The Lurking Shadows of the Abandoned Asylum

The cold wind howled through the broken windows of the old asylum, its once-grand facade now a testament to decay. The moon hung low in the sky, casting an eerie glow over the overgrown grounds. A group of friends, lured by tales of the supernatural and the forbidden, had gathered at the edge of the dilapidated building, their excitement mingling with trepidation.

"We should go in," whispered Alex, the group's most adventurous member. "The stories say it's haunted. What are we waiting for?"

Sam, the cautious one, nodded slowly. "We should stick together. I heard the stories about the frozen zombies. They're real."

As they pushed open the creaking gates, the air grew colder, the chill seeping into their bones. The first floor was a labyrinth of dust-covered corridors, each room a potential trap. They moved cautiously, their flashlights casting flickering shadows on the walls.

"Look at this," said Emily, pointing to a dusty photograph on the wall. "It's a portrait of the asylum's founder. He looks... haunted."

The group exchanged nervous glances. The photograph seemed to follow them, its eyes piercing through the darkness.

"Let's move on," Sam urged, his voice trembling slightly.

They ventured deeper into the asylum, the air growing colder with each step. The walls whispered secrets of the past, and the echoes of their footsteps seemed to echo through the empty halls.

Suddenly, the ground beneath them gave way, and they tumbled into a dark, musty basement. The flashlight beam revealed rows of iron beds, each one empty, save for a single, frozen figure at the end of the room.

"Whoa," Alex whispered, his voice barely audible. "That's one of the zombies."

The figure moved, its eyes glowing faintly. It was a woman, her skin pale and lifeless, her hair frozen in a matted mess. She stood, her eyes locked on the group.

"Run!" Sam shouted, but it was too late. The zombies were upon them, their movements slow but relentless.

The friends scattered, their flashlights flickering as they ran. They dodged and weaved through the corridors, their hearts pounding in their chests. The zombies followed, their cold breaths whispering death.

In the chaos, Emily found herself cornered in a small room. The door was locked, and the zombies were closing in. She turned, her eyes wide with fear, and saw a shadowy figure standing in the doorway.

"Help me," she pleaded, her voice trembling.

The figure stepped forward, and Emily's heart leaped with hope. But as the figure's face emerged from the darkness, her heart sank. It was the woman from the photograph, her eyes now filled with malice.

"No," Emily whispered, but it was too late. The woman lunged at her, her fingers icy and deadly.

The zombies reached the room, and the struggle began. Emily fought with all her might, but the woman was too strong. She was about to succumb to the zombie's grasp when a sudden noise shattered the silence.

"Stop!" a voice echoed through the room. "We have you!"

The zombies turned, their attention drawn to the new threat. In the confusion, Emily managed to break free and ran towards the voice. She burst into a room where two men stood, their weapons drawn.

"We're the police," one of them said. "We've been looking for you."

The zombies surged towards them, but the police fired their weapons, sending the undead back. They helped Emily to her feet and led her out of the asylum.

As they emerged into the cold night air, the group exchanged relieved glances. They had survived, but the encounter had left a lasting scar.

"We should never have come here," Sam said, his voice shaking.

"No," Alex replied. "But we did, and we lived to tell the tale."

The police escorted them to safety, and the group never spoke of the abandoned asylum again. But the chilling memories of the frozen zombies of St. Petersburg haunted them for years to come, a reminder of the darkness that lies just beyond the veil of the unknown.