Moscow in winter is a city of contrasts. The grandeur of its Soviet architecture stands tall against the biting cold, while the streets below tell stories of desperation, fear, and something far darker. It’s a place where the cold doesn’t just chill your bones—it seeps into your soul. And sometimes, it brings with it things that defy explanation.
This is a story of one such night, a night when the cold wasn’t the only thing lurking in the shadows.
The First Encounter
My first visit to Moscow was in winter. The city was a blur of grey skies, icy streets, and a sense of isolation that clung to everything. The cold was relentless, but it wasn’t the cold that left the deepest impression. It was the people—their faces pale and pinched, their eyes wary. They moved through the streets like ghosts, as if they were afraid of something unseen.
I stayed at the Intourist Hotel, a place known for its grim atmosphere and even grimmer clientele. The doormen, dressed in grey uniforms, watched everyone with suspicion. The streets outside were no better. People hurried past, their breath visible in the freezing air, their faces hidden behind fur collars and scarves.
One evening, as I waited for my car, I saw something that stayed with me. A man lay face-down in the snow, his legs splayed awkwardly. Cars drove around him as if he were just another obstacle. My driver didn’t stop, and neither did anyone else. It was as if the city had accepted this as normal.
The Second Visit
On my third visit, I stayed at the Aerostar Hotel, a newer building on the outskirts of the city. The area was quieter, but the sense of unease remained. One night, after a dinner with clients, I decided to walk back to the hotel. The temperature had dropped sharply, and the streets were eerily quiet.
As I approached the hotel, I noticed a man lying in the snow. He was middle-aged, dressed in a long coat, and clutching a briefcase. His glasses were frosted over, and his movements were slow and unnatural. I wanted to help, but the doorman stopped me.
“Nyet,” he said firmly. “Not for you.”
I didn’t understand his reluctance, but I obeyed. The next morning, there was no trace of the man. The snow had covered everything, as if he had never been there.
The Third Night
A few days later, I found myself walking alone again. This time, I had been drinking, and the cold seemed less biting. I decided to take a shortcut through a tree-lined avenue, enjoying the stark beauty of the snow-covered trees.
Then I tripped.
I fell heavily, the wind knocked out of me. At first, I thought it was just the alcohol and the cold making it hard to move. But then I felt something else—a warmth creeping over me. It was gentle at first, almost comforting. But soon, it became something more.
Tendrils of warmth wrapped around my body, probing and stroking. I tried to fight it, but my body welcomed the sensation. It was as if the cold had given form to something dark and otherworldly, something that fed on despair and fear.
Just as I was losing myself to it, an old man appeared. He dragged me away from the warmth, his face grim. I looked back and saw the snow shifting, as if something beneath it was searching for me.
The Truth About Moscow
I left Moscow the next day, but the experience stayed with me. The city is more than just a place—it’s a living, breathing entity. The cold, the vodka, the desperation—they all feed into something darker.
They say it’s the cold that kills you in Moscow. But I know better. It’s what the cold brings with it—the things that lurk in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike.
If you ever find yourself walking the streets of Moscow in winter, be careful. The cold isn’t the only thing you need to fear.
Final Thoughts
Moscow is a city of contrasts, where beauty and darkness exist side by side. Its winters are harsh, but they also reveal the city’s hidden truths. Whether it’s the desperation of its people or the supernatural forces that seem to thrive in the cold, there’s always something lurking beneath the surface.
So, the next time you find yourself in Moscow on a cold winter’s night, remember: it’s not just the cold you need to worry about. It’s what comes with it.