It was supposed to be a fishing trip, but it turned into a regular booze-up in the great outdoors, as often happens with men escaping the watchful eyes of their wives. One of my colleagues, who was from a local village near Kirov, had talked us all into going to a river aptly named Krivaya, or "Crooked." As Vysotsky sang: "In the reserved and dense, dreadful Murom forests, all sorts of unclean beings wander in hordes and sow fear in passersby."
This colleague kept praising the local spots: said you could practically catch fish with your bare hands and scythe down mushrooms. So, one weekend, a whole crowd of us drove out in three cars, supposedly to fish, not forgetting to stop at a supermarket on the way. When we got there, of course, nobody caught or gathered anything. Everyone immediately started drinking and frying the meat bought from the supermarket.
But the place was indeed wonderful, straight out of a fairy tale. Slathered in insect repellent, we sat in complete nirvana, the whole gang staring at the river, not forgetting to chase the vodka with various appetizers. No one even thought about fishing. I fell asleep right where I was sitting.
I woke up at dawn, still sitting in the folding chair, wrapped in a blanket. The chemicals had apparently worn off—mosquitoes were swarming more confidently over my exposed skin. The aerosol can was right there by the chair. I sprayed myself again, and the mosquitoes retreated. I got up and went to relieve myself. A path led from a small watchman's hut on the riverbank into the forest, and I followed it.
After taking care of business, I decided to take a short walk in the woods. For me, having grown up in a mountainous area, the forest was a novelty, especially such a remote one. It was already quite light. I walked, looking around; everything seemed unusual—the sounds, the smells, the sights. It felt like if I went just a little further, I'd encounter something magical. I called it.
I didn't notice the creature on the stump right next to the path immediately. When I saw it, I thought it was some kind of ornate decoration, like a carved sculpture... But the creature blinked. I realized it was alive. And I also realized I had somehow stopped moving. I tried to step back and raise my hand, but nothing worked. So, this strange, unblinking gaze of the creature had paralyzed me.
I didn't panic; I just stood there and thought about where and what I'd heard about something similar. The first thing that came to mind was the Gorgon Medusa, whose gaze paralyzed even from her severed head. Although a medusa is something marine, clearly out of place. Then the Basilisk, some creature from fairy tales, a reptile, I think, whose gaze also supposedly paralyzed. But although I was looking right at this creature, I could see nothing but its iridescent eyes. And suddenly I understood that I was growing weaker and that this thing was draining my life force through its gaze. This infuriated me beyond belief.
So, you go for a walk in a fairy-tale forest—and bam, some stump-sitter just up and kills you without any options (that it was killing me, I somehow had no doubt). In response to this outrage, a flame of rage began to ignite somewhere deep in my gut, so intense I could hear its hum. The draining sensation from the creature's gaze reached my stomach, and the moment that force touched the flame, I somehow, inexplicably, channeled all that raging fire directly back into the draining gaze.
Something erupted from me, striking the creature, which instantly turned to charcoal. The last thing my fading consciousness registered was that the paralysis had lifted and I was now falling.
I came to because someone was sniffing my face. I opened my eyes and saw a black dog. I blinked once—and realized it wasn't a dog, but a fox with an unusual black and grizzled coat.
"So you're alive," I thought the fox said.
I blinked again. In the fox's place, a small, wiry little man with a fox-like face was squatting. The man looked back at the charred remains of the creature on the stump and added:
"And you killed a basilisk. Strong one, you wanderer!"
He unceremoniously rolled me onto my back and examined me.
"Seems intact, just in shock, from the recoil, probably. Well, that's fixable."
He patted me on the shoulder and then, effortlessly, as if I were a rag doll, lifted me and slung me over his shoulder, which completely contradicted his build. But it didn't bother him in the slightest. With me slung over his shoulder, he strode off briskly somewhere. I tried to mumble something.
"What? Want to go back to your friends? You can't go to them now. No one would understand what's wrong with you, and they'd put you in some hospital. Best case scenario, not a mental ward. And in a hospital, they'd treat you to death, no doubt about it. So, you'll lie at my place for a couple of days, drink some healing infusions—look at that, and you'll be right as rain. Then you'll go, and on your own two feet. And you can tell me how you managed to defeat a basilisk. I've seen a lot, but this—a first!"
The little man walked on, holding forth as if he were just out for a stroll, not carrying almost ninety kilos on his back. We walked for quite a while, so I managed to doze off. Therefore, I didn't see where we arrived. I came to when the man laid me on a wide bench inside a hut. It smelled of herbs, the stove, and something else I couldn't identify.
"Well now, you lie here, then, and I'll brew you some herbs," he said and went off deeper inside, started rustling something, occasionally clattering a pot, and constantly muttering to himself. I sort of dozed off again. I woke up when he put his hand under my shoulder and started to lift me a little.
"Here, drink this infusion and go back to sleep."
This went on for I don't even know how long. He'd wake me, give me something to drink—and I'd plunge back into sleep. Clearly, there was something soporific in the herbs too.
I came to, apparently, the next day. There was a swamp all around. The man had already undressed me and was lowering me into a sort of bath woven from some flexible branches. He immersed me so that only my head remained above the water. I felt something crawling on my body and what felt like pinpricks. I twitched a little.
"Ah, felt it, did you? Those are leeches. Let them drink some blood, and they'll draw out the foolishness left by the basilisk too."
It wasn't painful, just unpleasant. But I had no choice—I was still as helpless as a baby. After the leech ordeal, strength began to return little by little. By evening, I could sit on the bench and ate some broth from a pot the man gave me.
"You're tough, brother," he kept marveling. "So, tell me, how did you defeat the basilisk?"
I didn't try to deny it and told him everything I remembered.
"Well, I'll be... You're a born hunter! To pull that off by instinct, and to recover so quickly after such recoil. You'll probably be up and about from the sleeping bench tomorrow."
"Hunter?"
"Well, yes, a hunter. They're people who hunt. Some hunt all sorts of beasts, and some hunt... something else."
"Something else?"
"Well, at least what attacked you."
"And are there many of them? I mean, such, um... creatures?"
"There are many, and they are varied. Ordinary people don't see them—it's a kind of protection. Heard the saying, 'ignorance is bliss'? But if you see something, then it is capable of attacking you, as you've already experienced."
"And are there many such hunters? Is it some kind of order or sect?"
"Not so many hunters. To become a hunter, you need certain abilities—at a minimum, to see this unclean folk. But there are no sects or orders. There are teachers and their students—that's the whole organization. A teacher seeks out students capable of this, teaches them, and they in time teach others."
"And how, where does a teacher find students?"
"Wherever it happens. See, you were found right on the path."
"Am I... your student now?"
"That's if you want to be. No one will force you in such matters—it's hunting, after all... And you're not ready yet. You're thinking to yourself: 'I'll get home, back to my life, and forget all this like a bad dream.' But it won't work now."
"What do you mean it won't work? Why not..."
"Back there, on the path, to survive, you burned up everything you considered yourself, everything that connected you to the people around you. I see you don't believe me. Well, don't. Get better, go home, to your family, your job, or wherever you need to go. You'll just understand that it's no longer yours and that there's no place for you among ordinary people now."
"How? Why?"
"Who knows? The question is, why did you suddenly see that basilisk? If you hadn't—you'd have walked right by, and you'd probably be home by now. But you saw it. From that moment, everything changed for you, and for the basilisk too. One of you had to perish—either you or it. You chose to fight. Actually, only a very experienced hunter, or, say, a shaman or some sorcerer, can defeat a basilisk. What you did was your only chance. Theoretically, of course, one could assume such a thing, but practically, without experience... You gathered your entire personality, everything that was you, in one place, ignited it with rage, and hurled it at the basilisk so hard that it burned to a crisp. Miracles, I tell you!"
"But I seem to be the same."
"Well, yes, what else would you be? You burned up what's called the social mask. It's not even the personality, more like the persona we consider ourselves—that pile of beliefs, resentments, fears. For any ordinary person, it's a very bulky construct. That's why the basilisk burned up instantly—you had so much of it all..." He shook his head, stood up, and left the hut.
As he had said, the next day I was already on my feet, though I still felt weak.
"Don't worry, tomorrow you'll be fine and can head home."
"And how do I get out of here?"
"Well, it's not like we're in the middle of nowhere. See, follow the path—it'll lead you to the road. There's a regular bus to the district center, and from there, wherever you want: to Kirov, or even to Murom."
"Thank you. I don't even know how to thank you."
"Ah, forget it, it's nothing. You survived—thank God."
"I don't even know your name."
"Well, don't call me anything for now... If you come back, then we'll do introductions. And if you really manage to forget everything that happened here, then my name is nothing for you to know or remember."
"Well, maybe we'll meet under different circumstances somewhere..."
"No, we cannot meet under any other circumstances. We exist in different realities. But I brought you into mine for a while—couldn't just leave you there. But once you leave here—you leave my world. And you can only return as a student. And just with idle curiosity or, as you say, under other circumstances, you won't even find my hut, let alone me."
"By the way, I wanted to ask: when we met, I thought I saw a fox..."
"Well, and what's the question?"
"Was I imagining it, or did I actually see a fox?"
"What you saw and what you imagined, only you can say. And was there a fox? Well, no, there wasn't. There was only an old fox. If you want to go home, be less curious. Heard the saying, 'curiosity killed the cat'? The less you know—the less you'll have to forget."
The next day, I was walking along the forest path. The forest was just as fairy-tale-like, but now I regarded it with caution. I reached the road fairly quickly, saw a bus stop a little further along, and walked to it. The forest man had given me good directions—literally within ten minutes, a bus arrived. A few hours later, I was entering my building entrance.
What a commotion started! Everyone was fussing, running around. It turned out they had been looking for me for several days and had all sorts of theories about where I'd disappeared. To all questions, I answered that I remembered things vaguely, that I was still drunk, that I'd gone off somewhere unclear and couldn't find my way back, so I just wandered through the forest, ate berries, slept in trees. And I looked the part. They put me in the hospital for a couple of days, but found nothing besides severe exhaustion and discharged me, prescribing rest and hearty meals. At work, they gave me leave to recover. And finally, everyone calmed down.
It's just that the little man was right—over time, everyone calmed down, except for me. And there was no peace or interest in anything. I had no concern for my wife or children. I completely lost interest in my job. Reading, video games, alcohol, socializing with friends—it all just irritated me more. And a sense of unease, anxiety, began to grow. I realized I had truly become afraid of the dark, that right now, there in the darkness, those familiar iridescent eyes would flash again.
I thought more and more: if they are hunters, then they know how to deal with these creatures. And that means they don't tremble like I do now, afraid of the unknown. In the end, after two months, I was walking along the familiar path back to the forest man's hut.
He was sitting by his hut, working on something. When I approached, he lifted his head.
"Well, there you are," he said and stood up. "Now then, let's get acquainted. They call me Luka. Hunters among themselves call me the Black Fox—you probably figured out why."
"To be honest, not entirely. I actually thought that fox was my imagination."
"You see, the joke is this. A human cannot defeat most of the creatures you encountered on the path without some kind of aid, because his body isn't meant for it. But any predatory beast—wolf, bear, lynx—is a weapon from nose to tail, you might say."
"So you mean to say that back then, it was you who was the fox?"
"Why 'mean to say'? I'm saying exactly that. And so for you, to have the ability to fight the undead, you'll have to learn the turn."
"You mean become a werewolf?"
"Don't go putting labels on things. But in a sense—yes. But what you know or think about it is just fiction and scary stories for little children. Shapeshifting is just a trick used by those who know it. And there are quite a few of them, if you think about it... Hunters, shamans, sorcerers, and others like that. I'm talking about those who truly know, not the charlatans who have proliferated outrageously these days."
"But how? That's, um... unnatural."
"And what do you consider natural?" he asked with a smirk. "Maybe what you consider such is precisely unnatural? Well, anyway, enough theory for today—let's move on to practice. Meet your instructor in this matter. He's been sniffing you out for a long time."
By that time, we were already sitting on the porch. I was sitting half-turned towards Luka, with my back to the corner of the house closer to the forest. Engrossed in the conversation, I hadn't looked back. And there, behind me, it turned out, sat a real, live bear. It sat there, comically stretching its snout towards me, sniffing. Startled, I jerked sharply and tumbled off the porch, landing awkwardly on my back. The bear, startled by my sudden movement, also jerked, but in the other direction, and also fell to the ground.
"Well, you two are a right pair!" Luka roared with laughter.
