...of dread

Suddenly there was a shrill whooping, the troika ahead of us rushed forward, almost leaving the ground, and when it got to the bridge it stopped dead in its tracks, a bit to one side of the road. My heart sank into my boots.

'Well, Filofey, my friend,' I said, 'you and I are going to meet our Maker. Forgive me for cutting short your life.'

'It's not your fault, Mister! What will be, will be! Well, Shaggy, me dearie,' said Filofey, turning to the shaft-horse, 'forward march, brother! 'Elp us out for the last time! Nothing for it...Oh Lord, have mercy on us!'

And he ordered the horses to trot.

Now, as we approached the bridge and the motionless, threatening cart, everything, as though by design, went completely quiet. Not a single sound! Just like a pike or a hawk or any predator when its prey is close. Now we were almost level with the cart, and the giant in the sheepskin jacket suddenly jumped down and was coming straight toward us.

[The Knocking, Turgenev, I. S.]