Baba Yaga

**Part three of six in The Babushka Society story line. For all the stories together, click here**

Through a simple office door, we are led. It opens onto the interior of a dirty little cabin.

“What has god brought me?” A voice groans from the corner of the room, it sticks in my ears, like putty. Through the din I see the source. A mouth of gnashing iron teeth. I can smell them from the door; rust and decaying flesh.

The Babushkas who brought us here turn and leave. The Baba Yaga’s frame consumes most of the room. She lays on her side, sensually. She leers down at us, her skin is gray. Her eyes, black. A bone leg sticks out from a dirty old robe.

“I smell Russian blood.”

She sniffs great gusts into nostrils that could fit my fist. It rustles my hair.

“Yes, Russian, and something…dirty.”

She focuses her attention on me.

“You stink of America. A pup wet with its own piss.”

I haven’t pissed myself. I don’t think. I check. Nope. I frown.

N says something to her in Russian.

“I think you know the answer to that question,” She says with a sick smile.

“What did you ask her?” I whisper to N

“If she is going to eat us.”

“What? Is she?”

N nods.

“Fuck that.” I turn to run. A hand, attached to nothing, appears out of the air and grabs my arm. It turns me around.

“Don’t worry, American, your rotten flesh won’t be eaten.”

I shrugged off the hand.

“You’ll be burned.” The Baba Yaga laughs and the room shakes.

“Why are you doing this?” N asks, in English.

The Baba Yaga heaves herself into a sitting. Her head brushes the ceiling. “The odor of the world poisons Russian soil and those that have grown from it grow crooked and weak; quick to rot.”

The Baba Yaga looks at me.

“So, you’re eating the young? For what?” N asks.

“To save Russia and Russian values. The intelligent young are destroying the values the country was built upon.”

“So, you’re eating all the intelligent youth?”

The Baba Yaga nods.

“Well, that explains a lot,” N mutters.

“We consume their intelligence and their youth and we will use it to rebuild Russia stronger than ever.”

“So that’s it then?” I ask.

The Baba Yaga nods.

“So, what are you going to do with us?”

N frowns at me, “she’s going to eat me.”

“Oh, right.”

“Did you think she wasn’t going to eat me?” He crosses his arms.

I shake my head. “No, of course she is, sorry.”

He turns to the Baba Yaga, “that is your plan, right? To eat me?”

The Baba Yaga nods. N smiles. I stare at him, agape.

He looks at me. “What? No reason to die without any pride.”

I open my mouth to ask the Baba Yaga if she’d eat me if I were Russian but, I’m cut off. She attacks.
To be continued…


A Writer and an artist living in Russia

5 Comment on “Baba Yaga

  1. Pingback: The Babushka Society II – Flash 365

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