Soldiers have come. Whether ours or there's [sic] – don't know. Don't really matter anymore. I heard them riding down the road. Hid. Nailed the door shut. Maybe they won't get in.
They spent the whole night killing and raping. I saw it all through the cracks in the wall. Bit my finger to the bone trying to keep from screaming. Don't know if anyone else managed to hide. Maybe not. I saw them drag Antosh out. He had hid in the fields, next to the haystack where he'd stashed his things. They flailed him.
They've heard me. Know I'm in here. I didn't open up when they pounded. I thought they'd burn me out, just like they did those who hid in the granary. Then they got on their horses, rode off. Quiet, now. All I can hear's the flies circling the bodies.
I tried to knock open the door. Open the window. Dig myself out. Make a hole in the wall or roof. Nothing doing.
I heard people who came to rob corpses. Don't know of what, all's left is soiled shirts and foot wrappings. I called for help. They didn't answer. Only ones who'll come now are the ghouls.
