It was a cold dark night when a young woman named Zvetta knocked on her neighbor's door.

When they opened, they were shocked to see the state of her.

She was covered in blood and asked them to call an ambulance before collapsing in the doorway.

Outside, her friend lay dead in a blood-soaked phone booth.

The trail of blood stretched from the booth along the

sidewalk, up the stairs, and to where Zvetta crumpled to the ground. This was terrifying. As in

Soviet gorky, such brutal violence was rare. People typically worked hard and kept to themselves.

Life was routine, sterile, and predictable.

However, this vicious attack was not an isolated incident.

In the fall of 1980, there had been a spree of murders in the city,

and the bodies that were found bore the marks of unspeakable violence.

The killer seemed to strike at random, leaving no discernible pattern for authorities to follow.

His victims were people from all walks to life and had no obvious connection.

Nowhere in Gorky felt safe, and no one was spared from the growing terror.

The haunting question echoed through every street.

Who would be the next to die at the unforgiving hand of the gorky maniac?

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