Those Unseen

By Rachel Dib

She’s not there. I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly. When I reopened them, the beaked creature still beckoned to me from behind our masonry stove, her clawed hand frantic. Sighing, I stared pointedly at my knitting. She’s not there.

Only, I knew she was.

I just had no idea why no one else could see her—nor why everyone considered my ability to detect house spirits so uncanny. They brought households luck, didn’t they? Every time I mentioned the beings, however, my parents’ faces darkened, and my sisters eyed me skeptically.

She’s not there. Despite my resolve, my gaze shifted to where the spirit hid.

The kikimora looked between the door and me, anxiety written in her beady, black eyes. She again motioned behind the stove.

Why is she being so insistent?

“What are you staring at, Kira?” my mother asked suspiciously.

Flinching, I dropped my gaze. “Nothing, Mama. Just thinking.”

“Well, back to knitting or—”

A sharp pounding at the door cut off Mama’s words. We all froze.

Soldiers.

Papa had come home weeks ago with news of soldiers arriving in Ukraine’s outer provinces. They demanded resources from farmers, killing those who refused. Few had taken the rumors seriously at first. Then, when they’d proven true, no one believed they’d come out this far.

Only they had.

“Where’s Papa?” my sister squealed, but Mama swiftly placed a finger to her lips.

The pounding erupted again, this time accompanied by shouting.

I hated the jarring tones of their language, so harsh and abrasive. I flicked my gaze to the kikimora, but she’d disappeared behind the stove. I wish I could hide.

When Mama rose to her feet, a resigned expression creasing her brow, I realized she’d decided to open the door. I wanted to scream at her not to—to wait for Papa. But I knew it was useless.

Movement drew my attention, and I glanced over to see that the kikimora had popped its head out once more. She motioned to me, then disappeared. Biting my lip, I crawled toward her.

Once I was within reach, the spirit flung out a claw and wrenched me into the shadows. Before I could cry out, the kikimora pressed me to her chest, covering my mouth with the crook of her arm. Her skin was rough against my lips, and she smelled of soot—but she also felt cool. Despite being in such close proximity to the stove, pressed against the spirit’s body, I could bear the heat. Still, I struggled against her grip.

The kikimora squeaked and pressed me tighter to her thin frame.

That’s when I noticed her trembling. What does a spirit have to be afraid of?

And then the screaming began.

I heard the soldiers—but I heard something else too. Something massive and brutal and far more dangerous than any human. Above the soldiers’ shouts and my family’s screams, a shrill scraping assaulted my ears as the beast moved.

I knew my family couldn’t see the beast. They’d think everything was the soldiers’ doing. Wrapped in the kikimora’s arms, I was powerless to even warn them. When a nauseating crunch abruptly cut off my mother’s cries, I squeezed my eyes shut, my face wet with tears.

Even after the screams had died away and the thud of boots had drifted from the house, the kikimora and I remained huddled behind the stove. Pressing my face into her apron, I felt oddly comforted by her embrace.

“It’s time to come out, Kira.”

I opened my eyes to find a kind, yellow gaze peering at me from a fluffy gray face. Though I recognized the domovoy—he’d lived with us since before I could remember—I was reluctant to leave my hiding place. What if the soldiers and that thing returned? Plus, I didn’t want to see the carnage on the other side of the stove.

“Come,” the domovoy coaxed. “I’ll take you out another way.”

The kikimora squeaked, her reedy voice quivering. A deep sadness entered the domovoy’s gaze at whatever she’d said, but he shook his head.

“I’m sorry. She can’t stay here.” He met my eyes. “The leshy will return. Perhaps the men too. You must leave before that happens. A guide has arrived to bring you to your father, but you must hurry.”

I pulled from the kikimora’s grasp. “Papa’s all right? The soldiers didn’t find him before…”

“No. He’s quite well.” The domovoy offered a furry hand.

After a moment’s hesitation, I took it. Though his grip was firm, his fur felt as woolly and soft as a puppy’s. He helped me from behind the stove, shielding me from the front room as he ushered me toward the back of the house.

A gigantic, long-haired cat sat in an open window. As I met its narrow gaze, my breath caught. The Bajun Cat!

“Don’t worry,” the domovoy assured. “Baba Yaga dislikes these soldiers roaming her woods even more than the village. Her cat won’t harm you.”

“Why can’t you take me?”

The domovoy smiled patiently. “This is my dwelling. I cannot stray from it.”

Before I could mention it was my home too, he added, “I suspect you’ll reside elsewhere hereafter. You will not return.”

“And you’ll come find us?”

“This is my dwelling,” he repeated and lifted me over the windowsill.

The Bajun Cat yowled and padded across the yard, but I hesitated, reluctant to leave. I feared the loneliness that awaited me. At least here I had my house spirits. If Papa moved us somewhere new, I wouldn’t know anyone.

The domovoy smiled knowingly. “You must go, but don’t worry. If you embrace your gift, you will never be alone.” A crash drew his attention and his face hardened. “Now go.”

As the domovoy closed the window, I glanced around. The Bajun Cat waited for me at the edge of the forest—but so did other beings, spirits I’d never opened my mind to. Reassured, I stepped into the night.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Rachel Dib is a stay-at-home mom of three small children. After marrying a soldier, she left her home state of South Carolina to live in random places across the United States. Her works of short fiction have been published by On the Premises Magazine, Havok Publishing, and Ye Olde Dragon Books. She has also had short stories published by Toasted Cheese Literary Journal under the name R.J. Snowberger.

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