Old Leopold was wiping the scratched up surface of the counter with a gray rag. He then carelessly threw the rag into a rust-marked sink once painted in white enamel. He opened the tap and looked how the low pressure stream splashed on the rag and into the sink. He then sighed and took off his glasses, letting the water fall on the left lens, not yet covered in opaque black film.
Suddenly his eye and face was poked by bright rays of daylight. Annoyed, he turned around.
“However many times I have said that you do not touch the drapes!” His remaining good eye had no trouble finding the offending man sitting by the large windows covered in thick drapes.
For a few more seconds, he and the villager stared at each other, until the latter let go of the heavy drape and let if fall to cover the window once more. He pulled his flat cap on his eyes and got back to staring his glass of vodka.
“Hey Leo, I am still not clear why you refuse to let any daylight in here.” A male villager with a thick bushy mustache, big nose and slightly oily hair asked, leaning on the counter with his elbows. “Is it because you don’t clean this place properly?”
Leopold only sighed through his nose in response and used his one good eye to eye the mustached villager with an annoyed expression, as the latter was examining some dirt on the sleeve of his blue polo shirt.
“Think about it.” The man continued. “If you let some light in here, cleaned the lamp covers and maybe replaced the dark paneling on your walls with something prettier, an occasional woman might visit this place. Like that chick who they say has now taken rains in the Institute and in other times rides around with that professor and takes photos of god only knows what exactly. It would be quite interesting to take a gander under that frock, y’know what I mean?” He winked at the barkeep.
“Will you shut up if I give you a beer besplatno?” Leopold finally asked.
A glitter appeared in the eyes of the mustached man and he waved at a section of the bar counter in front of him. Moments later, a dark green bottle of beer slid in front of him, the label was missing but moisture had already appeared as mist on the bottle.
“So please, how it all happened, tell me.” A man wearing a brown fedora and ruffled sport coat tried to encourage his partner in conversation, his notepad and pen ready.
Opposite him sat a skinny young man, wearing worn blue jeans, a white shirt and moth-eaten sweater. Despite the young man’s effort to look presentable for his interview with a journalist from a big town, it was clear to all that he was just a regular bum and a freeloader, living off the sweat and brow of his retired mother and grandmother.
As far as Old Leo remembered, the young man’s grandfather had been a captain in the mechanized infantry division stationed on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. And one especially stormy night when the wind and sorts of invisible forest creatures howled in foreign voices, he had put the Vintorez suppressed rifle, itself a prize for exemplary service, in his mouth and pulled the trigger.
The boy’s father had been the last local constable, and his fate was also clear to everybody. He too had blown his brains out. Picking a sunny summer day to do that, right behind Virve’s store. Stories say that he did it for much the same reason as his father, as he had spent years looking into why his father had chosen to take his own life. Perhaps he found something, considering that during that cool and damp summer his inquiries were really making headway into the matter.
“Well, last Staturday, when I came along the edge of the woods by car, along the Northern section of the circular road… and then I saw some kind of bright light as one can sometimes see from the Center Station. And then I understood that it was them.”
“You mean...” the journalist noted something down on his pad and used the rear of the pen to push his glasses up. “...who did you see exactly?”
“I saw the anaks exactly.” the young man said. “They came towards me and the took that away from me!”
“Hey Rops, you dumbfuck! Enough with your noise!” Leopold raised his voice. “Every god damn week are you here to talk about your anaks!”
“Right, Leo,” the mustached man agreed. “Rops, your stories about meeting the anaks are becoming more and more frequent. What’s happened, has your aunt started refusing your hands under her skirt?” He winked again as he grinned.
“So you’re called Rops?” the journalist asked and let his fedora on the counter.
“Robert.” The young man said. “But there are several occasions when I have spent the night drinking in here until I puke...”
“Many.” Leopold remarked in an annoyed tone. “The word you meant to use is ‘many.’”
“According to this it s a miracle that you’re let in here at all.” The journalist laughed.
“That old cyclops lets me in here alright, but he refuses to sell me any alcohol!” Rops said, pointing at the glass of ice water with a lemon slice on the counter in front of him.
“But let’s continue on what happened there on the edge of the forest.” The journalist adjusted his golden frames again.
“What happened, you ask? I stopped the car to see what was going on. I have binoculars for just that purpose, to see what they get up to on top of the Center Station. And then, while bending towards the glove box in my Volga, I noticed that the clock had stopped. A moment later the engine died and then I could no longer move. Not my arms or legs nor head. I couldn’t even blink my eyes.
“Before I managed to start panicking about this, a blinding light appeared above the car. It started moving and landed on the forest road in front of the car, the bright glow hiding everything else. Then faint shadows started to appear in front of the light, moving around. Small bodies, barely human in shape, with narrow shoulders and hips. They have these almost non-existing skinny bodies, no thicker than a piece chopped firewood and big blue eyes on even bigger heads standing on frail necks. These guys are no more than a meter and ten, maybe meter and twenty centimeters tall.”
“Are they gray?” the journalist asked with some background knowledge.
“What fucking gray?! They were red!” the boy exclaimed. “Real redskins, I say!”
“Red?”
“Red indeed!” the young man repeated. “Their skin was red like wine made of red currant!”
“And what did they do?”
“They stole five crates of vodka from me! Those fuckers are too weak to carry the vodka themselves. They came along the side of my car, did not spare me a glance. Then they waved their hand and the trunk lid opened as if by magic. Another wave and the crates flew out of the trunk one by one, floated down the side of the car and disappeared into that blinding light. Then they too walked back into the light and flew away.
“Of course, after that I drove back to mum’s house as fast as I could and only there I noticed that the clock on the wall was 9 minutes ahead of the clock in the car.”
“Nine minutes you say?” the journalist asked with fascination.
“Yes, nine minutes.” Robert repeated. “Strangest thing ever.”
“And including this one how many times have you met those anaks?” the mustached man asked.
“The fifth.”
“The fifth!” the journalist asked in a loud voice. “Those little red men have stopped you five times?” he asked more quietly.
“...and every time they’ve taken all my vodka.” The young man said, on the verge of crying.
At this very moment, the exterior door was thrown open and tons of daylight poured in. A man ran in, carrying with him a strong stink sweat, vodka and forest. He had a moth-eaten sweater on his bare skin, matted beard and hair and worn cargo pants with the suspenders hanging down. Right before the counter, he got tangled in his suspenders and then fell in front of the bar stools.
“Is he okay?” the journalist asked.
“Of course he is! God saves all drunkards and children!” Leopold said. He then looked at the door still open. “First one to close the door gets a free beer!”
Seeing that nobody got up, he added quickly. “Or a glass of vodka!”
Right then and there several village men jumped up and rushed to climb over the furniture and each other only to be the first to close the door.
The barkeep poured a free drink to the winner of the door-closing competition, and also set a siphon of soda water on the counter to spray in the face of the man, still sprawled out in front of the bar counter. It took several seconds until the jet of water woke him up and he started to recover. He got up slowly, but then, after seeing the glass of vodka on the counter, grabbed it with lightning speed and downed it in one go.
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
“More!” He demanded, hauling himself onto the bar stool. “More! To the very edge!”
Leopold sighed, then produced another tea glass and filled it halfway. The filled the glass the drunk had just emptied to the brim. With a surprisingly steady hand, the man with matted hair and beard grabbed the full tea glass and not spilling a drop downed it all at once.
“More!”
“You do have some money, don’t you?” the barkeep asked. “This vodka here is not cheap!”
“You too huh? Losing your goods to thieves.” The young man asked, occasionally being visible on a stool behind the mustached man.
“Go fuck yourself, Rops!” Leopold said in a loud voice.
“He’s not.” Rops continued. “The Boys from the North are bringing his cargo in, the skyfolk don’t tolerate them.”
“Considering what a day I just had, that 150 grams is still too little!” the man said. “So pour some more! My story is worth it!”
“You really think so?” Leo asked. “Name me one time when your story has been worth of anything?”
“I would like to hear more!” the journalist got up from the stool next to Rops and then approached the barkeep and the drunk.
He pushed himself back by the bar counter, forcing both Rops and the mustached man to take the spot next to them to the right. He sat on the stool and set the money on the counter.
“Silver rubles?” Leopold noted. “Yeah, you’re not a local, are you?” He filled the tea glass for the third time.
“Well,” the man with suspenders said after he had downed this glass as well. “As you might well know, during bright nights like now, I like to drink about half a liter and sometimes more of vodka and then go for quiet walk in the Forbidden Forest. Some think it is stupid and even life-threatening and refuse to walk on the same side of the street when they meet me. They say I am cursed, because noting ever happens to me. But honestly, nothing really has happened to me, thus far.”
“You haven’t seen bogeymen in the Forbidden Forest?” the journalist asked.
“You really want to know?” the man bent deeper toward the journalist, as his voice grew quieter. “I have seen ghosts, I have seen the subterranean, the sky people, KGB-folk. I have heard the ringing of church bells, I have even seen ghostly carts rolling by and monstrous beings which can only be borne out of the minds of scientists at Agroprom or some other secret base. But never once has anybody threatened me or attacked me. And that’s the only reason I have returned to the forest. I think they know I am of no danger and that’s why they are not aggressive towards me.”
“And w-what was d-different this time?” The journalist asked, wiping sweat of fear from his brow.
“During the night, I was walking along the edge of the forest near the Cottage district and came upon the Mayor’s willy’s truck, doors wide open and not a soul nearby. You know how much the Mayor loves his vehicles, right? No way would he leave it unlocked with doors wide open on the edge of the forest.
“My walk in the forest was quite usual, nothing noteworthy happened. But when I woke up in the morning, then at first, I had no idea where I was. It felt as if I had made it to the other end of the forest, the edge near the Death Fields. And the forest was completely different. A dirt road led to the edge of the forest, right across the Death Fields.”
“And that constitutes as something special?” Leo asked.
“I saw the road appear! Out of nowhere! First a strange black vehicle with a rectangular cabin drove across the field. Like a Chaika, but bigger. With four doors, big yet low rear fins, black as the night itself. The road appeared from right under it’s wheels! Without any damage the vehicle rushed into the forest and made all the trees, bushes and shrubs disappear from in front of it, creating a road you can still see there. And it moved fast, at least 70 kph. One blink of the eye, there is nothing, the second blink and there’s a road. And not just a road. The clearing was created at a similar speed, the trees withered in seconds, stumps fell into dirt and out of the ground covered in tree needles, golden grass grass grew. And then things got weird.”
“Weird in what way?”
“Along with the clearing appearing, there also appeared a tight bunch of men in black suits, who then dissipated into various activities. They also seemed to stand or walk in queer ways. It took me time to understand that in reality, they were not actually touching the ground, instead they hovered above it. The stepped and walked like regular people, moving forward, but the soles of their shoes only touched the taller herbs, barely bending these. And only then the vehicles came. Five cars with huge fins on the rear, each with unique fin design, glistening in chrome, flawless piano black paint, as if it was new. These cars drove themselves. I could see no drivers. The made so sound, and I saw them turning into the thick forest and drive through the trees without damaging the trees or getting damaged themselves.”
“Certainly.” Leo said in a doubtful tone.
“I give you my word! One of these cars even drove through me. Of course I did not stay to see what would happen afterwards but jumped away from their path.”
“And what happened afterwards?”
“Those ghostly semi-transparent cars started to get more and more corporeal, while the trees growing through them, were turning more and more etherial. In the end, the cars looked like real cars and the trees disappeared into thin air.”
“That’s quite interesting.” The journalist remarked. “In Tontla where I’m from, people also investigate what games these Boys from the North are actually playing here.”
“I have heard better stories before. Including some of your own.” Leopold stared and the drunk in front of him.
“And then I saw a different kind of men in black!” the man said. “Those that are described in old ufo-books!”
“You meaa the Slick Boys from the North?” the journalist asked.
“No. Men in black I say. One of them looked like a young woman, but it was clear that it could not have been a real woman. She did not step like a woman, she did not talk like a woman. Her voice had no glow. And she was cold. Nothing happening around her caused any change to appear on her face. Nothing surprised her. On the contrary, she seemed to know a lot more on everything going on than that tall special agent acting as her bodyguard. I think that woman was some kind of a zomb developed and grown in Agroprom, who is much more adept in sensing the world that remains hidden from man.”
“Zomb… you mean a zombie?” The journalist asked in utter surprise.
“Hey Sangaste, the vodka is starting to get to you!”
“No it is not!” the man with matted hair and beard argued. “but I will talk faster then!”
“Well speak then.” the Mustached Man said. “Why could it not have been a woman? Or a person in general?”
“Because as soon as she got out of the car, she found me! I was far away deep in the forest behind the toppled over pine, the same one under which the cobblestone road appears. I peeked out from there. And she saw me! She locked eyes with me! She stared at me for a long period of time. And she did not tell anybody about it! I know she wants to do something to me. She wants to drag me away to Agroprom, straight to the Mayak!”
“What’s a mayak?” the journalist asked.
“According to the older stories, in Agroprom, there was an Industrial Production Cooperative named Mayak which produced laboratory equipment. Quartz sand and steel went in and out came test tubes, vials, cylinders, beakers, scalpels and other such stuff. Agroprom was shuttered when the Russians left and the production co-op could not stay above water with Agroprom as it’s main purchaser gone. Of course, there are also people who say that the botanics department of the Agroprom and using radiation to develop new fruit-bearing sorts was also a cover for more sinister activities, which have not ceased like the rest of the facility.”
“Very interesting.” The journalist said. “Agroprom is quite near to Tontla, but honestly, I have never considered what it’s history might be. Nobody in Tontla is willing to talk about the matters as well, not even about whether they worked in the Agroprom or not. So I would like to continue hearing the tale of this man.”
“This woman I tell you! Or whatever she is, she is not human! She took photos, she took photos of everything that had aroused my suspicions before. Of the road, the finned cars, of the clearing where the cars parked. She even walked further away to take photos of how the road ended out of nowhere.”
“And that’s it?” Rops asked with disappointment.
“No, that’s not it. When we were around the body in the forest, then the only words she said were an order to the doctor to pack it up and send it to the Institute.”
“To the Institute?” the journalist asked, scratching his ear near the where the frame of the glasses rubbed. “And not to Luiga or to the hospital? Not even to the hospital in Tontla?”
“Nope. To the Institute.” The man said. “The doctor agreed at once, without a word in opposition.”
“But then everything is fine!” the Mustached Man said.
“No it is not!” the man said, raising his voice. “There were glitters of sweat on the doctor’s forehead. And he also paid a lot of attention to what that girl in black was doing. Much more than the nurse he had brought with him, whose short lab coat and proud cleavage was a sight to behold for everybody else.”
“Oh, so that doctor was visiting with him?” the Mustached Man asked with interest. “Dammit, I should have gone to the forest with the others! I have thought several times that maybe I should play a mad person, go to Luiga and get an eval from that godess, alone in the room with me...”
“They say she does not speak a word, so not much point in being alone in the room with her...” Rops said.
“I don’t need her for her ability to speak, okay? I have sometimes seen her lifting big and heavy crates into that ambulance the doctor has. I am sure she prefers a man acting rough with her, forcing himself and his fingers into… you know where...” the man’s face again bore a single-minded grin.
“In addition, that girl knew before the doctor that the dead body was burnt and cooked through. And she spoke to me!”
“What did she say?” the journalist asked, now waving at Leopold to get a half-glass of vodka for himself.
“She knew at once that I should not have been there. She knew I was not there just because of my curiosity to see the dead body and the Forest Lake. She straight up said to me that if I stay there for long, she would pack me up along with the corpse, ship me to Luiga and then come and play her guitar to me as well!”
“Oh yeah, they say there’s a sadist who goes to Luiga to play the guitar to the patients.” The Mustached Man said. “That Metsla dude starts his howls every time he hears that girl’s guitar. The doctor however doesn’t mind at all, he even approves of it. He says that the patients are a lot more agreeable when her music is heard and even the medical procedures of that hot chick have a greater success rate.”
“You see!” the man exclaimed. “That’s not normal, now is it!? In addition to all that, when she reached the Forest Lake, she also did not act like a spectating village folk nor like the Boys from the North, who were carefully checking everything with tons of equipment they had brought… And this is important! They could not figure it out in one way or the other! But she was acting like she knew precisely what was going on! She even knew before I did that the tree would bleed if it was hit with an axe.”
“The tree was bleeding?” The journalist asked. “And you saw that? With your own eyes?”
“I did!” The man admitted. “I also saw that girl standing on the other side of the disappeared lake and order the doctor take a sample of the wood and the blood. She even made the doctor taste it!”
“Forced him? How?”
“With her gaze. Only her gaze.” the man explained. “I even heard the doctor admit to the Mayor that the girl in black knows more of everything going on than anybody else could, even him! In the end, even the Mayor started to figure out that there was something strange going on with the two of them!”
The small circle of conversation which had by now grown very private, intimate and secretive, was suddenly halted by a bright beam of light, once again revealing how little light there really was inside the bar.
“I told you already to leave that curtain alone!” old Leo raised his voice. “Do it again and I will ban to for all time!”
“I just wanted to see if the people are back from the forest. The town looks deserted.”
“You should have gone to the forest yourself. You could’ve also witnessed a bleeding tree!”
“To the forest? Oh no. No. A bleeding tree?” For a moment he seemed interested but then he fell on his table raving. “No-no. No! Not again!” He then downed a whole glass of vodka at once and remained lying on the table.
“What’s his story?” the journalist asked.
“Oh, he complained a few months… or years ago, who even remembers that… He complained that one night, he stayed for a little too long in the forest chopping firewood. And then suddenly, mid swing, the tree turned into a woman, and he hit her into midsection with full force. And as he had spent several seconds looking at the gaping would gushing blood, had felt the cold blood spray on him, he had taken his eyes off the gruesome scene for just a moment and… both the women and the tree had disappeared. And also the blood. Gone from his face, gone off the axe, gone from the ground and the dirt.” The barkeep explained. “He also said that only afterwards had he noticed that on that night, the Moon had been strangely tinted blue.
“These days he avoids the forest, even during daytime. Not just the Forbidden Forest but all forests. He also lost his job in the Valgepalõ sawmill. They say that even there, he started to see young women in shear transparent gowns being sawed in two while alive.”
“That is a rough story.” The journalist remarked.
“It really is not.” Leopold grumbled and then sighed. “Half the drunks here have some kind of fault in their mind. It doesn’t matter what they see, be they haunts in the Forbidden Forest, or are the anaks visiting them every time their trunk is full of vodka.”
“I say, if I could get my drink delivered by black cars with tall fins in the rear, then they would not bother me either!” Rops raised his voice. “Unfortunately I only have my grampa’s Volga.”
“Nobody cares, Rops!” The Mustached Man said.
The door to the bar opened again. This time slower. And in the rectangular opening of daylight, there appeared a female shape, about 175 centimeters tall, with straight hair reaching the figure’s elbows and a skirt or a dress barely reaching her knees. Behind her towered a male figure almost 2 meters tall who had to bend his head slightly to get in through the doorway.
“God dammit! The found me!” the man with matted hair and beard and a moth-eaten sweater got up and with a surprising speed, jumped over the counter, and ran into the back, presumably out the back entrance.
The front door finally closed and the girl in black walked towards the counter in a deathly silent bar. Leo, the journalist, Rops and the Mustached Man observed the girl with guarded apprehension. It almost seemed like the whole bar had suddenly turned bigger, darker and more derelict than only minutes ago. Not being able to protect it’s denizens even from outside aliens.
“W-what would you like?” the barkeep Leopold finally dared to ask.
“A shot of vodka for a start.” The girl in black said. “After a brief conversation, we’ll see what else.”