Apparently, during the winter months, during exceptionally cold nights, strange things happen in the forests. When the frost drops below 20 degrees Celsius, the trees make sounds. Sometimes they crack, and then the sound carries far away, as a deafening silence reigns. Wolves, their yellow eyes flashing, raise their ears and hold their breath, trying to detect something that might not be audible to humans. Then they fidget restlessly, turning their heads toward the full moon to let out a prolonged howl. After that, they jump up and run for who knows where. Owls turn their heads and hoot, only to jump from the branch and fly away a moment later, certainly not to hunt hares. Hares, on the other hand, upon hearing the crack, pause for a moment, twitch their noses, and run away, supposedly always in the opposite direction from which the sound came. All animals react this way. Apparently. Humans, despite their imperfect senses, also sense something. He usually reacts with anxiety, sometimes with panic, rarely with curiosity or prudence. More than once, he'd found frozen people deep in the forest, always lying face down, leaving traces of crawling several meters deep. All had open eyes and facial expressions that made one reflexively look away. The pattern was always repeated. Frost, a full moon, a lone man in the forest, and a cracking tree…
Snow crunched underfoot. Stars were invisible in the sky, as the full moon effectively obscured their light. The trees and bushes looked fabulous. All the plants were covered with a half-inch layer of snow. The air was devilishly cold and crisp, stinging exposed parts of the body, most often noses and cheeks. To reassure himself, the young man hummed softly. The forest before him seemed like a white wall. A shortcut ran through the forest. A beautiful night. So why not take that route? The man, shoving his hands deep into his pockets and burying his neck in his arms, headed down the snow-covered road toward the forest.
The moon, shining with reflected light, bolstered his courage. Visibility was excellent. The snow sparkled with thousands of lights. It was a pleasure to walk through this truly fairytale scenery, almost expecting to hear the clatter of horses' hooves and then see the rider on the black horse. The light would shine from his sword, his fur cap would cover his deep-set eyes, and his bearded, square jaw and broad shoulders would be a sign of great strength. The horse would release clouds of steam from its mouth, bite the reins, and flare its nostrils.
"Sitting by the fire, I think
about the things I've seen,
the flowery meadows, the wonderful butterflies,
the springs I've experienced.
About the yellow leaves and the Indian summer,
my past autumns,
the morning mist, the silver sun,
my hair ruffled by the wind.
I sit by the fire and think to myself,
What face the world will have
when winter comes, and after it, spring,
which I won't count among my own.
I've never seen so many things,
so many incarnations of these things;
after all, every spring,
a different greenery emerges in every forest.
I sit by the fire and think
about those who lived in the past,
and those who will look upon the world
that will no longer welcome me.
Yet, as I sit and reflect
on times long gone,
I still prick up my ears
to the sound of familiar voices.
The man recited, stirring his imagination. And he walked exceptionally briskly, cheerfully, almost happily, for he delighted his eyes with a beautiful sight, the poem brought pleasant sensations, and the prospect of the journey seemed pleasant and interesting, especially since warmth, the company of friendly people, and eyes gazing at him merrily awaited him at the destination.
He didn't look around. Happy thoughts swirled in his mind and increasingly occupied him. He imagined the moment of reaching his destination. They would wonder why he had walked so many kilometers alone through the forest. He was brave. Of course. It would be nicer to walk alone, but one must be good company to oneself. Didn't any wolves scare away along the way? And he saw yellow-glowing eyes and heard the moon howling. After all, today was a full moon, so looking at the snow hurts the eyes, but if necessary, there was always a stick at hand. And she? She would probably pretend not to notice him and keep busy. she won't be able to hide her belated concern about him when talking to her friends.
Suddenly he heard a crack, and in a moment he realized he was alone and that he still had a long way to go. This struck him and made him uneasy. He looked around. Trees draped in white robes surrounded him on all sides. He stopped, not knowing why. He listened for a moment, then moved on. The sound of snow crunching underfoot seemed strangely loud. He didn't like it, because silence was safer for him. It was too easy to hear. He quickened his pace, wanting to put the forest behind him. He breathed through his mouth, and the frosty air irritated his throat. He felt as if someone was watching him. An irrational fear gripped his mind. He felt, almost physically, the heavy gaze falling on his back. He quickened his pace even more. The invisible gaze seemed to have shifted, and now he felt it on his face. He didn't dare look straight ahead. He stared fixedly at the road a few meters ahead. The frost seemed to be deepening. Initially invigorating, it now stung his face and penetrated the fabric, causing goosebumps and shivers. His nose began to run, and his eyes watered. He wiped them with his glove and blinked rapidly. His blurred vision cleared. What he saw made the hairs stand on end. He was certain of it, and he understood how the animals felt, their fur standing on end. He saw footprints before him. His footprints, which he tested by placing his shoe in the footprint. He choked, because it seemed impossible. And if it were happening, he couldn't wrap his mind around it. He felt something constricting his chest, as if a rock were resting on it, or a knee were crushing him. He forced himself to inhale deeply. He did so through his open mouth and felt the cold air enter his lungs. He almost choked on the breath. He started running. His head ached, his lungs burned, and he began to lose feeling in his face. He sniffed and felt cold mucus slide down his throat and into his stomach. He belched and felt like vomiting. But he regained his composure. His eyes watered. He looked ahead and realized he didn't know where he was. The run was increasingly straining his lungs, and the cold was numbing his flesh. He couldn't feel the fingers in his boots or gloves. His face was still. He felt he couldn't move it. Suddenly, he thought he heard something behind him. He felt the hairs on his body stand on end again. He ran, hunched over. He just wanted to get out of the forest, to be safe. He ran forward, barely able to see the road. A sound escaped his throat that shattered all his illusions. It was the sound of panic. He knew he had crossed that line and lost all hope. He fell, but he didn't feel the hard impact, barely felt anything. He crawled for a moment, then, unable to hold back, he screamed out all the dark emotions that had accumulated inside him. And in that scream, there was panic, fear, a plea for mercy, and resignation. He curled up and lost consciousness…
First, he regained his hearing. He knew where he was. He heard the sounds of the night. He couldn't, or rather, he was afraid to move. He felt that something might happen. A light wind stirred snowflakes, but he was too weak to shake even the smallest twigs. He heard something, something beyond the almost inaudible rolling of snow across the frozen ground. The sounds grew clearer, and he knew what it was. They were footsteps. Two pairs of feet were approaching him. He had never heard footsteps like these before. He couldn't name the difference, but he knew it existed. He also heard something like words. At first incomprehensible, dissolving into thin air, but they slowly gained clarity, and he began to understand their meaning.
"I told you something was happening, and as usual, I was right. Yes. Whenever the Moon shines brightly and the brothers groan in mourning, something happens.
" "It might as well have been nothing. You're still superstitious, ready to take anything as evidence of who knows what." I'm telling you, you've listened to too many old wives' tales and read too many books from your grandfather's cellar.
"You sound as if you didn't avidly listen to what was written in them yourself.
" "With honey and other cordials, it's even nice to hear that. And if there's a bowl of berries or fried mushrooms and your feet by the fireplace, I could even listen to your tales.
" "I hope the mosquitoes bite your butt, you little fern. I hope the raspberries sting you like that. If you drink so much, you'll soon be too small to fit in the hole.
" "Hey. You have to have a belly, because you have to have something. And if you have to, why not a belly? Huh?
" "And talk to this one.
" "You'd better look at this one. Do you think he's still alive?
" "He's definitely alive. I'm not going into the forest for nothing. Look, he's breathing.
" "He needs help." Did you hear what Ciort said before he smelled him? Something familiar.
" "Of course, familiar." I recently read the story of that friend who wrote it. You've heard it too, but the honey from the forest bees is harmful.
"It is harmful, harmful because he's still hanging out with you.
" "You'd be quiet. Ciort will hear you.
" "I'm not afraid of him.
" "That's certain, especially when you swallow the honey. Now help me, because I can't do it alone." He was freezing cold.
He heard some incomprehensible words above him, and after a moment he began to feel warmer. The weakness slowly left his body, his thoughts became clearer. He could already move the fingers of the table and his hand. His face felt cold.
"He's better now. Let's go.
" "Yes. Let's go.
" "You know I met a Death Cap recently?
" "Yes? I haven't seen her since she flew away. Still as beautiful as before?
" "Oh yes, yes, yes. She asked about you.
" "She asked?
" "Oh yes, yes, yes..."
Those were the last words he heard from the two strangers. He felt he could stand. However, with every movement, he felt a searing pain. He forced himself and, with considerable effort, got to his feet. The feeling of panic vanished, as if it had never been there. He didn't understand how it was possible. He looked around and found neither any trace of himself nor any trace of the two newcomers he had heard. He thought he had dreamed it all, but when he remembered Ciort, a shiver ran down his spine. He quickly turned his legs and his thoughts toward the house. And when he was close enough to see its lights, he thought of the cheerful eyes and the poorly concealed, belated fear.
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