling walls, but on one hung a picture: The Nutcracker with a sword, surrounded by mice. A thought flickered through her mind, but Igor waved it off.
“Here’s your protector, Dimon,” he smiled, hammering a nail into the wall. “The Nutcracker on guard.”
Night came suddenly, as if someone flipped a switch. Everything around became gray and silent. Only a faint sound behind the wall made Tatiana flinch.
“Igor… Did you hear that?”
“Probably mice,” he shrugged.
“No, someone’s… whining. Outside.”
He listened. Indeed — a thin, drawn-out sound, breaking off now and then, came from the blizzard.
“I’ll check it out,” he said and went outside.
On the porch, in the snowdrift, sat a dog. Dirty brown, with a dark muzzle and eyes full of unspoken pain. It trembled, paws tucked in, tail between legs.
“What’s wrong with you?” Igor squatted down. “You’ll freeze, stupid thing.”
The dog lifted its head. Its gaze was confident, as if it had come exactly here and nowhere else.
“Come on,” Igor said quietly, motioning her inside.
Lada ran into the house and immediately headed to the nursery. She approached the crib and froze as if rooted to the spot.
“What the hell?!” Tatiana exclaimed fearfully. “Get her away right now! She’s by the baby!”
“Calm down,” Igor tried to reassure her. “She’s friendly. Look — she’s barely even breathing. She’s just cold.”
“I’m scared. I don’t want her near him,” Tatiana stated firmly.
Igor hesitated but nodded.
“If anything — I’ll kick her out. Okay? Give her a chance.”
She turned away silently. But all night she slept restlessly, holding her son close, while the dog lay at the foot of the bed — like a statue, not blinking, not moving.
The morning was clear and dazzling. The sun played on the frozen windows, drawing whimsical patterns on the ceiling. Outside, a rooster crowed — loud, demanding, as if tearing the silence of the new day. The room smelled of dampness, cold wood, and something else — foreign, inexplicable.
Tatiana was the first to wake. She rubbed her eyes, feeling a strange lightness in her chest — for the first time in a long while, her cough did not torment her. She went to the nursery. Dima slept peacefully, and nearby, by the bed, lay the dog — stretched out like a string.
“You’re still here…” Tatiana whispered. Her voice was restrained, but something new flickered in her eyes.
Sounds of dishes came from the kitchen. Igor fussed by the stove in a sweater and shorts, carefully cracking eggs. Sunlight poured through the windows, and it seemed something alive was beginning to awaken in the house.
“We have a celebration today,” he smiled without turning around. “Breakfast! And, attention — now we have a chicken!”
Tatiana raised an eyebrow.
“Alive?”
“Yes, I bought it from the neighbor, old Misha, across the ravine. And I got eggs — homemade.”
She sat at the table. Lada cautiously lay down at her feet, but Tatiana pretended not to notice.
“What did you name her, by the way?” she asked after a pause.
“Lada. After my grandmother. She was a kind soul.”
“After grandma,” Tatiana repeated, frowning slightly. “And when were you going to tell me about this?”
“Well… I just told you now. Morning, tea, fried eggs, family confessions.”
She sighed. Outside, the snowdrifts creaked again — someone had probably passed by the house.
“Sometimes it seems to me that you live like you have no one — no wife, no child,” Tatiana said quietly, not looking up. “You make decisions alone, without consulting me. Neither about the chicken nor the dog… You even named her without me.”
“Tanya…” Igor sat down next to her. “You know how exhausted you are. I didn’t want to add to your worries. Tried to do everything myself. Honestly.”
“Tried?” She smiled bitterly. “And her lying right by the bed? Is that also part of your ‘trying’? Don’t you feel worried at all?”
“I do,” he leaned closer, “I just understand how worn out you are. The move, illness, cold, the little one… And this dog. Maybe she’s the only one here who took us seriously.”
Tatiana did not answer. She only ran her palm through her son’s hair, then slowly stood up, straightening her back with effort.
“I need to rest. The cough is back.”
Lada watched her with her eyes and silently followed, like a shadow.
The day was busy: Igor insulated the windows, sealed cracks, looked for drafts. Soft music played from an old radio, creating an illusion of coziness. The air smelled of wood, dust, and something else — the house seemed alive but just beginning to learn how to be a home.
Lada didn’t leave Dima’s side for a step. Wherever Igor went carrying the baby, she was there — attentive, focused, with an unusually lively gaze.
“Like she’s guarding,” he muttered to himself.
“That scares me,” Tatiana replied from behind the curtain. “Dogs don’t behave like that. As if she’s waiting for something.”
Igor stepped onto the porch to smoke. Snow crunched underfoot, the frost tickled his skin. He pulled out a cigarette — and suddenly heard a rustle behind him. He turned — Tatiana stood in the doorway, wrapped in a scarf.
“Again?” Her voice trembled. “You promised you’d quit.”
“Just nerves,” he tried to justify. “I can’t switch immediately.”
“You’re a father,” she said firmly. “And I trusted you.”
He stubbed out the cigarette and crushed it in the snow. Anger boiled inside — at himself, the village, the house, the dog that looked out from the darkness almost humanly.
At night, Tatiana woke with the feeling of someone’s presence — too close, too real. Lada sat by the crib, tense as a string. The fur on her neck was raised.
“Igor, wake up,” she whispered.
He grimaced, opening his eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
“Look at her. She’s growling.”
Igor approached. Lada paid him no attention — her gaze was fixed on the corner of the room. Her ears were flattened, teeth bared.
“Lada?” he called cautiously. “Hey… calm down.”
The dog didn’t move.
“God…” Tatiana whispered. “What is she seeing?”
“Maybe you imagined it?” he tried to calm her. “Or it’s a mouse. Or nothing scary…”
“Nothing scary?!” she snapped. “She’s standing like a sentinel and snarling! Is that normal?!”
Igor found no words. He placed his hand on her neck — Lada flinched slightly but did not retreat. He carefully led her to the hallway and closed the door.
“If you drive us all crazy,” he whispered, “you’ll sleep in the shed.”
The dog looked at him and followed — but without tension now.
Days flowed in a gray sequence: porridge in the mornings, blizzards outside, the baby’s crying, Tatiana’s cough… And always nearby — Lada. Part of the house, like the floor or walls.
Another morning was gloomy. The snow turned dirty gray, as if losing meaning. Igor stood by the porch, wringing a rag in his hands. His eyes stung from lack of sleep, his chest ached dull. He felt something was wrong in the house. As if the air thickened, and it became hard to breathe.
In the shed, he noticed something fallen. He approached. A chicken. Dead, torn apart. Feathers pulled out, neck broken. Large tracks in the snow. Blood.
“Lada…” he whispered.
The dog came out from around the corner. Tail down, muzzle dirty. There were crimson spots on her fur. She froze. Didn’t growl, didn’t whine. Just looked him straight in the eyes.
“What have you done…” Igor breathed out.
Tatiana followed.
“What’s going on?” she asked and saw the carcass. She recoiled. “Is this… hers?”
“Looks like it.”
“God… I told you! And you defended her! And now this!”
“Maybe it wasn’t her…”
“She has blood on her muzzle, Igor!” Her voice broke. “She growls at night, watches the baby, and now she killed the chicken! What if tomorrow it’s Dima?!”
“Tanya…”
“Today. Either you get rid of her, or I will. Understand?”
She went into the house, slamming the door. A minute later Igor heard the familiar sound — a bottle of sleeping pills opening.
He approached Lada, squatted down. She didn’t move.
“What am I to do with you?” he whispered. “I don’t know, Lada. Honestly. I don’t know.”
The dog didn’t want to get into the car. He pulled, persuaded, got angry, pushed. She resisted. But then, at some moment, gave in. Got in by herself.
The road was long and quiet. The engine purred, the blizzard covered the headlights. Snow flew like frames from a tragically ending movie. Igor gripped the steering wheel as if trying to hold onto something important. Inside — emptiness.
He stopped by the bridge. Let Lada out and drove away. Without looking back.
When he returned, the house met him with silence. Without the dog — it had become different. Empty. Cold. As if someone had switched off the light.
Tatiana was asleep. Dima breathed peacefully in his crib.
Igor tried reading, then chopping wood, then just sat staring at the wall.
A rustle.
He jumped. Listened.
Again. Behind the wall. Like claws scratching wood.
He went around the house. All quiet. Came back.
Rustle again. And creak.
He went outside. Stood looking into the night. Snow fell in thick flakes. He pulled out cigarettes. Held them in his hand. Then crushed and threw them into the snow.
And suddenly something brown flashed on the right.
“Lada?” he said aloud.
From the darkness, the dog flew out. Covered in snow, disheveled. Straight to the house. Not stopping, not looking back. She ran into the door, hitting her shoulder.
“Damn!” Igor shouted and rushed after her.
Inside — barking. Sharp, fierce. From the nursery.
“Tanya! Wake up!”
Tatiana came out, like in a dream.
“What’s going on?”
“Lada. In the nursery.”
“What?!”
They burst into the room.
The bed was overturned. The sheet thrown off. Lada stood, all trembling, mouth open — something stuck inside.
A long, gray, disgusting tail.
She shook her head — and a rat fell onto the floor. Huge.
Tatiana screamed.
“God… God, protect us…”
Lada approached the baby, sniffed, licked his nose, and lay down nearby, turning her head to the door — as if still on guard.
Igor came forward in a daze. Slowly bent down, took the dead rat by the tail. Held it up to the light — the creature was the size of a large cat. Fur matted, teeth yellowish.
“She was all this time…” Tatiana whispered, looking at Lada, “protecting him?”
Igor nodded. His voice betrayed and failed.
Tatiana dropped to her knees before the dog, cupped her head in her hands, pressed her forehead to the muzzle:
“Forgive us… Forgive me. If not for you…”
Tears rolled down her cheeks. Lada sighed deeply and laid her head on the floor. Calmly. As if she knew: everything was behind.
“She’s grandmother…” Tatiana whispered. “Through her, she came to us. From the other world.”
Igor went out to the yard. Stood for a long time, clutching the stiff body in his hand. Then threw it into the snow, buried it with his foot. Smoothed the snow as if erasing traces.
Then returned. Didn’t look at Lada.
Morning began with silence. Dima slept peacefully, even smiled in his sleep. Lada lay in the corner as if she had never left.
In the kitchen, it smelled of semolina porridge. Tatiana stood by the stove, wrapped in a long robe, hair neatly gathered. For the first time in many days — without a shadow of fear in her eyes.
“I want her to stay,” she said without turning.
Igor was silent, sitting at the table. Lada came over and laid her head on his knees.
He stroked her absentmindedly.
“That’s for sure,” he said softly. “Now she’s like family to us… like a guardian angel.”
From that day, everything changed. The house came alive. Silence stopped weighing on them. The sun began to shine in the windows more often. Dima grew, and Lada grew with him — not in body, but in heart.
Once, three teenagers from a nearby farmstead showed up. They were hooligans, running around the yard, banging on windows. Igor was in the shed, Tatiana in the house. And Lada — on the porch.
She came out, stood before them. Didn’t growl, didn’t bark. Just looked them straight in the eyes. So much so that they froze, glanced at each other — and ran away without a word. No one else dared approach without asking again.
A month later, the village began to thaw. The first shoots blossomed, the air softened, evenings grew longer. Igor no longer smoked. It seemed the craving had disappeared itself.
“Sometimes I think,” he said one evening, sitting by the stove, “if I hadn’t let her inside… or hadn’t come back in time…” He paused. “I almost lost everything.”
Tatiana placed her hand on his shoulder.
“But now we know who we are to each other. And to her.”
Almost two years passed. Spring returned again to their small village house. Along with it — a new chapter in life.
A diaper dried on the porch. The house smelled of milk and chamomile. Tatiana lay on the bed — pale but happy. Nearby — a newborn girl with dark lashes and a strong, pink fist.
Dima ran around the yard in old felt boots, Lada nearby, not leaving his side.
A car stopped at the gate. Igor and his mother got out — lively as always, with suitcases and bundles.
Tatiana looked out the window and laughed.
On the porch, a red carpet was laid on the snow — an old rug. And on it, as if at a parade, stood Igor, Dima, and Lada.
“Well, you’re quite the joker, Igor,” Tatiana smiled.
He approached, carefully took her in his arms.
“I promised. The second one — a princess. For her — carpets.”
Slowly, ceremoniously, as if at a royal reception, he walked along the carpet. Lada walked beside him — as if she knew how important this moment was.