Elena had been staring out the car window for what felt like an eternity. The endless stretch of highway, flanked by dense pine forests and occasional glimpses of distant mountains, had lulled her parents into a quiet conversation about their upcoming business meeting in the next city. Six hours on the road—six hours of restlessness and cramped legs—had finally brought them to a small, unremarkable town that seemed to exist solely as a pit stop for weary travelers. The sign at the town limits read Verkhoyarsk, a name that sounded ancient and forgotten, like a whisper from a time long past.
“We’ll stop here for a couple of hours,” her father had said, pulling into a modest gas station. “Stretch your legs, grab a bite. Then we’ll be on our way.”
Elena, twenty-two and always curious, saw her chance. While her parents settled into a small café near the station, she slipped away, drawn by the distant sound of music and laughter. A fair, she realized—a colorful, bustling fair that had taken over the town square. Stalls with handmade crafts, the smell of roasted nuts and sugary pastries, and the cheerful chatter of locals filled the air. It was charming, almost idyllic.
But then she saw it. A circus tent, its red and white stripes faded but still vibrant against the gray sky. The sign above the entrance read Shapito Circus in bold, old-fashioned lettering. A barker stood outside, his voice a practiced drawl. “Step right up! Witness the wonders of the ages! A show unlike any other!”
Elena hesitated. She had never been to a circus before. Something about it felt both thrilling and slightly unsettling. But her curiosity won. She bought a ticket and stepped inside.
The interior was dimly lit, the air thick with the smell of sawdust and old canvas. A small crowd had gathered on wooden benches, their faces half-hidden in shadow. The performance was mesmerizing—acrobats twisting in midair, a magician pulling silk scarves from thin air, a clown whose painted smile seemed just a little too wide. Elena found herself clapping along with the others, caught up in the spectacle.
Then the spotlight hit her.
A blinding beam of white light cut through the darkness, landing squarely on her face. The audience turned to look. The ringmaster, a tall man in a top hat and tailcoat, extended a gloved hand toward her. “You there, young lady! Come, join us on stage!”
Elena’s heart skipped a beat. She looked around, hoping it was a mistake, but the light followed her. Reluctantly, she rose and made her way to the center ring, her cheeks burning with embarrassment.
“What’s your name?” the ringmaster asked, his voice booming.
“Elena,” she managed.
“Well, Elena, you’ve been chosen to play a game. A very old game. It’s been played in this town since 1820. Everyone who visits gets a turn.” He smiled, but his eyes remained cold. “The rules are simple: you must run. Run and don’t look back.”
Elena laughed nervously. “Is this some kind of joke?”
But then she noticed movement in the audience. Several people were rising from their seats, their faces now visible in the dim light. They were smiling, but it wasn’t a friendly smile. It was hungry. And in their hands, they held something that glinted—knives, cleavers, blades of all shapes and sizes. The light caught the metal, sending shards of reflection across the tent.
The joke was over.
Elena bolted. She didn’t think—she just ran, pushing through the tent flap and into the cool night air. Her lungs burned as she sprinted past the fairgrounds, past the stalls and the lights, until she stumbled upon a bulletin board. Pinned to it was a poster: a drawing of a young woman in a white sarafan, her face serene, and beneath it, bold letters: REWARD: 10 WISHES.
Before she could process what she was seeing, a small boy emerged from the tent. He couldn’t have been more than ten, with dirty blond hair and a freckled face. He ran straight at her, his eyes wild. “I caught you! The reward is mine!” He sank his teeth into her arm.
Elena screamed. The pain was sharp, electric, and utterly real. She shoved the boy away, but more children were pouring out of the tent, their laughter echoing in the night. She turned and ran again, her arm bleeding, her mind racing. This wasn’t a game. This was a hunt.
She didn’t know where she was going. The town blurred around her—dark streets, shuttered windows, the occasional flicker of a candle. She could hear footsteps behind her, growing louder. Adults now, their voices raised in excitement. “She’s heading for the woods! Cut her off!”
Elena plunged into the forest, the trees closing in around her like grasping fingers. The moonlight barely penetrated the canopy, leaving her in near-total darkness. She stumbled over roots, branches whipping at her face and arms. Behind her, the sounds of pursuit grew closer—heavy boots, angry shouts, the crackle of torches.
She risked a glance back. Three men were chasing her, their faces illuminated by the flames they carried. One was young, maybe eighteen, with a shaved head and lightning-bolt tattoos on his scalp. Another was older, with an eagle tattoo and a black jacket. The third had a thick black beard and wore a green jacket. They were gaining on her.
“Where are you?!” one of them bellowed, his voice echoing through the trees.
Elena ran faster, her legs pumping, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She didn’t see the edge of the ravine until it was too late. Her foot caught on a root, and she tumbled forward, the ground disappearing beneath her. She fell, the world spinning, and then—darkness.
When she opened her eyes, she was lying on a cold, rocky floor. Pain shot through her ankle, but she forced herself to stand. She was in some kind of cave or tunnel, the walls rough and uneven. A faint orange glow flickered from a narrow gap ahead. She limped toward it and found a wooden door, old and weathered, with light seeping through the cracks.
She grabbed the handle and pulled.
The door swung open, and Elena stumbled inside. The room was small, carved from the earth itself, with a low ceiling and walls that glistened with moisture. A fire burned in a hearth, its flames weak but steady. The air smelled of smoke and damp soil.
She slammed the door shut behind her and leaned against it, her heart pounding. The distant cries of her pursuers were muffled now, but still audible. She looked around, her eyes adjusting to the dim light. That’s when she saw him—an old man emerging from behind a stone partition. He was tall and thin, with gray hair and a kind, weathered face. He wore a brown cap and a plaid shirt, and he held up his hands in a gesture of peace.
“Wait,” he said, his voice calm. “I’m not with them. I’m like you.”
Elena stared at him, her breath still ragged. “What’s wrong with this town?” she whispered.
Before he could answer, a loud crash echoed from beyond the door, followed by silence. The old man’s eyes flickered to the door, then back to her. “My name is Jim,” he said. “And you’re in more danger than you know.”
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. It was a flyer, yellowed with age. On it was a drawing of a younger Jim, his face determined, and beneath it, the words: REWARD: 5 WISHES.
Elena’s blood ran cold. “What is this? What are the wishes?”
Jim sighed and sat down on a wooden stool, motioning for her to do the same. “It started a long time ago. Every year, on the sixth day of the sixth month, the town holds a lottery. But it’s not a lottery of tickets—it’s a lottery of people. Anyone who arrives in Verkhoyarsk on that day becomes a slave to the town. They’re hunted, and whoever catches them gets a reward: wishes. Ten wishes for an adult, five for a child. The wishes are granted by… something. Something old and dark that lives beneath the town.”
“But you escaped,” Elena said, her voice trembling.
“I did,” Jim nodded. “I was young, like you. I ran into the woods, just like you did. I fell into this very cave. The townspeople thought I was dead, so they stopped looking. I’ve been hiding here ever since. I can’t leave—the mountains surround the town, and the passes are guarded. Anyone who tries to escape is either caught or freezes to death in the cold. So I stay here, surviving, waiting.”
Elena felt tears prick her eyes. “So I’m trapped here? Forever?”
Jim looked at her, his expression softening. “Not necessarily. There might be a way out. But it’s dangerous. And we’ll need to prepare.”
He stood and walked to a small chest in the corner, pulling out a worn map. “The mountains have a hidden path—an old smugglers’ route. It’s treacherous, but it leads to the next valley. If we can reach it before dawn, we might have a chance.”
Elena wiped her eyes and stood, ignoring the pain in her ankle. “Then let’s go. I’m not going to be a prize for these people.”
Jim smiled, a glimmer of hope in his tired eyes. “That’s the spirit. But first, we need supplies. And we need to be quiet. They’re still out there.”
They moved quickly, gathering what they could—a small lantern, a coil of rope, a couple of blankets, and a knife that Jim pressed into Elena’s hands. “Just in case,” he said. “But remember, the real weapon is speed. Don’t look back, no matter what you hear.”
As they prepared to leave, Elena’s mind raced. She thought of her parents, still waiting at the café, oblivious to the nightmare their daughter had stumbled into. She thought of the children who had attacked her, their innocent faces twisted by the town’s curse. And she thought of the wishes—the promise of anything she desired, if only she could catch someone else. The temptation was there, a dark whisper in the back of her mind. But she pushed it away. She would not become like them.
Jim opened a hidden door in the back of the cave, revealing a narrow tunnel that sloped upward. “This leads to the old mine shafts,” he explained. “From there, we can reach the mountain path. Stay close to me, and don’t make a sound.”
They stepped into the tunnel, the darkness swallowing them whole. The only light came from Jim’s lantern, casting dancing shadows on the walls. Elena could hear the distant echo of voices—the townspeople, still searching. She clutched the knife and followed Jim, her heart pounding with every step.
The tunnel seemed to go on forever, twisting and turning through the earth. At times, they had to crawl on their hands and knees; at others, they climbed steep inclines that left Elena’s muscles burning. But Jim never faltered. He moved with the surefootedness of a man who had spent decades in these tunnels, mapping every stone and crevice.
Finally, they emerged into a larger cavern. Moonlight streamed through a crack in the ceiling, illuminating a rickety wooden ladder that led up to a narrow opening. “That’s our way out,” Jim said. “It leads to a ledge on the mountainside. From there, we follow the ridge to the smugglers’ path.”
Elena nodded, too exhausted to speak. She climbed the ladder, her arms trembling, and pushed open the wooden hatch at the top. Cold air rushed in, and she gasped. They were high up, the town of Verkhoyarsk spread out below them like a toy village. The lights of the fair still twinkled, and she could see tiny figures moving in the streets—the hunters, still searching.
Jim climbed up beside her and pointed to a faint trail that wound along the mountainside. “There. We need to move fast. The sun will be up in a few hours, and then we’ll be visible.”
They set off along the ridge, the wind howling around them. Elena’s ankle throbbed, but she ignored the pain. She thought of her parents again and prayed they were safe. She thought of the life she had left behind—college, friends, dreams of travel. All of it seemed so distant now, like a story about someone else.
Suddenly, a shout echoed from below. “There! On the ridge!”
Elena looked down and saw torches moving in the darkness. The hunters had spotted them.
“Run!” Jim yelled.
They ran. The path was narrow and treacherous, loose stones skittering beneath their feet. Elena’s lungs burned, her vision blurred, but she kept going. She could hear the hunters behind them, their boots pounding on the rock, their voices raised in triumph. “We’ve got them! Don’t let them reach the pass!”
Jim led her around a bend, and there it was—a narrow gap between two towering cliffs, barely wide enough for a person to squeeze through. “The smugglers’ path!” he shouted. “Go!”
Elena squeezed through the gap, the rock scraping her shoulders. On the other side, the path continued, winding down into a dense forest. She could see the first light of dawn on the horizon, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold.
But Jim wasn’t behind her.
She turned back and saw him struggling with one of the hunters—the man with the eagle tattoo. They were grappling on the edge of the cliff, the hunter’s knife glinting in the dim light. “Go!” Jim shouted again. “Don’t look back!”
Elena hesitated, torn between saving herself and helping the old man who had risked everything for her. But then she remembered his words: Don’t look back, no matter what you hear. She turned and ran, tears streaming down her face.
She ran until she couldn’t run anymore, until the forest swallowed her and the sounds of pursuit faded into silence. She collapsed by a stream, her body shaking, her mind reeling. She had escaped. But at what cost?
She didn’t know how long she sat there, but eventually, she stood and looked around. The forest was quiet, peaceful. She had no idea where she was, but she knew she had to keep moving. She had to find help, find her parents, and tell someone about the nightmare of LakeFold.
As she walked, she thought of Jim. She didn’t know if he was alive or dead, but she knew she owed him her life. She thought of the wishes, too—the dark magic that had cursed the town for two centuries. And she wondered if there was a way to break it. Perhaps, one day, she would return. Not as a victim, but as a liberator.
But that was a story for another time. For now, she had to survive. She had to find her way home.
And so Elena walked on, the sun rising behind her, casting a long shadow on the path ahead. The nightmare of LakeFold was behind her, but its echoes would haunt her dreams for years to come. She had escaped the game, but the game was far from over.
To be continued…
