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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/cavelice on 2026-07-29 10:57:17+00:00.

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I’d heard about this mammal that lived deep in Siberia.

Legends said it was a nocturnal creature that fed on the blood of women and children.

In medieval times, this beast would cull through villages, sucking the life out of every household.

Imagine that, going to bed one night, then waking up to discover that your entire village was gone.

I’d heard stories from my grandmother while growing up. Her parents had emigrated from Russia in the 1920s and set up a new life in the United States.

As a child, I used to watch her warm Pelmeni on the stove and smell the heavy aroma as she cooked.

“This is my special recipe,” she’d say. “Eat it up or the Volkolak will get you.”

The Volkolak? That’s what she called it. The creature was a popular myth among Slavic people.

She used these stories as a means to persuade me—to get me to brush my teeth, to make sure I did well in school, and to compel me to do my chores.

Clean your room or the Volkolak will get you!

But what was the Volkolak? According to my grandmother, it was neither wolf nor bear, but something much worse.

The older I got, the more disturbing her tales became.

“I’m going to tell you a story,” she informed me one night. “Everyone in our family knows it. It is part of our Russian heritage.”

“What is it?” I asked, pulling my blanket over my knees.

“It is a great evil,” she said, yanking her sleeve back to reveal a marking on her arm—a cross. “It has existed for thousands of years. We were told as children never to stay out past dark. If we did, the Volkolak would get us.”

I sat with my back against the pillows, my eyes wide as snow globes.

“Those who didn’t have God’s protection were vulnerable to its attacks. Mothers would protect their homes by sprinkling salt around the doors at night. Anyone who stepped outside that protected boundary would be hunted.”

My grandmother took a deep breath, paralyzed by fear.

“Eventually, the protection tactics didn’t work. The Volkolak got smart. Figured out ways to sneak past the salt rings. That’s why your great-grandmother came here. To escape. She was lucky.”

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It seemed like the perfect old wives’ tale to keep children obedient. Even though these stories terrified me, I kept them close to my heart.

I took them with me into high school and university, and eventually into my career as a wildlife photographer.

I should mention here that growing up, I’d always loved taking pictures of animals. There was something about capturing them in a raw state that fascinated me.

Eventually, a picture of a grizzly bear I’d taken in Alaska went viral on my social media. A national newspaper spotted my work and commissioned me to do a series for them.

My career took off from there.

Several years into my dream job, the senior editor of a magazine called me and said, “I want you to find something new. A creature that no one has seen.”

I thought about the first story that had ever intrigued me—the Volkolak. But was it real? If I could prove that it existed, it’d be the biggest story since Sasquatch.

“I’ve got an idea,” I said, “but it’ll take me all the way to Siberia. And it could end up being a ghost story.”

“Ghosts are fine,” the editor said. “If you don’t find your creature, take some pictures of wolves. Wolves always do well.”

---

Through a local news connection in Siberia, I organized the entire thing.

The plan was to stay with a hermit, Yuri, who lived deep in the forest about three hours from the nearest town.

He was isolated and eccentric, but he had claimed to have seen the beast.

The problem was that it was so cold at night, we’d have to keep a fire going just to keep ourselves from freezing.

Another issue was that Yuri barely spoke English. I’d have to communicate in Russian to have any chance of understanding him.

Thankfully, I had grown up with enough understanding from my grandmother to get by. She had been fluent, and had taught me enough to make out most conversations.

With her training, I should be fine.

I landed in the city of ******** and made my way to the small town where I’d meet up with Yuri. I rented an old Buick from a couple who owned a grocery store and wound my way through the maze of frozen country roads.

It was already so much colder than usual by the time I reached the village.

“Yuri is over there,” the barkeeper said and pointed to the back of the tavern.

I glanced at the fireplace and saw an ancient man reclining in a seat. He seemed so tired and drained of life. His skin was leathery from years in the sun. His beard was white and nearly down to his stomach. He appeared older than most books in the library.

“Evening, sir,” I said and extended my hand. “My name is Max. I’m the one you spoke with via the letter.”

Yuri just motioned to the seat across from him. I took it and warmed my ice-cold fingertips at the fire.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked.

“Yes, I’ve heard the legends my entire life. I want to see if they’re real.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” he said, with a hint of sarcasm. “You may find out more than you bargained for. Did your grandmother tell you these stories?”

“Yes.”

He smiled. “As they always do.”

Yuri pushed himself up and stretched, the stiffness in his bones creaking like branches in the wind. “Alright, City Friend, come with me. I’ll show you my cabin and prepare you to meet the creature. But pray it stays hidden. The Volkolak does not take kindly to strangers.”

I followed Yuri outside and expected to see some sort of vehicle waiting. Instead, all he had was a sleigh. It was the kind you’d grip by two poles and pull it along behind you. In its body was a stack of supplies: oil, blankets, food, and water.

“We must leave now,” he said, and motioned to the woods. “Otherwise it will be too cold. We need to be inside by the fire when night comes.”

I tossed my gear in the back and began our journey.

During our hike, I was surprised at how strong Yuri was. He never once took a break as we ventured through the snowy forest.

The sleigh must’ve weighed eighty pounds, I thought as we hiked along.

Yuri tugged it with ease, always keeping his eyes ahead as we went further in.

We continued slowly through the terrain, feeling the ice-cold temperatures bite into our skin.

I drank hot water from my canteen and thanked God that I’d brought more than enough.

---

We eventually made it to Yuri’s cottage. I was surprised to see how small it really was. It was no bigger than an average studio apartment.

In the center of the space was a roaring fire. Beside that were two cots: one for Yuri and one for me.

In the corner was a tiny steel oven. There were two burners on top with enough room for two pots.

Hanging from the rafters was an assortment of metal utensils and dishes.

“Make yourself at home,” Yuri said and looked out the window at his sleigh. It was the first time he’d taken a break.

I was impressed. This man couldn’t have been less than seventy years old, yet here he was out-hiking me and making me seem like an out-of-shape city dweller.

I’d stopped multiple times to catch my breath, then hurried to catch up with his unending pace. It made me realize how soft our city lives had made us.

I got unpacked and settled into my new home. Yuri had the fire roaring as soon as we’d entered.

We needed to keep one burning at all times to survive. In the Siberian wilderness, without insulation and electricity, temperatures dropped to astonishing levels.

“You always keep the fire going at night,” he reminded me. “Otherwise you freeze.”

I asked Yuri if he would take me to the spot where he’d last seen the Volkolak.

“Yes,” he said, wringing his hands with concern. “But please do not say its name. It is bad luck.”

“I apologize.” I set my backpack down on my bed next to the camera gear. “I’m just excited, is all.”

We got ready for a short night’s sleep. There wasn’t a bath or shower, so I wiped myself down with a wet towel and climbed into the empty cot next to Yuri’s.

It was so cold. I couldn’t believe how freezing it was. If you pulled off your blankets and stepped just inches away from the fire, you felt the air penetrate your skin, like your insides were freezing slowly.

I sank into my mattress and covered myself with my blankets and closed my eyes.

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That night I had a strange, horrific dream. In it, a slender, emaciated figure crept into our cottage while we slept.

The intruder crawled toward my bed, then pushed my head aside and exposed my neck. My arms twitched as it started to feed. Razor-sharp fangs dug into my arteries and drained my blood.

When I woke the next morning, my head throbbed. I was exhausted and starving, like I hadn’t eaten in days.

It was still dark out and Yuri was casting a log onto the fire and preparing tea on the stove.

“You slept in late. If we are going to reach the cave, we must leave soon.”

“I’ll be ready.” I sat up and gasped as my head pounded. I must be dehydrated.

I grabbed the canteen beside my head and took another swig.

---

The sun was out as Yuri and I made our way from the cottage. We were going on an hour’s hike deep into the woods.

It was the last place he’d claimed to have seen the creature.

“It sleeps during the day, so if you can find its resting place, you can easily document it.”

He led me through a long trek, across a frozen river surrounded by berries and other beautiful arctic plants. I was amazed at the serenity of the p...

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