A forest in the northern hemisphere
Sometime in fall
7:23 PM
"Hahh… Hahh…" You heaved heavy breaths from your lungs as you trudged through the woods. Raindrops cascaded across your body, creeping in between your jacket's stitches as a wet squelch accentuated every step you took.
Grimacing as the wind picked up and spiked rain into your eyes, you looked back on how exactly you got into this situation.
You hadn't expected it to rain when you set off on your hike. The weather report forecasted clear skies for the entire day, so you didn't bother to pack any extra layers. However, it seems that lady luck wasn't on your side. A storm appeared out of nowhere and soaked the forest with a torrential downpour.
You're now cold and sopping wet all because you've forgotten the most important rule of the outdoors: the weather doesn't play by any schedule other than mother nature's.
You blinked the water out of your eyes and continued on. The sun is beginning to set and if you don't reach a rest stop any time soon, you have to make due with setting a tent on the ground.
While it won't be comfortable, you will be out of the rain. Your clothes would have a place to dry out and you'll regain enough energy to finish your hike.
However, your streak of bad luck seemed to end upon clearing the hill you were scaling. You've spotted a log cabin in the distance, your first sight of civilization in hours. Bright light streamed out of its windows, meaning that the structure was currently occupied.
It's a one-story hut that was built on tree stumps – at this distance, they kind of look like giant chicken legs – and a fence made of interlocking wooden sticks surrounded the wooden cottage.
'Why is there a random cabin in the middle of the woods?' You find yourself asking.
The maps never disclosed anything about a wooden cottage near the area you've been hiking through. Rest stops are always clearly labeled in case anyone moving through the region needed shelter. However, you quickly pushed aside those thoughts. You're too cold and exhausted to be looking a gift horse in the mouth.
You've been trekking across this mountain trail for what felt like days, and fatigue has soaked deep into your bones. The sun is almost fully below the horizon and setting up a tent in the dark sounds like a recipe for disaster.
You stepped toward the rustic cottage and pushed open the fence gate. Its hinges let out a sharp creak like they've not been maintained in years. Judging from the thick layer of rust coating the metal, that's probably the case.
You softly closed the gate behind you and ascended the cabin's steps. Once you're at the front door, you knock on it. The sound of slow footsteps quickly followed as the home's inhabitant came to greet you.
"Здравствуйте, путешественник." A woman soon revealed herself and said something in Russian. "Чем я могу вам помочь?"
She was dressed in a curry-yellow blouse and a pair of long brown pants. Her head is adorned with a short red kerchief and her ash-colored hair spilled out from the edges of the cloth.
She's dressed like she's from the early twentieth century, but you suppose that living in the middle of the woods severely hampered her ability to keep up with current fashion trends.
The woman had a pair of steel-like gray eyes and a sizable – but not unsightly – nose. Despite her baggy choice of wear, you can also see that she is quite thin.
You informed her that you don't speak Russian, and she blinked in response.
"Oh, my apologies." She apologized in accented English. "How may I help you, dear traveler?"
You then told her that you're tired and asked if you can stay for the night.
"Hmm." The Russian brought her hand to her chin and looked you up and down. "Well, I do have a spare room you can use. But, I also want something in return."
That last part made you a bit anxious. Since staying outside is not an appealing option, you'll have to do whatever she asks.
"Haha, Oh, it's nothing major." The woman covered her mouth and laughed, like your troubled expression was hilarious. "I just need some help making dinner and cleaning."
"That's a fair trade, isn't it?" She let her hand fall and gave you a smile. "You do some work for me, and I'll let you stay the night."
You gave her a nod and agreed to her terms. It's not like you have much of a choice anyways, there's still quite a bit of distance from here to the nearest rest point.
"Come in." The gray-haired Russian retreated back into her home. "And please, take your shoes off. I have spare slippers."
You stepped into the cabin and did as you're told. You pulled off your mud-covered boots and peeled off your wet socks before slipping into one of the spare slippers on the shoe rack.
You found that detail a bit strange. Why would someone have extra house shoes – especially ones of a different size – when they're living in the middle of the woods? You quickly squashed that line of thought. Remember, no looking gift horses in the mouth.
"You can set your bag down by the couch." The woman informed you as she moved into the kitchen. "I'll call when I need you."
You nodded and having nothing better to do, you looked around.
The walls were a dark shrek green and the floor was made of sun-bleached wooden boards. A vintage overhead bulb hung from the ceiling bathing the living room in an orange tint.
Apart from the small leather sofa, a short coffee table sat in the center of the living room and an old box tv sat on a set of wooden drawers a couple of feet away from it. Two tall wooden cabinets flanked the television. One cabinet is filled with various spirits and vodkas while the other is filled with objects wrapped in brown paper.
Miscellaneous animal and plant materials like feathers, bird skulls and pinecones adorned the corners of the area. Though the decorations seem quirky, you suppose it's rude to comment on someone's choices of interior design.
The inside of the cottage is, for a lack of a better word, witchy. Yet, it also had a cozy feeling to it. It's strange and old in some places, sure, but it had a warm sensation you can't put your finger on.
"Dear traveler?" The Russian called out to you after you carefully set your backpack beside the armchair. "Can you grab some trout for me? It should be on the third shelf from the bottom."
You complied with her request and opened the glass door of the rightmost cabinet. The heavy scent of salt wafted into your nose before you took out two packages and gently closed the hutch.
"Put them here please." The woman – now wearing a pine-green apron – gestured at the chopping board beside her once you walked into the kitchen. "And, can you please fetch me the pickle jar as well? It is just in the refrigerator."
You nodded and set the preserved trout onto the chopping board before making your way to the fridge. However, what you saw upon opening the doors made you freeze.
Inside was a jar of eyeballs and what looked like several pairs of small owl wings.
"What's wrong dear traveler?" You whirled around to see the gray-eyed Russian standing right behind you. "Is something the matter?"
Her head was tilted inquisitively as she held a kitchen knife in her right hand. You opened your mouth to say something, but your words failed you.
Upon getting no response, the woman peeked over your shoulder and looked into the fridge.
"Oh, I see." She grinned, revealing two rows of orange shark-like teeth. "So, you saw."
Cold sweat beaded on your forehead as an overwhelming sense of dread washed over you. You should've known that the situation was too good to be true: there must be a reason why her cabin remains unmarked on all the maps of this trail.
A witch, she must be one. While you don't necessarily believe in the supernatural, you had a passing interest in those stories. The animal skulls and feathers should have been immediate red flags.
What's more, she is probably a powerful one. The pressure her frame exudes was almost enough to make you fall onto your knees.
"Baba Yaga…" You found yourself whispering.
Your eyes widened. It all lines up. The hut in the middle of the woods, the vintage getup, and the sharp teeth with a beaver-like orange tint: those are all traits synonymous with the Russian legend.
"Yes, that's my name." The Baba Yaga confirmed your worst fears. "So, what will you do now, dear traveler?"
Well, it's not like you can do much at all. The cannibal witch has completely cornered you and you're not equipped to go against whatever mystical powers she has.
"Pfft…" The sorceress suddenly snorted after a couple of moments. "Haha… Sorry, I just find reactions like that too amusing. Did you really think that I would eat you?"
Just like that, all your previous fear evaporated in an instant. Instead, confusion, then annoyance quickly filled its place.
Her bemused reaction at your fear just ticked you off. How dare she get amusement from your fear! You thought you were really going to die right then and there!
However, you stayed your tongue. Saying something rash to a millennia old legend is a sure-fire way to meet your maker.
So, you decide to confirm whether she really is a cannibal or not.
"Well, my house doesn't have chicken legs nor is it spinning like a top, is it?" Baba Yaga tilted her head at your question. "No, I'm not a cannibal. That was something spread around by the orthodox church."
"Come on dear traveler," Baba Yaga turned around and walked toward a bubbling cast iron pot, which you just noticed had a wooden stirrer magically mixing its contents. "Hand me the jar and we'll have supper."
You turned to the refrigerator once more and grabbed the jar of brined cucumbers, trying your best to ignore the various other nicknacks present in the cold storage.
She waved her hand and twisted the cap off the class container. Several pickles floated out of the jar and plopped onto the chopping board. The Russian then skillfully sliced the preserved cucumbers lengthwise and carefully dropped the pieces into the bubbling pot.
After letting the cauldron stir itself for a little bit longer, the sorceress extinguished the fire and ladled the soup into two bowls.
"Come on," Baba Yaga sat down at the table and conjured two spoons. "Eat up dear traveler."
You nodded and sat down at the table with her. You brought a spoonful of the soup to your lips and your eyes widened at the taste.
It felt… homey. Warm. Like a meal your grandmother would make when you're a child. It's been a while since you had a proper home-made meal, hasn't it? You've been so busy that you've only eaten take out and ready-to-make foods, completely forgoing home cooking in favor of time.
"Slow down dear traveler." The woman suddenly warned. "You'll choke if you eat that fast."
Ah. The soup was so good you didn't notice that you've been shoveling soup down your gullet like you've been starving for days. Now that she has pointed it out, you feel kind of embarrassed.
"It's alright." Baba Yaga smiled. "I'm flattered that you think my cooking is that good. It's been a while since I had guests."
There was a hint of melancholy in that last sentence. You gave her an affirming smile and finished your soup, setting the ceramic bowl down once it's empty.
By then, the witch had already left the table, leaving you to clean up. It was a bit rude, but you had agreed to help her with cooking and cleaning in exchange for being able to stay the night.
You gathered the dirtied dishes and utensils and deposited them into the sink. You grabbed a nearby dishcloth to begin scrubbing the bowls and spoons. There wasn't any soap nearby, so some elbow grease had to do.
When you're sure not even a speck of food remained on the tableware, you rinsed them and set them on a rack to dry. Afterwards, you walked out of the kitchen and back into the living room.
"Oh?" Baba Yaga immediately noticed you. "Have you completed what I've asked of you, dear traveler?"
She's leisurely sitting on the couch with a hardcover book on her lap. The volume's cover is a deep violet with the title, "Shadow of an Idol", sewn in two colors. "Shadow" was the only word in black while the rest of the heading remained white.
You nodded at her question and she moved over, leaving enough space on the sofa for two people to sit.
"Sit with me dear traveler." The gray-haired woman requested. "I rarely have reading partners and I believe this book will be to your liking."
You complied and plopped down beside her. You slightly adjusted your seating position before inquiring about the book.
"Oh, it's about a girl who's received one of my blessings." The sorceress answered. "Her name is Yoru, and she was a sweet girl who's been dealt a bad hand in life."
"She gave everything she could for the people she loved," Baba Yaga continued with fondness in her voice. "And they, in turn, helped her persevere through everything that was thrown at her."
"With that out of the way," The witch gently opened the book. "Let's begin."