The elders say, those whose voices seem to carry centuries of forgotten whispers, that beyond the hills and the frozen fields, there stretches a dark and twisted forest like a nightmare made of branches and shadows. This forest has a forbidden name, a name no one dares to speak aloud: The Black Thorn. There, they say, the witch Baba Yaga lives in a hut that moves on chicken legs, hidden among trees so ancient they seem to have been born with the land itself.
Anya had grown up hearing these tales, wrapped in her grandmother’s thick blankets during the long winter nights. The flames of the fire danced in the hearth, casting unsettling shadows on the walls as the trembling voice of the old woman warned: “Never go near the Black Thorn. Never, Anya, no matter how it calls you. Baba Yaga knows no mercy.” And though those words clawed at her chest like cold talons, something deep within her stirred with a strange fascination, a forbidden desire to know what lay beyond what everyone feared.
One day, after her grandmother’s passing, the urge to confront the unknown became irresistible. Sadness had planted a seed in her heart, and the wind blowing from the Black Thorn seemed to whisper to her, calling her name in the stillness of the nights. That day, as the last light of twilight faded on the horizon, Anya ventured into the forest, ignoring the warnings, following the winding path into the heart of the mystery.
The air changed as soon as she crossed the first trees. The wind, which in the village always carried the scent of dry grass, here was heavy, dense like a whisper dragging through the branches. The ground beneath her feet grew soft, muddy, and the tree roots seemed to rise from the earth like twisted fingers reaching out to grasp anything living that dared to pass. With every step she took, the world closed in on her. The trees loomed like deformed giants, their canopies interlocking to block out the light, plunging everything into a cold, unreal twilight.
Anya felt the forest watching her, each creak in the branches and every leaf dragged by the wind an echo of something alive, something following closely, waiting in the shadows. Her heart pounded in her ears like a muffled drum she could not control. But she continued forward, driven by a dark impulse pushing her deeper, toward the center of the Black Thorn.
Suddenly, a different crackling sound resonated to her left. It was a slow, heavy sound, as if something gigantic were moving in the silence. Anya stopped, holding her breath. The trees were no longer just trees; in the shadows, their trunks twisted into elongated, grotesque human shapes. She could not see what was approaching, but she felt it. An ancient, inhuman cold ran down her spine.
And then she saw it.
Through a curtain of fallen branches and tangled thorns emerged the hut. It was exactly as the legends described: a tottering structure made of blackened, rotting wood, supported by gigantic chicken legs that lifted and fell slowly, as if it were alive. The hut’s windows, empty and dark, looked like two vacant eyes, staring at her unblinkingly. The door, barely ajar, creaked softly as it swayed with the wind, as if inviting Anya to cross the threshold.
The young woman felt fear grip her, her feet anchored to the ground, unable to move. The air around her had grown thicker, as if the forest itself were holding its breath. A stench of dampness, old flesh, and turned earth filled her senses, making her feel small, insignificant, like prey caught in the jaws of an invisible predator.
From the shadows of the hut, something emerged. At first, it was just a hunched figure, a lump moving with awkward, twisted motions. But soon, the ghostly lights flickering in the forest sky revealed the witch. Her body, thin as a broken twig, seemed made of bones and withered skin. Her long, knobby arms stretched too far to be human, and her fingers ended in yellowed, sharp claws. Her eyes, sunken and dark like bottomless pits, glowed with a cruel and twisted intelligence.
—"You’ve come..." —her voice was a whisper between her teeth, like the crackling of dry leaves underfoot—. "I’ve been waiting for you."
Anya wanted to retreat, but her legs wouldn’t respond. She felt Baba Yaga’s gaze upon her, a gaze that not only watched but seemed to probe every corner of her being, unearthing all her fears and secrets.
—"You are just like her..." —the witch continued, approaching with slow steps, her claws scraping the ground with an unbearable screech—. "She also came here... seeking something... But you... you’ve come for another reason, haven’t you?"
Anya could not speak. Terror had stolen her voice, but deep in her mind, something resonated. An echo of her grandmother’s words: "Never approach Baba Yaga. She does not grant wishes... she only takes what she wants."
Baba Yaga extended a hand toward Anya, and the young woman felt her skin grow cold under the shadow of those claws.
—"You’ve lost yourself in the forest... but everything has a price. If you want to leave... you must give me something in return" —the witch’s smile stretched, twisting unnaturally—. "Choose, girl. Choose wisely."
Anya, trembling, realized there was no escape. She was trapped in the heart of the Black Thorn, in the jaws of darkness. But just as Baba Yaga was about to come closer, something in the air changed. A sound, barely audible at first, began to grow from the depths of the forest. It was an ancient melody, like a forgotten song the trees whispered...
The ancient melody filled the air, wrapping Anya in its comforting embrace. The music seemed to speak to her, inviting her to look beyond the fear. Baba Yaga, bewildered by the unexpected beauty, stopped, her shadowy eyes wavering.
—"What do you offer?" —the witch whispered, her voice trembling.
Anya, her heart beating in time with the melody, responded firmly: —"Hope."
A sigh of light erupted from the hut. The witch vanished in a whirlwind of shadows, and the forest began to transform. The trees rose, their branches intertwining in a glorious tapestry of golden light.
The Black Thorn left its darkness behind. Anya, guided by the renewed clarity, returned home with a lightened soul and took hope with her.