Where the Devil Says Goodnight (Folk Lore 1)

The sky was an asphalt-gray above two chunky hills ahead, but that was where the woman had told him to go, so he pulled on his hood, closed the jacket, and started walking, hoping the way was as straightforward as she’d claimed. His cell phone had lost signal way before the bus had rolled into Dybukowo, so there would be no help from Google Maps.

With shoes full of water—and he’d worn the nicest ones to make a good impression on his hosts—he trudged down the narrow road, taking in the wooden houses on either side. Some had barns or sheds attached, but there were no rustic decorations, fake wells, nor elaborate flower gardens in sight. This was real countryside, too far away from ‘civilization’ to become some city’s bedroom community, and still inhabited by native highlanders.

Water splashed in twin ditches running on either side of the asphalt, but Adam’s ears picked up on the eerie quiet despite the hiss of the storm. A man briefly appeared from behind a curtain when his dog alarmed him of someone passing through the village so late at night, but he left Adam to his thoughts as soon as he saw him.

Fair enough. Nobody was obliged to ask a traveler whether they needed any help, even if said traveler was soaked to the bone.

Adam kept up a fast pace, and realized he was about to leave the village behind only a couple of minutes into the trek. He stopped by the local notice board, looking back at the collection of buildings that constituted Dybukowo, but when wind pushed him forward, he decided a local woman couldn’t have been wrong about the directions to the church she surely attended every Sunday.

He needed to calm down, grit his teeth, and continue until he reached his destination. What other choice did he have? At this point, his clothes dripped with water anyway, and he was glad he’d invested in a waterproof laptop cover. The pastor wouldn’t be impressed with Adam coming a day early, but maybe the box of chocolates he’d brought as a gift could sweeten the deal.

As the wind tossed the rain under Adam’s hood, slapping his face again and again, the hope for a warm bed was the one thing that kept him going. He was at the very end of the hellish journey, so he might as well hurry up and put an end to his misery.

The two rows of poplars standing on either side of the road like soldiers shouted above his head with their creaking trunks and swishing leaves, but the storm was so overpowering in its force Adam decided to ignore everything around him and focused on moving his feet.

The road climbed toward one of the hills once it reached the edge of a dense conifer forest. The trees formed a long tunnel, but as he entered the passage between the walls of wood and leaves, a shiver hurried down his spine. And it was the kind of shiver that had nothing to do with Adam’s soaked clothes.

Something was watching Adam. Something hiding beyond the first row of trees, in the tar-black abyss of the shapeless growth his eyes couldn’t see in the dark. It could only be imagination playing tricks on him in those unfamiliar surroundings, but as he picked up his pace, eager to pass through the woodland and reach the church, the darkness came alive, speaking in creaks and whistles as wind blasted into Adam’s back and made the tree tops high above bow to him. He barely kept himself on his feet but broke into a run, struggling each time the duffel bag swung and sawed its fabric handle into the flesh of Adam’s icy palm.

The pines, larches, firs, and spruces united in an angry shriek and thrashed high above, urging him to leave their domain. He was about to toss the duffel bag over his shoulder and jog toward the clearing ahead when lightning ripped the sky into pieces and transformed night into day.

Adam dropped his luggage with a shriek when the rumble made his ears buzz, but just as he picked it back up, shuddering from the cold and wondering whether walking in this kind of weather was even safe, the sense of being watched returned.

And then, in the repose following thunder, he heard hoof beats.

Adam froze. Arms tightly locked around the drenched duffel bag, he fought the irrational sense that someone had followed him here all the way from the village. He wanted to turn and make sure it was just some cow that had sneaked out of its pen, yet his whole body stiffened, screaming at him not to look back, too afraid of what he might see.

So he took a step forward, then another, until he settled into a brisk walk that would eventually take him out of the darkness he feared for the first time since childhood. The clearing was ever closer, but the unknown animal stayed back, never trying to pass Adam, as if its one goal was to escort him into the open.