I first heard stories featuring Baba Yaga on the radio as a small child and found them terrifying!  I wrote this one a couple of years ago in hospital when I had learned something more of wild and wise women.  They can indeed eat you alive, but they can also grant wisdom and help you move forward…

Olga and Baba Yaga

 

There was once a little girl called Olga who lived with her father and mother in a small cottage on the edge of the great woods.  They were a happy family.  When things went one of them would shout out:

“Someone should do something about this!”

And the others would reply,

“You’re someone, someone special.  What are you going to do about it?”

And then they would all laugh and try and fix the problem together.

However one winter when Olga was eight years old, her mother became very ill and nothing she or her father could do made any difference.  After her mother died Olga’s father didn’t laugh anymore.  When things went worng Olga still said:

“Someone should do something about this!”

And her father still replied

“You’re someone, someone special What are you going to do about it?”

But now there were tears in his eyes and he hurried quickly away leaving Olga to come up with her own solutions.

Then one day Olga’s father came home looking much happier.  For the next few weeks he was out a lot but very happy when he came home.  The day came when her father introduced Olga to her new stepmother.

She was tall and very thin with golden hair that fell past her waist.  When she looked at Olga’s father the stepmother’s face lit up and his lit up in answer, but when she greeted Olga her beautiful lips smiled but her eyes stayed cold and stony.

That evening the stepmother came into the kitchen when Olga was washing up.  She grabbed her shoulder so tightly that her manicured fingernails stuck in under Olga’s collarbone.

“Listen here girlie.  I don’t like children.  I don’t want you here.  So if you want to stay in this house you’ll do exactly what you’re told when you’re told and in between you’ll be so good and quiet that I’ll never even know you’re there.  Do you understand?”

Demanded the stepmother jabbing Olga in the ribs with her other hand.  Olga nodded feeling shocked and very frightened.

“You worthless creature.  You will not dare to look me or your father in the eye; it makes us physically sick to have to look at you.  You will never speak unless you are spoken to.  You will never leave the house unless I tell you to and you’ll do all the house work and keep the place spotless or this is what will happen to you…”

And the stepmother smacked Olga’s face so hard that her head jerked right back on her neck and she fell hard onto the tiled floor biting her lip to keep from crying.  She was not worthless.  Her mother had never hit her.  Her mother said she was a special person who couold do something when things went wrong.

The stepmother was angry that she hadn’t made Olga cry so she bent over her and hissed

“and if you really anger me girlie, I’ll throw you out of this house and send you to Baba Yaga with the iron teeth.  She liked children.  She eats children, roasted with a sprig of mint on top.”

Then the stepmother swept out of the kitchen leaving Olga cowering on the floor.

Nearly a year passed.  Every day the Stepmother reminded Olga what a worthless child she was and part of Olga began to believe it.  She never opened her mouth or looked anyone in the eye.  Her father never even noticed her now.  He only had eyes for her beautiful stepmother.

Every day Olga worked hard to do all the housework perfectly.  When she succeeded her stepmother took credit for the shining floor and tasty meals.  She never let Olga eat with them at the table, she had to wait for the left overs in the kitchen and often there weren’t any.  Olga began to hide bits of food in her apron pocket as she cooked to keep herself alive.

If anything went wrong her stepmother would slap her face again or beat her with the loose bar from one of the kitchen chairs until she was covered in bruises and lay in a heap on the floor.  Then her stepmother would bend down low and whisper.

It’s this or be roasted alive and eaten with a sprig of mint on top.  Be thankful for what you’ve got girlie.”

Then one morning in winter Olga woke up from a dream feeling angry and agitated.  She climbed out of bed as she always did, made the fire, put the porridge on for breakfast and swept the floor making angry jabs with her broom.  Then she grabbed the mop and bucket to mop the flagstones but she rammed the mop into the bucket so hard that the bucket tipped over and a lake of soapy water spread across the floor just as her stepmother came into the room.

“What do you think you’re doing you clumsy worthless child.”

She screeched and for the first time Olga raised her head and glared back at her.

“Leave me alone.”

The stepmother stepped back as if someone had hit her.

“What did you say to me?!”

“Leave me alone!”

The stepmother darted forward, grabbed Olga and tried to drag her to the kitchen chair with the loose bar, but for the first time Olga fought back hitting her and struggling to break free.  She wasn’t strong enough to get out of her stepmother’s grip but she did stop her reaching the chair.  Her stepmother was really angry.

“How dare you?! After all I’ve done for you!”

She kicked Olga hard in the shin with the toe of her pointy shoe and blood erupted from the hole and rolled down Olga’s keg staining her sock.  Olga dropped her head and the stepmother sensed victory.

“You can’t win girlie.  I’m a lot stronger than you and if you fight me I fight back dirty and the good ones always win.”

She pressed her hand over Olga’s mouth and started dragging her towards the chair again but Olga struggled harder and bit the stepmother’s fingers.  The stepmother screamed in pain and rage.  She lifted Olga off her feet and carried her over her shoulder through the cottage and flung her into the snow outside.  Olga scrambles to her feet and her stepmother screamed at her:

“Get you gone you evil worthless creature.  Never darken this door again.  Get you to Baba Yaga and take your chances with her!”

She pointed her right hand, with all her fingers bent like claws, towards Olga and for a moment a strange blue light danced between her fingers.  Olga felt her legs move underneath her and to her horror she found that she was marching away from her home into the great woods and she couldn’t stop herself.

She walked for a long time.  Her anger left her and instead Olga was filled with fear and sadness.  She lowered her eyes to the ground, as her stepmother had taught her to do, and wondered what else could go wrong for her.  She was so busy feeling sorry for herself and looking at the ground that she didn’t realise that she’d regained control of her legs until she walked into the spindly tips of the overhanging branches of a tree.  They stung her face and brought her up short.

“Ouch!” cried Olga, “Someone should do something about this!”

And her mother’s voice filled her head saying:

“You are someone, someone special.  What are you going to do about it?”

It was so vivid that Olga looked over her shoulder but behind her there were only trees.  She hadn’t thought of those words since that first day in the kitchen with her stepmother.  Happy memories of her father and mother laughing together filled her head and for the first time in months Olga smiled.  Then she raised her head and looked at the tree again.  It was beautiful and she didn’t want to break any of its branches, so she took the ribbon out of her hair and gently tied them back to leave a clear path.

In front of her was a fence and to Olga’s horror it was made of bones, big bones and little bones, arm bones and leg bones, human bones.  There was a gate and on top of each gate post was a human skull with orange flaming eyes.  Taking a deep breath Olga stepped forward and tried to open the gate,  The hinges creaked horribly but the gate didn’t move.

Olga sighed frustratedly,

“Someone should do something about this.”

“Oh absolutely” said a voice to her left.

Olga looked quickly around but all she could see was the skull gate post, the bone fence and the forest.

“Someone should most certainly do something.”

Agreed a voice to her right and this time Olga was quick enough to see the skull’s jaw move.

“And would you credit it, here’s someone right now.”

Continued the first skull as Olga flipped her head back and forward between them.

“Yes, and someone special if I’m any judge,” agreed the second.

“So what exactly is this special someone going to do about this?” asked the first skull.

“It’s totally your choice of course,” said the second “But if it was me I’d give serious consideration to having a look at the base of my post.”

Olga looked down and sure enough at the base of the right hand gate post she saw an oil can.  She quickly oiled the rusty hinges.  The gate opened noiselessly and she stepped into a flat snowy enclosure.  Over to her left five brown sheep were huddling together and ahead of her was the back of a small wooden hut.  The strange thing was that it was a couple of metres off the ground and gently bobbing up and down on two enormous chicken legs.

Olga stared in amazement for a while then set off to walk round it and find the door.  But as soon as she rounded the corner the hut gave a twitchy kind of hop and a jump so it’s back was to her again.  Olga tried walking faster and then running but every time the hut jumped and spun so she was left facing the back wall.  She stopped, panting for breath.

“Someone should do something about this!” she cried in frustration.

“Aye well that’d be you then toots.  What with you being the only one as has noticed and all,” said a gruff voice near her knees.

Looking down Olga saw a scruffy grey dog who sat up and looked hopefully at her from big brown eyes.

“And seeing as how you seem like a very special someone I just need you to know that I can’t even remember when I last ate so if you could possibly spare a morsel?”

“Someone should certainly do something about that too,”

Agreed Olga and she opened her apron pocket.  Inside were some slices of ham from last night’s tea, a chunk of cheese from her father’s dinner the day before and the remains of three biscuits which had been there at least a week and were now mostly crumbs.  Olga gave the ham to the dog, which wolfed it down hungrily and licked around his mouth.

“Thank you kindly.  Now about your problem, I think what you need here is a rhyme to work the spell.  It’s always better to talk rather than try and push past you know.”

Olga nodded hoping that he would get to the point soon.

“Now what was it?  I’ve got a memory like a fish you know.  Eating helps me think sometimes, I don’t suppose…?”

“There’s cheese and some rather crumbled biscuits,” said Olga.

“Ah, not really my thing I’m afraid.  Never mind we’ll have to make do.  Let me see…

Fee fi fo fum, no that’s not it.  Ena meena zopraheena, no.  Erm, Ibble obble black bobble, no.  Coming ready or not, probably not.  Chicken chicken, come out and fight!”

One of the huts legs twitched menacingly.

“Sorry sorry, definitely not.  Come on boy think…Ah yes!

Hut Hut

Turn around

Put your back to the woods

And face me.

 

That should do it I think.  Nice meeting you”

And the dog trotted away towards the sheep.

Olga refastened her apron pocket looked straight towards the hut and called ou in a loud clear voice:

“Hut hut

Turn around

Put your back to the woods

And face me.”

The hut jumped and spun once more and she was suddenly facing the front.  There was a door in the middle and two windows that reminded her of eyes.  The door swung open, the legs bent a little and, with a great clatter, five wooden steps rattled out of the doorstep and clicked into place in front of her.  Olga took a deep breath and began to climb them.

The inside of the cottage consisted of one single room.  There was a heap of rugs that may have been a bed in one corner.  A loom surrounded by skeins of wool in impossibly bright colours stood by one window and heaps of carded and uncarded brown wool lay underneath the other.  There was a huge fireplace on the other wall with an enormous iron cauldron balanced on it.

By the fire stood the oldest woman Olga had ever seen.  She wore a ragged grey robe with enough unfortunate holes for Olga to be fairly certain that she had nothing on underneath it.  Her hair was grey but stood on end in all directions and seemed to be move even though there was no wind.  At first Olga thought that she was bent double with age but as soon as she moved it was clear that she could bend her body any way she liked but always came to rest in a contorted position.  Her left hand constantly worked a drop spindle taking carded brown wool from the pouch on her belt and spinning it into brilliantly coloured thread with strange blur light crackling between her fingers.  When she smiled her whole face lit up but Olga saw that her teeth were as black as the iron cauldron on the fire.

“What are you doing here my pretty?”

A strange blue light played across Olga’s face.  It dazzled her for a moment so she didn’t see Baba Yaga’s look of surprise.  Olga’s mouth opened of its own accord.

“My stepmother sent me to you Baba Yaga.”

“Did she now? And what did your stepmother tell you that you were pretty one?”

“She said I was evil, lazy, clumsy, stupid and worthless child Baba Yaga.”

“Well here’s the thing child.  I eat worthless children, worthless adults too for that matter but they’re tougher and need stewing.  So, if you really are a worthless child then you are in exactly the right place.  We’ll see won’t we…”

And the witch cackled horribly.

“Now since you’re here you can make yourself useful.”

She continued pulling a wire sieve from somewhere about her person and pushing it into Olga’s hands.

“This cauldron is nearly empty.  The well should be that way at the moment.  You don’t stop until you’ve filled it, understand?”

Olga had had a lot of practice at taking orders from her stepmother so she dropped her head and whispered “Yes Baba Yaga,” and hurried back down the steps.

She quickly found the well in the direction that Baba Yaga had pointed but each time she dipped the sieve into the water it ran straight out through the holes.

“This is stupid!” cried Olga.  “Someone should do something about it!”

“It’s lucky that you’re here to handle it then.”

Cried a high little voice above her head and looking up she saw two small blue tits sitting on the roof of the well.  It showed what sort of day it had been that Olga was not at all surprised.

“But I don’t know what to do about it,” she complained.

“Ah well, could be that we could help you there, “ tweeted one of the birds. “If you help us that is.”

“That’s it, that’s it,” chirped the other bird.  “Help us to help you, to help us, to help you, to help us, to help…”

“Er yes,” Olga broke in, but what do you need my help with?”

“She isn’t very quick is she?” chirped the second bird, “Not quick, not quick, not quick. Look around you.”

“There’s snow around, there’s snow on the ground,” tweeted the first bird.

“And it’s hard for you to find food in the snow,” realised Olga.  “I’ve got some biscuits here, they’re mostly crumbs already.”

“Good, good, good,” chirruped the birds as Olga fished the biscuit crumbs from her apron pocket and scattered them on the edge of the well.  The bords gobbled them up with amazing speed then began to chatter together.

“Water and earth…”

“Clay blocks holes…”

“Water and earth…”

“Thank you!” cried Olga and brushed the snow away from the shaded side of the well to find the bare earth beneath.  It was frozen and she had to chip it out with the sieve and then warm it in her bare hands before it was soft enough to wet and spread over the inside of the sieve.

The birds cheeped encouragement until Olga had her first sieve full of water.  They watched her carry it carefully up the steps then flew quickly back to the balls of fat and cage of nuts that Olga had fortunately not seen hanging from the other side of the hut.

Baba Yaga was working at the loom going clickety clack, clickety clack, as Olga trecked back and forth to the well.  She didn’t seem to notice her but muttered a lot under her breath.  If there had been anyone to listen really closely it might have sounded like:

“Not so worthless after all then little sister.”

But Olga was only thinking about filling the cauldron and didn’t hear.

When her arms felt as if they would drop off she came up the steps to find Baba Yaga sitting by the fire with one leg bent up behind her neck.

“So you’ve done a good job with that, haven’t you my pretty.  Let’s see how you are at weaving.”

Olga had never used a loom before but she was a fast learner.  She sat on the bench as she was told and Baba Yaga stood behind her guiding her hands.  Her skin was surprisingly soft and smelt like the floor of the forest.  The loom went clickety clack, clickety clack.

Soon Olga was continuing to weave on her own and Baba Yaga said:

“You keep on like that my pretty.  I’ll be listening for the sound of that loom.  I’m going to feed my sheep and I’ll be back when the water’s boiling.”

She squatted down and bounced with reverberating thuds to the bed of rags in the corner.

“I’ll be back when the water’s boiling!”

She repeated rather louder than seemed strictly necessary, making strange prodding movements into the material heap which responded with an outraged squawk.  Baba Yaga tipped herself head over heels across the room and disappeared through the door.

Olga went on weaving and the loom went clickety clack, clickety clack.  Then she felt something push against her leg.  Looking down she saw that it was the head of a small black cat.

“Marroow?”

It said hopefully.  Olga nearly tangled the weaving and hurriedly looked back at what she was doing.  Then she felt claws tugging at her skirt and heard a torrent of pitful mews that clearly said, ‘I’ve not been fed in weeks take pity on me.’

“I’ve got some cheese?” Olga offered struggling to open her apron pocket and work the loom at the same time.  She succeeded and dropped the cheese to the cat who caught it in its mouth and gobbled it down.

“Wow, cheese is my favourite,” she purred.

“So you do talk,” said Olga.

“Of course I do.  You do realise that you’re about to be eaten don’t you?”

“Eaten?”

“Yes!  When the water’s boiling she’ll boil you alive and eat you for supper,” hissed the cat.

“My stepmother said that Baba Yaga roasted children and ate them with a sprig of mint on top.”

“Oh no!  Boiled child is much healthier and you can cook the vegetables at the same time.  That’s unless you’re planning to run away of course.”

“ I can’t run, she’ll hear the loom stop and come after me.  Anyway she’s right.  I am a worthless child and this is the right place for me.”

“That’s what you’re stepmother says,” mewed the cat.  But other people say different don’t they?”

Olga remembered the dog and the skull and her father and mother all saying that she was someone and someone special at that.  She nodded.

“So what do you say Lady?” purred the cat, “Are you a worthless child?”

“No!” cried Olga, “I am not worthless.  I am someone and I’m not staying here to be eaten.”

“Then I think I can help you, “ purred the cat.

She climbed onto the loom and began to tangle the threads and the loom went clickety clack, clickety clack as though Olga was still weaving.

“Take a strand of blue threas and one of those wire carders with you,” mewed the cat.  “If she chases you then throw them one by one over your shoulder into her path and it will buy you some time to run.  Now run for your life!”

Olga grabbed the things that the cat said and clattered down the steps.  She pelted across the slippery snow towards the skull’s gate without a backward glance.  Behind her she heard the loom still going clickety clack, clickety clack.  The gate opened without a sound.

“Jolly good show!” called the first skull.  “The very best of luck to you.”

“Take me with you,” called the second skull.  “It’s getting dark and I can shine a light in dark places.”

So Olga wrenched the second skull from its gate post.  It’s burning eyes lit up her footprints in the snow as she ran back under the tree, whose trailing branches no longer blocked the path, into the gloom of the great forest.

Meanwhile Baba Yaga came back to the house and found the cat hopelessly tangled in the loom which was now silent.

“Clickety Clack?” she mewed hopefully as Baba Yaga lifted her up and began to deftly untangle her paws.

“Look at the state of you! Where’s the girl?”

“She gave me cheese.”

“Did she now?  Not so worthless then.”

“Yes and I lov…”

“I know you love cheese but I have a child to catch.  You’ll have to wait till I get back.”

“I wasn’t asleep you know.”

“If you say so.”

And Baba Yaga cartwheeled out of the hut and came to rest near her pestle and mortar.  The dog was asleep in it.

“Out! I’ve got a child to catch.”

“Now there’s a thing.”

“I notice that you didn’t bark…”

“She gave me ham.”

“Did she now?  Not so worthless then.”

“Yes and I can’t remember when I last ate…”

“Breakfast, not counting the ham, and supper isn’t until I get back so the sooner you move the sooner you get.”

The dog jumped out of the mortar and Baba Yaga gave it a running push to get it going and jumped in poling herself along with the pestle.  The gate opened soundlessly for her.

“Why didn’t you creak?  She asked.

“She oiled the hinges,” said the first skull.

“Did she now?” said Baba Yaga.  “Not so worthless then.  Where’s your partner in crime?”

“Shining a light in dark places,” replied the first skull.

“Is he really?” said Baba Yaga with a very strange look on her face.

When she reached the tree she found the path clear for the first time in years.

“What happened to you?” she asked.

“She gave me a ribbon,” whispered the tree “I’ve got my own ribbon.”

You certainly have,” agreed Baba Yaga.  “Definitely not so worthless.  Somebody needed to do something about you.”

“Someone did.  She did.”

And Baba Yaga punted herself into the forest after Olga.

The pestle and mortar moved fast and soon Olga could hear the cackle of the witch behind her.  She ran for her life clutching the skull tightly but Baba Yaga was gaining fast.

“Mmmmm Mmmmm Mmmmm” muttered the skull, unable to open its jaw because it was wedged under Olga’s arm.  She shifted her hand and it called out:

“Use the thread!”

So Olga pulled the bright blue threadfrom her apron ppocket and flung it over her shoulder into Baba Yaga’s path.  There was a flash of strange blue light and a river appeared running through the woods between Olga and the witch.

“It’s enchanted,” mutteres the skull, “she can’t fly over it, but she’ll find a way.  Keep running!”

Baba Yaga screamed in frustration:

“Wretched Puss!  I’ll give you cheese!”

And spun around and began to pole way back to the hut.  She quickly rounded up the sheep and drove them back through the woods to the river where she cried out:

“Drink I say, drink or die

Drink until the river’s dry”

And the sheep drank and drank until the river bed stood empty.  Then Baba Yaga turned them round and said:

“Drink I say, drink or die

Drink until the river’s dry”

And the sheep drank and drank until the river bed stood empty.  Then Baba Yaga turned them round and said:

“Straight home now and no jokes about going round the corners!”

And they ran back into the woods.

Olga ran as fast as she could go following her own footprints by the light of the skull’s flaming eyes.  She could see the edge of the forest ahead of her now but the pestle and mortar move fastand she could hear the hideous cackle of the witch close behind her again.

“The carder!” called the skull.  “The wire brush throw it now!”

And Olga threw it over her shoulder into Baba Yaga’s path.  Therewas a flash of strange blue light and a dense thicket of thorny bushes sprouted from nowhere reaching high above the trees, an impenetrable barrier.

Baba Yaga screamed with frustration and began to propel the pestle and mortar straight up as fast as she could go but Olga was still running.  She reached the edge of the wood and kept running until she burst through the front door of her home with the skull with its burning eyes still under her arm.

Her father and stepmother were at the table and both jumped to their feet.  Her father looked totally confused and her stepmother looked furious.  The blue fire was already playing around the fingers of her right hand but before anyone could say anything, orange fire blossomed out of the skull’s eyes and filled the room.  Her father shook his head and a look of horror crossed his face but when the fire touched the stepmother her flawless skin began to crinkle and crack and within seconds all that was left of her was a tower of dust which poured out of the door, stinging Olga’s skin as it passed , and disappeared into the night.

Then her father was hugging her with tears streaming down his face crying:

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.”

And Olga was hugging him back and leaving any doubts for another day.  Unnoticed the skull rolled into the fireplace and disappeared up the chimney.

High above the house Baba Yaga leaned over the side of her mortar to catch the skull.  Her superb night vision let her watch the cloud of dust as it billowed along the road away from the great wood.

“Not worthless at all then little sister, “she murmured.  “You never learn.  There will always be someone, someone special enough to see something and do something about it and shine a light in dark places.  However strong you get you will never win.

“Absolutely,” agreed the second skull.