Dusk settled over the sky, staining the blue a murky violet. The air grew cool, seeping through my thin jacket. Silence hung heavy and unnatural around me. Then I heard a rustling. Not the wind. Something was moving purposefully through the dense undergrowth beside the road. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat mirroring the crunching of my footsteps. Don't look. Don't panic. It's just an animal. Probably. But the rustling continued. Steady. Relentless. Like hunters stalking their prey. The gruff voice of the hotel manager echoed in my head: “Young girls and women sometimes get lost out there. Poof. Gone, vanished without a trace.” I had dismissed it as superstitious nonsense for tourists. Stories about flesh-eating werewolves, maybe even bloodsucking vampires. Beads of sweat broke out on my back despite the cold.
Suddenly, two massive figures detached themselves from the darkness beneath the ancient pines. Heavy silhouettes stood out against the darkening forest. For a moment, they stood unnaturally still, then their heads turned towards me. Simultaneously. Not a word. Just a predatory silence. Then their strides lengthened, their boots thudding dully on the hard ground. They weren't running yet, but they were closing the distance with terrifying determination. My breath caught in my throat, my legs threatened to give way. The warning in the guidebook screamed in my head: *Use public transport.* Idiot. I'm a complete idiot. The fear inside me intensified. My quick walk turned into a fast run.
I saw the axes. Not the crude axes of lumberjacks, but long, darkly gleaming blades with short, thick handles – like butcher's cleavers. They hung heavily in the men's hands, swaying slightly with each step. The light of the setting sun glinted coldly on the sharpened edges. The message was clear. *Run faster!* The thought shot through me like an electric shock. But my muscles were frozen solid. Just a second in that horror. Then the adrenaline surge hit. I spun around, my backpack slamming painfully against my back. I ran. No more thinking, just running. The footsteps behind me grew faster, heavier, closer. I didn't have time to get to the pepper spray; I only had a knife, but there were two of them, with heavy axes. No chance for me.


I had just turned eighteen! For a few months now. The boundaries of my childhood had fallen, the chains of parental caution shattered. Finally free! Free to travel, to discover, to solve the great mystery that Grandma had left me. This moment, here on the dusty road of Romania, was the price of that freedom. Had I known it? Deep down? That the freedom to finally decide for myself also meant the freedom to die in seconds? The axes whizzed through the air. A dull hiss. Not now! Not after all these years of waiting, of yearning, of fighting against my mother's anxious pleas! Only maybe twenty more years? A lifetime with this image in my head – of my own body, roasted on a serving platter? Or now? Here? On this road? The decision had been made long ago. When I saw the picture, when I read the letter, when I bought the plane ticket. I had chosen. The mystery or my life. And the mystery had won.
My thoughts seemed to slow down time. I thought back to October 31st two years ago, in the evening at my house. My parents were away, and I had invited Stefanie and Nicole over for Halloween. We wanted to play games and watch horror movies – just have fun. But things turned out differently: A creaking sound in the attic of our old house led us to investigate. The three of us girls interrupted the horror movie and went up to the attic.