Where the Devil Says Goodnight (Folk Lore 1)

“How are you enjoying our village so far? I’m sure you’ll find the peace and quiet restful after living in the big city,” the pastor said.

Adam smiled, politely pacing himself with the food, even though he knew he’d eat a great many tiny portions before leaving the table. “I wanted to send a message to my parents, but my cell phone doesn’t pick up the signal.”

“Yes. We’re in a valley. There’s reception on top of the church tower.” Father Marek had some tea and pulled one of the squashed chocolates out of the cardboard box before placing it on his tongue.

“And what’s your Wi-Fi password?” Adam asked, preparing a huge open-faced sandwich on sourdough bread.

The pastor frowned, watching Adam as if he’d grown a second head.

Mrs. Janina sighed. “Vi-fi, Pastor. Internet without cables. My son has it in his home.”

“Yes, but that’s all the way in Sanok. I suppose we could access the Internet through the landline, but there was never any need for it.”

Adam blinked a few times, too focused on keeping his expression neutral to say anything.

Mrs. Janina nodded, and joined them at the table, though she didn’t bring a plate for herself. “So many bad things on the Internet…”

Adam was eager to change the topic before it escalated. “Speaking of bad things, someone hung a dead magpie by my window.”

Mrs. Janina scowled at the pastor. “Father! There is no need for that!”

Adam stared at the pastor, his mouth full of the delicious sandwich. “What?”

Father Marek gave a rumbly laugh that brought him to the verge of choking. “Sorry, Adam. Couldn’t help myself.”

“But… why?”

“Relax. It’s taxidermy. A harmless joke.”

“Laughing at people’s traditions is hardly funny,” Mrs. Janina said sternly, leaning back in her chair.

The pastor scratched his head through the thinning gray hair. “The people of Dybukowo are good Christians, but they’re superstitious. Some still try to ward off evil spirits from cradles, leave out food for their ancestors, and those magpies seem like the must have folklore-themed decoration nowadays. In the olden days, people used them to ward off the Chort.” When Adam just stared at him, the pastor explained, “the devil.”

Mrs. Janina remained suspiciously silent, and as the clock on the wall counted a couple more seconds, the pastor rose and clapped his hands. “Right. I need to prepare today’s sermon. We’ll talk more during lunch, Adam.”

“Looking forward to it, Father.”

Once they were alone, Adam feared Mrs. Janina’s silence would extend, but she spoke as soon as the pastor left.

“What Father Marek doesn’t understand is that Chort won’t harm those who live with him on good terms.”

Adam frowned. Was she talking about… devil worship? Hardly something he’d expect from an elderly woman who worked at the parsonage. “As in…?”

“Oh, you know, leave offerings, don’t scare him off with the magpies, and he won’t be a bother.”

Adam put his sandwich down and swallowed some tea, because the bread felt weirdly coarse in his throat all of a sudden. “Why would anyone try to appease the devil? That’s God’s work.”

Her pale, lively eyes darted to meet his. “Chort is not Satan.”

Adam decided to leave it at that and continued his breakfast while Mrs. Janina opened a book about a Catholic mission in Tanzania. At least she was no longer watching him like a hawk, but Adam’s thoughts drifted to way less pleasant things. The fresh orange juice couldn’t wash away the memory of that last dinner at his parents’ apartment. He still had to call them, but didn’t feel like speaking to Mother yet. And considering that in the past twelve hours, he’d been followed by a horse that wasn’t there, had been offered sex by another man, and lived in a parsonage where the pastor hung dead magpies from the eaves and the housekeeper believed in folklore demons, he knew he’d have to lie to her, or she’d freak out.

He shivered when his nose picked up an unexpectedly rich scent of cedarwood, smoke, and something musky, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t place where it came from. His gums itched and he salivated a little too much, even though the food had been in front of him for a while now. What the hell?

“Why are you fidgeting?” Mrs. Janina asked, but before Adam would have had to come up with an answer, someone knocked on the door, and the housekeeper padded to the main entrance to the parsonage.

Adam continued eating as he picked up another female voice. Moments later, Mrs. Janina led in a corpulent woman with black hair and a tan that had surely come from a bottle. The product made her crow’s feet more pronounced, but energetic movements added youthfulness to her appearance.

“I am so happy to meet our new shepherd! This is for you,” she said and offered him a cardboard box covered with a doily.