Babayaga

Noelle was tired of listening to the old ghosts bicker in the coop. She and her chicken had first found the abandoned, low-roofed building after fleeing from the priest’s farm. She had crawled in for shelter and to recover from the shame of the barn fight. She had been hiding too, worried that Elga would find and punish her for running away. She thought about going back home, or even returning to the dreaded asylum, but every avenue seemed to lead to more punishment, so she stayed in the coop. When she grew chilly, she piled a rough bed of dusty old straw over her body and slept. The chicken stayed dutifully by her side, keeping watch.

The first morning she woke, her stomach growled with hunger. Beside her, she found a solitary egg lying on the floor. Her red chicken sat next to it, looking up at her with an expression that held no emotion. She hesitated at first, remembering her sufferings from the last egg, but finally the extreme pangs of hunger outweighed the fears and Noelle snatched it up fast, still warm, cracked it against her knee, and opened it up. She swallowed it in one gulp, catching the yellow yolk and licking up every bit of the clear albumen before any could drip off the shell.

Then she heard voices behind her. Turning around, she saw them standing against the wall. She recognized Elga right away. The old woman had the point of a butcher’s knife sticking out through her chest. Much to Noelle’s relief, Elga paid no attention to her, focusing instead on the heated discussion she was having with the two other women. One of them, who had a bloodstained hole where one of her eyes used to be, seemed to be baiting Elga with sharp words in a language foreign to Noelle, while the other looked solemnly on, occasionally nodding in agreement with the first. Elga was loudly arguing back, waving her finger in both their faces and then gesturing toward what seemed to be a third person, though no one was there.

That entire first day, none of them spoke to Noelle, though they occasionally gestured in her direction. Tempers flared and at times the coop was thick with the din of their shouting. Occasionally Elga would clomp over to the far corner, where she would sit alone with her back to them, her arms crossed in a pout. The bloody-eyed woman would yell and curse at her and Elga would turn and yell back until finally Elga would come stomping across the coop to shake her finger once more in the other woman’s face.

After a full day of this, the sun sank and Noelle lay down again, ignoring the old women and piling up her straw for another night of sleep.

The next morning when she awoke it was so cold she could see her breath. The room was quiet and the women were no longer there. Noelle’s throat was parched with thirst, so she crawled out of the coop and into the brush, following her chicken as it wandered through a glade toward the sound of a creek. Once they found it, Noelle leaned over the flowing water and scooped up handfuls to drink. The chicken in turn waded into the shallows and pecked at the creek’s surface in a manner that made Noelle giggle.

They walked through the sun-dappled trees up the low slope of the hill, the chicken keeping a few steps ahead of Noelle. Climbing back up into the coop, Noelle lay down on the hay again. She longed for the hotel suite, with its warm bed and chocolate éclairs. The thought rekindled her hunger and she looked at the chicken.

The chicken sensed Noelle’s gaze and seemed to grow slightly self-conscious. It got up, shook out its tail, and made its way to the edge of the hay. It walked around in a small circle and then sat down. It remained there, in an almost contemplative manner for a number of minutes, occasionally looking over at Noelle but then looking away again. When it rose, there was an egg.

Noelle slurped it down and within moments the old women were back. They were no longer shouting at one another. Now they were all comforting Elga, who sat on the floor, sobbing into her hands. The one with the bloody eye leaned over and whispered words into Elga’s ear as she caressed the old woman’s shoulder. After a long time of this, the ghost of Elga finally rose, straightened out her skirt, and, wiping the tears and snot off her face, came over to Noelle.

“Okay, well, it’s time to go. You can’t stay here,” Elga said, clapping her hands.

Noelle felt nervous. She reached over and grabbed the chicken, holding it close to her chest for comfort. “I’m sorry I ran away,” she said.

“Ah,” Elga snorted, “forget about it. Regretting the past only eats up the future. But now you must go.”

“Where?” asked Noelle.

“First, go to the train station and pick a stranger’s pocket. Look for someone tall to prey on, their brains and eyes are so far away from their pockets.”

“But I don’t know how to pick a pocket.”

The old woman nodded. “You will. All you have to do is try. You’ll be good at it. We’ll give you a charm to protect you. Then, take the train to the city. We are going to find you help there.”