Finding the Truth Inside the Lie

The hunched figure shuffled to the fire, stoked the flames, and settled in the rocking chair reflected in the firelight. She wore a thick shawl, her face obscured in shadows.

“I tell you, boy. Then you leave,” she said, shifting to look the wide-eyed boy in the face. “You leave, and no come back.” A bony finger rose off her lap to point at him.

Simon nodded and sat on the rug next to the fireplace, huddling against the chill. His school uniform was ripped in spots, casualty of the thorny bushes Simon had crawled through to reach Mother Magda's cottage. He was tired. He'd been hiding the past few days, snatching quick naps during daylight, hounded by the creature at night. The mournful screams left him terrified, and he needed an answer before it reached him, tore into him with its jagged claws, sank into his pliant flesh with its silvery teeth. Simon decided Mother Magda might know what to do. She was very old, the oldest woman in town. He scanned the small cabin, doing his best to ignore the frantic scratching and yowls outside. Mother Magda snorted and tucked her shawl close in. She stared at the fire, her gaze pensive.

“I saw the drekavac come when I was girl. In old village, in old country. Night time, full moon. Cold, like tonight.” She rubbed her hands together, her swollen knuckles silhouetted in the firelight. “It wanted Olya, for to return with it to grave. My sister, Olya, betrothed to man. She was,” Magda gestured with both hands at her abdomen. “To birth, to born a child with this man. Man died in drowning. Olya mourn, and go on, have born baby.” Magda paused, her chair creaking as she rocked. She worked her gums for a moment, and then continued. “Olya not love this man. She love other man, but other man not take her, not with dead man's born baby. So, Olya hate born baby.”

Mother Magda rocked for a minute, staring with empty eyes. Her breath hitched and she wiped at her face with rough hands. “Olya, she let born baby die.”

The sounds outside grew louder, the thumping against the outer walls shaking dust from the rough ceiling beams. Simon watched the door as Magda intoned, his thighs tensed in their crouch. He decided the thick pane window would be his best route, if need be. It was a small window, but he thought he could squeeze through. He hoped the creature outside didn't think of it first, and that Magda would hurry up and get to the important--

“Boy, you listen? Is important. All is important,” she warned, her one clear eye glaring. Wisps of black hair framed her face, sneaking out from under her babushka. “Olya dead baby come back for her, to make her be mother, even in grave.”

The wind picked up, whistling through the flue and into the room. The pitch matched the keening outside as the drekavac screeched, its claws scoring the thick logs forming the cabin walls. Tree branches whipped back and forth, batting against the roof.

“Sssssiiimonnn . . . “

Simon gasped, his heart frozen in his chest. He grasped Magda's armrest.

“What does it want, Mother Magda?” His blood stilled in his veins as the abomination outside spoke again.