The Girl in the Forest by Malcolm Cowen (my reading book .txt) 📕

The Girl in the Forest

Jan knew it was his fault, he had seen the storm clouds coming across the Tatras mountains. But Maria’s parents were old. Since her death they saw their grandson so rarely that Jan delayed their return too long. Now he was still a mile from home, the storm had broken, and he and Piotr were forced to take shelter under a rock overhang at the side of the valley. The lightening was brilliant, and by each flash he could see the whole mountainside opposite almost as clear as day. It was by the light of one especially bright flash that he saw it, a wolf, standing on a rock on the far side of the valley directly opposite him. It was looking straight at him as if it could see him hidden beneath the overhang. By the next flash it had gone, but the sight left him unnerved. Wolves tended to avoid villages, but he had heard too many stories of what they could do to anything they regarded as easy prey. As soon as the rain eased Jan and his son slipped out from under the rocks and continued on their way home.
The path was muddy, but there was still light, the sunset lingered and he knew the full moon would rise soon. Still he went with his hand on the handle of his knife, just in case.
He was about half way home when it happened. His feet slipped on a greasy patch of mud, and he fell sideways hitting his head on a tree. Everything went dark.
He recovered his senses to the sound of Piotr crying with fear. He tried to struggle to his feet, but his ankle went from under him. He twisted round on his knees. He could see Piotr, but the boy’s leg was trapped under a fallen tree. Jan tried to crawl through the mud and lift the tree so his son could get free, but his ankle screamed with pain and he could get no leverage to lift. He struggled for a few minutes, then fell back exhausted.
Then he heard movement of something pushing through the bushes. He twisted his head the other way to see it. The sunset had gone now, but moonrise was casting its first glow and against the sky, just for a brief moment, he saw the silhouette crossing the skyline. A longnosed, doglike shape, with a long tail, a wolf. Fear went cold down his spine and he reached for his knife. It was gone, torn away in his fall.
Then the rising moon’s first light broke through, the hillside was bathed in silver light, and he saw her. A young woman on the opposite side of the path, looking at him with fear in her face, but with pity in her eyes, brown hair, slim figure, and, impossibly, stark naked in a September thunderstorm.
He turned his eyes away, to spare her modesty, but heard her approach.
“You are hurt, can I help you?”
Her voice sounded odd, as if she was unused to talking, yet her speech was clear, with a typical Slavic accent, just like his own.
“My son’s trapped, but my foot...” He got no further as she took hold of one end of the tree and lifted.
Piotr scrambled clear, and the girl dropped the tree, then took hold of Jan’s ankle.
“It hurts?”
It did, it hurt like the devil, but it didn’t seem broken.
“Just badly wrenched, I think. I just need a day’s rest, and it should be fine.”
He tried again to stand, but the ankle went from under him. Then a slim bare arm was round his shoulder supporting him, taking the weight.
“Easy,” she said, “Easy, I will help you, you cannot go by yourself.”
The pain and the fear drove out thoughts of her nakedness, and he let her drape his arm across her shoulder as she took the weight.
Despite her slim build she was strong. Even so it took them nearly an hour, Jan wincing with pain at every step while Piotr was almost asleep on his feet by the time they reached his cottage on the outskirts of the village. Jan fumbled to open the door. She helped him inside, and looked around in wonder as he lit the lamp, as if she had never seen a cottage before.
“My son,” he said, but she anticipated him again.
“I will see to him.” She picked up the eight year old child, as easily as if she were picking up a doll, and carried him through to his bedroom. Only when she had gone did he realize she had not asked which was Piotr’s room.
He slipped his boots off and examined his ankle. He was right, it was just a sprain and he tried uselessly to massage it with his cold-numbed hands.
After a few minutes she returned, still innocently naked, then her face became troubled as she saw him turn his face away from her.
“You are - embarrassed?” she seemed to hesitate at the word.
“Yes, it’s not right,” he broke off, then with sudden memory he reached down under the bench where he lay and pulled out a leather box.
“Please take these, put them on. They were my wife’s before she died, I think she would have been glad for you to have them.”
She looked at them solemnly. He turned away again, and after a moment heard the whisper of cloth as she dressed herself.
“Is that better?” He turned. She was dressed now like any other village woman, but the clothes seemed to hang untidily on her, as if she had never worn anything before.
“I understand you prefer me to wear these, but I still do not understand why.” Her voice was soft and almost wistful.
His control broke, “Because I’m a man, and I’m not a good man, and it’s been six months since my wife died, and you’re a very beautiful woman and seeing you like, like that, makes me want to do things that my reason and my religion tell me are wrong.”
“And you want to behave to me as a man should, and not like an animal.” She lifted from his mind words he had not said. “And you have behaved to me as a man should, so why such grief?”
She didn’t wait for an answer, but she took up his ankle in her hands, first caressing it, then massaging it, first raising the pain to levels that made him cry out, then driving it away.
With the ending of the pain weariness suddenly hit him, and he felt his eyes closing. He tried to stay awake, but failed, and his last vision was of the girl stroking his ankle.
He awoke again to the feel of her fingers on his lips.
“I must go, and you must bar the door after me, there are wolves around and they are deadly by night.”
“But what about you, you can’t go out in that.”
She touched his lips again. “I am safe, I know them, but you and the child will not be. And I will come again, to make sure you are safe.”
She rose and stepped to the door, opening it, then stooped to pick up the bar of wood that lay against the wall.
“You must bar the door, remember that, you must.”
She slipped out. He hobbled after her to the doorway, propping himself up against the wall. For a few yards he could see her in the waning moonlight, and he called after her.
“But your name, you never told me your name.”
She turned, the light dress flowing out around her.
“I have no name, I’m just myself.” Then she was gone. He tried to peer through the trees, but the moonlight failed, and suddenly there came through the blackness the howling cry of a wolf. He slammed the door closed, dropping the bar across to seal it shut.
In the morning he woke up to find the pain and the swelling reduced. He limped into Piotr’s bedroom. His son was still sleeping, his fingers clutched around a wooden toy the girl must have put in his hands.
He went to the door, unbarred it, and stepped outside. The sun was long risen, and other people in the village were already up and busy. He was about to call to them when he saw the tracks. A double row of wolf footprints going round the cottage. He followed them, leaning on the wall as he went. The beast had stopped at every window. When he returned to the cottage door he saw a smear of dirt as if something had tried to reach up to the door latch. He reached out with his finger and touched the metal of the latch. More dirt came off on his hand. He looked at it, his mind filled with questions.
After breakfast he sent Piotr out to call the priest. Their village had no headman, and Father Jacobus was happy to serve his flock both as secular and spiritual leader. Truth to tell, he was probably the best qualified anyway. In his youth he’d visited far-off places like Praha and Wien. One of the followers of Hus, he’d never been happy with the title of “Father”, but in the end he’d given up trying to stop the villagers using the word.
He came just after noon, and listened to Jan’s story, and looked at the tracks, his old lined face serious and solemn.
“I’ll warn the village, and I’ll get someone to warn the other villages as well. It’s unusual to get wolves coming near a village, unless they are really desperate for food, but if these are posing a threat, then we may have to do something about it.
“But I’m worried about this girl, you said she says the wolves know her?”
“Yes, I don’t understand that, Father. It was almost as if she lived with them. I don’t even think she’s ever even worn clothes.”
“Yet she spoke Bohemian well enough. Did she have an accent?”
“No, no more than mine. She talked just like anyone else, but the words, it was as if she’d never used them before.” Jan twisted his hands in anguish. “Father, there’s more.
“Yes?”
“You said once that you once dealt with a case of a werewolf, a young man you said.”
“You think that she may be a werewolf?”
“I don’t know, but just before I met her, I saw this wolf. then the moon rose and she was there. And now at night a wolf comes round my door and tries to get in. No normal wolf would do that.”
“Remember most stories you hear are just legends and superstition, but yes, I met a real werewolf. He was a decent honest man by day, but when the moon shone he became a wolf, and a killer.” Jacobus’s voice was full of bitter memory. “Yes I knew him, and he was a friend.”
“And you killed him?”
“No, he, well, he resolved it himself. But I’ve met one real case, and dozens of cases which were nothing more than superstition. Be slow to jump to conclusions. And you said she was a friend, she helped you.”
“Oh yes Father,” Jan sought for words to express his meaning, “She’s gentle, and so innocently kind.”
The priest sighed, “Then does that sound like a werewolf? Whatever she is, she helped you, so you must give thanks to God for her, and pray for her safety.” He rose, “And I’ll tell the villagers to bar their doors at