The Folveshch

16. The Folveshch

I went to take another step but my legs would not respond.

"Look!"

What was happening? I clapped my gloves over my eyes, blocking everything out. The shack, the corpse ... Aleksy's frightful, bloody grin. I wanted to wake up – to wake up in my bed with my brother curled up sound asleep at my feet ... With my mother downstairs, wrapped in furs by the stove and my father snoring lightly in his chair.

"I said look," Aleksy hissed.

"Just stop this!" I cried. "Please stop."

"You're scared of it, aren't you?"

"Aleksy, please – "

"You're finally frightened! Stefan Alyovich is frightened! Hahaha!"

The storm mimicked his maddened laughter. My knees gave in and I dropped on the spot, cowering behind my palms. The longer I blinded myself the more the fear swelled. It was the fear of the unknown. The fear of, perhaps, mere metres above me, a being I had never believed in perched there, watching me and waiting to claim me. If I looked and it was there ... what then? What would become of me?

What did the Folveshch even look like?

"OPEN YOUR EYES!" Aleksy shrieked up into the boughs. "Open them, Stefan! It's right here! It's right HERE."

From nowhere I felt his cold, wiry hands try to prise my palms from my face against my resistance. His fingers had strength I would not have expected, and he finally snatched away my left hand, raising it up – the victor.

"You're terrified!" he hooted in triumph. "Look at you! Who's the malysh now, Stefan Alyovich!? Who is the kid? Ha!"

"Get off me!" I withdrew my hand and slammed it back over my eyes. I aimed a second kick at him but my foot found only nothingness. What was I doing? I told myself to get up and fight him like a man, swing a hardy fist across his face, and yet I allowed myself to behave like a frightened infant instead, curled up in the snow. I began to splutter as the rattle crawled into my chest and settled, stealing my breath away.

"You can't fight it like that, malysh!"

"What did I ever do to you?" I kicked out a second time and missed.

"You heard everything, you say? You heard me talking with the last, distorted memory you have of your papa. How sick and withered he was before he died, Stefan. Poor soul."

"No ... No," I hacked. "No, he's not dead."

"You say you heard what I did to your mother, too? Want to know what she tasted like?" He smacked his lips. "Jellied veal."

"Stop." My resolve crumbled into dust. "Please. This grief. I can't ..."

"You say the men in the kabina lost their minds, little Stefan, but what do you know? You are the one who lost his mind. You're the one who broke down almost a decade ago and lived each day on loop. You were always a sick, frail child. Always coughing, always wheezing, always weak. Always so dependent on your father. And when he died of pneumonia your depressive mother couldn't cope with you anymore. She ran away and killed herself, or so they say ... But what became of little Stefan Alyovich? The Folveshch found him. Oh, yes. The Foul Thing watched over him and cared for him. It was the only friend you've ever had."

"What the hell are you on about, Aleksy? My mother didn't die, she – "

I heard him crouch close to my ear. "Works at the kabina," he sneered, leaning in. "Tell me: what's the kabina, Stefan? And who are Pyotr and Irina and Avgustin?"

"It's ... they're ... they're ..." I drew a blank. Why didn't I know how to answer?

I tucked my head under my arms on the ground in the snow, confused, terrified, unable to see anything. "They're ..." I felt my tongue slacken in my mouth. "Ayy ... urrh ... ss ..."

"What's that?" Aleksy said. "How about you look now? How about you take a look at the Folveshch?" I could do nothing besides moan at him, but still I would not remove my hands from my face. "Oh, Stefan," he continued, "dear Stefan. And to think the Folveshch had grown to love you like a brother."

And then: "Do you know who I am yet?"

Silence.

"That's right, malysh, the Folveshch has haunted you for nine years already. You took him to school every day on your old bicycle. You brought him bread to his house – 'for ducks' you say – and preserve, and sometimes a storybook. You helped him chop logs and keep warm ... And then you took him under your wing, let him get closer to you, told him he was crazy. A dangerous, murderous cannibal – a dark secret you kept locked away.

"But what's real in your little world, Stefan?" The buoyancy in his words only heightened the torment. "Where are your parents? Where are we now? And why do you keep calling me Aleksy? Tell me, Stefan. Tell me: Why did you give the Folveshch your father's name?"

My father's name?

I rolled onto my back, the last of my energy finally fading from my limbs. My vision dimmed to hazy blacks and greys, and the only thing I saw, whether real or not, was a face. A bloody smile. Cracked, pale skin and jagged teeth. The same watery blue eyes that I'd seen every day for the past nine years.

Aleksy.

He was right: That was Papa's name.

And the Folveshch ... I'd known it all along.