When I was younger, I was told I was never allowed to leave my room after 9pm, one night I discovered why. (Part 2)

Part 1

The knocking was slow, distinct and it made my skin crawl.

‘’Mum? Dad?’’ I called out. No answer. The knocking continued. As much as my parents were cruel and uncaring towards me. I knew they wouldn’t do this. Someone else must be in the house. I couldn’t understand though - we weren’t allowed visitors, it was strictly forbidden. Perhaps that was only the case where I was concerned though, it wouldn’t be surprising. I couldn’t be sure.

I sat on the edge of the bath for a while, keeping as still and as quiet as I possibly could. The knocking eventually stopped and I heard the sound of feet shuffling, moving away from the bathroom door, their motion slow and deliberate.

I waited a further few minutes just to be sure before I proceeded to slowly unlock and open the door. I was hesitant to leave the safety of the bathroom but I couldn’t stay in there forever. I took a step forward.

Now let me tell you the bizarre thing I encountered when I found myself back on the landing again. As I mentioned before, the candles lined all the doors, there was a candle on either side. Candles all along the hallway and all they did, was illuminate the floor. Looking straight on, you couldn’t see anything as the darkness was so thick but the floors were visible. That’s how I was able to see the feet in the first place but not see the body they belonged to. I couldn’t explain it.

Something else happened that I couldn’t fathom. Our landing suddenly looked...different, strange in fact. I was beginning to feel fear, it was spreading through me like wild fire. The upstairs landing seemed infinite, it was a ridiculous notion of course but it really did seem like it went on forever. Candles lined it as far as I could see. I turned around and saw nothing, the stairs, the doors and the candles that lined them, were all gone.

‘’What is going on?’’ I whispered to no one, more to myself.

It was then, that I heard a...cackle. It echoed around the whole place, got louder and louder until I felt like I could hear it in my head. It stopped as quickly as it started and I uncovered my ears when I suddenly heard it again but this time, directly behind me.

I didn’t turn around, I just ran down the infinite hallway until I felt like I was far enough away to warrant stopping. There was nowhere to hide here.

I had no choice but to continue walking, so I did just that. I walked and walked until I came across an open book. It was so strange. An open book in the middle of an empty hallway? I know, I found it just as bizarre. What was even more, bizarre, it’s that it was one of my fairy tale books. One of my favourites in fact. It was a book of Slavic fairytales, which outlined many fantastic tales, but this one especially, had a particular story about the Baba Yaga.

A little background - as I mentioned, my parents were very cruel to me. I never felt loved, never felt anything really. So growing up, I delved into books. I would rather escape into a fantastical reality than be in my isolated one so I read. A lot.

I had a particular fondness for fairy tales, for obvious reasons so I got my hands on as many as I could. My parents encouraged this so I had no issues getting hold of whatever books I wanted. One Christmas, when my parents ceased their ‘special time’, and I was no longer confined to my bedroom, albeit for a short while, they got me a present. It was something I didn’t expect, they have never gotten me a gift in my life, not on Christmas and especially not for my birthday so it was certainly out of character for them.

The book was called ‘Russian Fairy Tales’ and it wasn’t a book that I’d ever heard of before so as much as I was reserved about this gift, I took it gladly. And plus, I didn’t want to seem ungrateful, who knows what they would have done if I was.

It was a fascinating read, it really was. Although, I won’t say that it wasn’t somewhat peculiar, especially the Baba Yaga story.

So there was this book, my book, on the floor, in the middle of the landing. Surrounded by candles. It was open on the Baba Yaga story.

The Baba Yaga was a folklore story as old as time itself, retold and remoulded many times. As I discovered after reading the book. The essence of the story is that the Baba Yaga is an old woman, a witch they say and she is known to be mistakenly summoned by lost travellers. She appears to them, first in their dreams and then only at night. Another important aspect of the story is that she can be summoned to grant wishes. But at a price.

The most common facet of the story is that she likes to harvest the souls of children. She cooks the children that she lures to her hut, deep in the woods and she would first, cook them in her large cooking pot, before devouring their heart, whilst it was still beating. Apparently this was how she would harvest their souls. She was known to keep them alive for a while first, harvesting bits of their flesh. She needs children’s souls to harness her power, which has an air of mystery around it and hasn’t much been explained in any of the books that I read.

Her appearance, as described in my book is probably the most terrifying. The Baba Yaga is very old, very skinny and horrendously ugly. She is often described to be grotesque, her body malformed. She has a long distorted nose, mostly covered in warts and long, iron teeth. Her nails are long and sharp. She is described to have the most skin crawling cackle. As I said, a fascinating story.

I approached the book, slowly. Confused as to why it was there, when I heard a very distant but distinct scraping. It sounded like something, or someone was scraping the walls behind me, as they walked.

I backed away, but I quickly picked up the book and took it with me. I had no choice but to go forward, the scraping was getting closer and closer to me and I had no desire to meet whoever or whatever was doing it.

I walked and I walked fast. Where were my parents? I hadn’t seen any doors or any windows ever since I left the confines of the bathroom. I was too scared to call out, in case whatever it was that was following me, heard.

I continued on for a while until I came across a painting. I could still hear the distant scraping, getting closer. It was the same as the book, surrounded by candles and it was a painting that I’d never seen in our house. It depicted a house that stood in the middle of the woods, an old disused wooden hut that was supported by long, blood covered chicken legs. The lights from the candles were faint so I had to get a little closer to see the detail. In the doorway of the house, stood a little old woman and she was smiling, her mouth absolutely covered in blood. I cannot explain the fear that was cursing through my body, I’d never felt anything like it. I needed to get away from this painting.

I continued walking, heavily disturbed and what I saw then stopped me dead in my tracks. A little further away from me, lay a human heart. Surrounded by candles...and it was still beating.

Part 3