Wicked Games

At night, when men sleep, the forest comes alive. But night was ending, and the sun shone through the tall trees, weaving past the mosaic of twigs, branches, and leaves. The gentle rays touched Ivan’s damp skin, bringing a quiet renewal. He sighed, welcoming the warm embrace, and followed his celestial guide east, homeward.

He paused by a stream his people called Malen’kiy to wash himself in its soft current. Shimmering with a cool, transparent glow, the water seemed to hold an almost magical quality, soothing his skin and spirit alike.

Light was glowing over the treeline when he sighted his village. Chimney smoke drifted up from Bakers’ Row, and the scent of fresh bread was in the air. His stomach sang to him, a tune that spoke of a night without food. He was glad of it; he enjoyed the pangs and looked forward to the warm porridge his wife would have ready for him.

The village was quaint and quiet. No gates stood to bar the entrance, no high walls pushed the outside world away, and no guards were posted to ward off outsiders. The villagers were poor farmers with nothing to hide and no valuables to attract brigands. They were wholesome people who lived as one with nature—a kind folk, nestled among the trees. As dawn broke, he entered his home.

“PAPA!” exclaimed little Alexei, jumping into his father’s strong arms.

“Good morning, my boy,” responded Ivan. He smiled, hoisting his son to kiss his forehead. “How did you sleep?”

“He was up all night, worrying over you,” Anastasia said over her shoulder. She stirred the pot of porridge at the hearth; the scent of oats and honey filled the room.

“Why do you have to leave, Papa?” asked Alexei, bashfully twisting side to side, avoiding his father’s glance.

“Papa's work is very important, my love.” He was always warm and gentle with his son, a rarity among the hard men and cruel fathers that could be found in his community. “While the village sleeps, I must keep watch to ensure that you are all safe in your beds,” he said warmly while pinching Alexei’s nose.

The radiant boy wriggled his nose and exclaimed, “When I grow up, I want to guard the village too!”

Ivan sighed deeply, drawn into the innocent look in his son’s eyes. “Let us pray to the Father above that you need never do so.”

Anastasia looked suspiciously at them and began to set the table. Ivan ate greedily, like a starving dog.

“So hungry today, my love,” she said with a curious soft grin.

“It’s only because your porridge is so good, my dear,” rebuked the husband with a sly look.

She giggled and served him another plate. The house was warm and joyous, more so than most. When they were done eating, Ivan slept outside on his rocking chair, a gift from his brother-in-law, Sergei. Sergei was a skilled carpenter and a kind man, always ready to lend a hand and watch over Ivan’s family during his patrols. The sun rose, warming the earth as the village workers set to their daily tasks, with Ivan dozing off in his chair.

He awoke mid-afternoon to find his boy splitting wood. He was still learning to wield the axe, often swinging it too wide or missing the target, but with each attempt, his strength grew and his resolve hardened. Ivan got up to help him with his chores and to prepare for the night ahead. He could see the treeline from his home; it was barely visible, but he could make out the tops of the tall conifers—they called to him. While stacking the wood outside their house, they spotted a young man walking up the road.

“Papa, who is that walking towards us?” inquired Alex, squinting.

Ivan, known for his hunter’s eyes that made him the village’s sole patrolman, said, “It’s your cousin, Dima… But what is he doing here?”

“Dimitri!” cried Alex as he ran down the dirt path to meet his cousin.

“What can I do for a carpenter’s son?” chuckled Ivan as the young men reached where he stood among his wood quarry.

“Hello, dear Uncle,” said Dimitri, who was courteous for a man his age. “My father invites you to his house tonight for supper; he’s got elk that we shot a few weeks ago, which has been cured and is ready to eat.”

“Does your father not know, boy, that I patrol the woods at night?” Ivan snorted sarcastically at his nephew. “Or have the termites eaten more than just his wooden chairs?”

The young man kept a stoic composure, politely answering his uncle, “He is aware of your responsibilities, dear Uncle, but he offers my services as a gift to you. I will watch the treeline on the forest's western edge tonight, and you may eat and drink with him at his home.”

Ivan was taken aback and did not know how to respond. “D-d-d-does he think it is a joke, what I do?”

“No, Uncle. He is ver—”

“No, you no. He thinks that it is a joke! I wander around the trees, sleeping in the twilight of the stars, pretending to guard the village—an easy job. Yes, a job so easy a stupid boy like you can do it!”

“I meant no disrespect, Uncle; I wish only to provide you with a day of respite so that you may entertain yourself,” replied Dimitri, his face still.

“Go, go back to your father and tell him that I won’t leave my post to the likes of a boy, no matter how tall he grows!”

Dimitri nodded and made his way slowly down the path without another word while Ivan stood there dumbfounded, foaming at the mouth. Alexei had never seen his father so worked up, and despite his youth, he knew better than to comment. They finished their work in silence.

Having overheard the disagreement, Anastasia became concerned about her husband’s reaction. She had seldom heard him speak in that tone, let alone to a family member. “Dima…Dimitri,” she whispered in a hushed voice from outside the kitchen window. “Come here.” She waved, beckoning her nephew closer. The tall, lanky adolescent obeyed, slowly moving his towering body towards her.

“Don’t you find it odd that your uncle would refuse such a generous offer?” she asked in a hushed tone. Dimitri shrugged; he seemed utterly indifferent. “He must be hiding something, and I would find out what. Follow him for me, Dima, please. When the sun begins to set, he will make his way westward to the forest. You can hide near the stream and follow him from there.”

He looked at her, stone-faced, without saying a word. “Please?” she repeated, more a question than a command. “Yes, auntie,” said Dimitri sullenly. “I will follow Uncle to his post tonight and report to you before the sun rises tomorrow.”

She grabbed his face and kissed his forehead. “You are a loyal nephew, Dimitri. But please, do not tell your father about this. I do not want him to think ill of my husband. You understand, don’t you?” He nodded in agreement and left her without another word—he would be reluctant to obey her request, but his father had instilled a sense of duty in him that culminated in the importance of family.

When Ivan and Alexei had completed their tasks, they washed before supper. They ate a scant meal of bread and eggs. Anastasia’s eyes burned through Ivan as he ate. “But, my love, I don’t understand?” she began, smirking. “Would it be so bad to let Dima replace you for one night? He is a competent boy. You said it yourself: things have been quiet of late; how much trouble could he get himself into?” Her curious tone clashed against her menacing eyes.

“Anastasia, don’t play games,” rebuked Ivan in a cold, emotionless manner. “Dmitri, your nephew, follow me into the woods… Please don’t joke.”

“What?” she asked sarcastically. “He is so strong and tall, I’m sure he would be of great help to you. Why don’t—"

“ENOUGH!” barked Ivan, causing his wife and child to jump back in their seats. “Enough of this game, woman. Let it be—I do not want to see Dimitri near that forest.”

His eyes fixated on hers, the way a predator eyes his foe, and his lips snarled. Her face was still and serious, but a slight grin at the corner of her mouth continued to provoke him. Alexei could not look at his father; fear crawled over his skin, covering his every sensation. Ivan left the home without another word—a long tradition of warm goodbyes broken by their fiery exchange.

He walked briskly through the farmland and out into the fields beyond. He finally came to the edges of the water that separated his world from theirs. He crossed gingerly over a fallen tree and made his way closer to the tall forest. Before entering the domain of the wood giants, he stopped suddenly near a hollow oak tree and looked around. There was a queer smell in the air, but he had made little of it, his mind still focused on his wife’s insolence.

Dimitri was hidden behind a fallen log, not fifty feet from his uncle. He watched as the patrolman loosened his bow and dagger and tucked them in the tree. How can he patrol the woods without his arms, Dimitri wondered, perplexed. He could not understand why his uncle was disarming himself. What is he up to?

Dimitri’s curiosity grew, and the typically melancholy young man had his nerves on edge. A growing unease confirmed his aunt's suspicions—something was wrong with his uncle's behavior, though he couldn't yet name what. He watched in bewilderment as his uncle undressed, carefully placing his clothes in a rough-spun wool bag he had hidden within his wooden vault. He drank deeply from his wineskin and laid it alongside his belongings. He was surely up to something.

Ivan strode along, ambling through the forest without much care for the hard ground beneath his bare feet. He grinned and caressed the shrubs and herbs as he walked. He moved like a man freed from chains, as though he were more at home in the forest than in the village. Dimitri, close behind, worked with great effort to follow his uncle unseen.

A sharp crack of a twig broke the silence—SNAP—both men froze, hearts pounding. Ivan sniffed the air like a hound on the chase, turned his body toward the scent, and finally landed his gaze on the whiff of hair and the right eye of his nephew, which protruded from a nearby evergreen.

“You fool! I told you to leave me be. Why would you follow me here?”

“I-I-I… I, I’m sorry, Uncle. I just, I just…” The calm-tempered boy was no longer smooth and well-spoken; he stuttered his words as fear crept into him. He crawled backwards, pushing off the tall grass with his hands, trying to put as much distance as he could between himself and the moon-kissed nude body before him.

Ivan stepped closer, pleading with his nephew, “Get out of here, Dima! Get your ass off the floor and get out of here!” The man’s voice echoed among the wooden watchers.

“Wh-Why are you naked, uncle?” He muttered, fixating his gaze on the misshapen form before him. He noticed how his uncle seemed taller and hairier. His voice had become a low growl, leaving the traces of humanity behind it. Fear sank deep into his soul like a sharp axe into a tree trunk.

“Get up and run, you idiot!” cried Ivan, pleading with his nephew to obey. “Did she, did she send you here? That mad woman sent you to your doom, boy. She willing sent you to your death. I cannot help you, Dimitri, if you don't…”

He wanted to, he knew that he should, but he could not tear his eyes from the sight before him. His aunt's words echoed in his mind as he watched the horror unfold: flesh sprouted fur, teeth sharpened into fangs, and hands, once gentle and loving, distorted into eager claws. Ivan’s muscles tore at his flesh, ripping him open from the inside. He fell to the cold ground, as his face warped and contorted. He gave one last plea for his nephew to save himself.

“RUN!”

By dawn, the beast was gone, and only one man returned to the village, his secret buried among the trees.