Yaga

We drove up the snowy, winding road towards the cozy A-frame cabin.

The forest was in a liminal state: caught between the dying throes of autumn and the birth of winter. A cascade of fiery leaves rode the wind whilst flecks of snow floated softly down onto the dirt track road. The A-frame cabin was of medium size, nestled amongst the trees.

Its pale green door was the hue of newly grown stems and two rectangular windows gleamed like eyes on either side of the entrance. It was ready for us to enter.

"It'll do." My mother said sharply, her buck teeth protruding from her mouth. One gnarled hand gripped the steering wheel. My stomach rumbled, the hunger pangs bordering on unmanageable.

"I know you're hungry, Yaga. What do you think this cabin is for, hmm?" She growled, taking a swipe at me with her free hand. The blow stung, but I didn't wince.

She pulled up to the cabin and the shuddering car finally died, the engine cutting out before she even turned the key. I breathed in the cool scent of pine and let a snowflake die on my tongue. It dripped down my throat and did nothing for the hunger.

We made ourselves at home, cracking the green wooden door open like a nut. My mother's cool brown eyes glittered when she saw the oven. In excitement, she hauled pots and pans from her worn suitcase and placed them down with reverence. Her hands shook, the joints inflamed.

I wandered into a bare room, a single bed shoved into a corner. My suitcase was small, holding my meagre belongings. Outside a window, I gasped at the tumbling radiance of the sky. The sun was hidden behind the snowy clouds, but in its persistence the horizon was a glowing silvery grey. For a heartbeat, my hunger receded. Something fed me that was deeper than meat.

"Yaga!"

I heard the yell and inwardly groaned. As my eyes crept towards the bed again, I imagined someone pinning me down. A man with hair of chestnut and eyes of blue...his mouth close to my own. A deeper hunger wound its way through me. The image was so powerful it was almost real and I opened my chapped mouth-

"Yaga! Get over here, you wretched girl!"

I sighed and left my fantasy in the room, my stomach rumbling.

My mother was baking, her muscles defined as she folded the cake batter in on itself. The oven was lit, the heat begging my hands for a blister. I stayed well back.

"Get the tins." She snarled, folding ever faster in a frenzy. I picked up the metal cake tins, dull from usage. I smeared butter onto them and she watched in ectsasy as the batter flowed like a river from the bowl into each tin. We were both very hungry.

The kitchen grew unbearably hot and she threw open the windows, the hissing curls of smoke escaping into the winter day.

As I took in the familiar scene, some part of me wondered at my life. If this continual travelling was what I wanted. We were always hungry, in ragged clothing fit for beggars and at the first hint of trouble we fled like criminals. We didn't take what we wanted from life. We were like the rabbits hunted by cunning foxes in the woods, huddling in our burrows, thinking we were safe. The heavenly scent of the baking cake infected the air and went for a stroll in the forest.

My mother sang a haunting tune and prepared buttercream, her whisking on the beat.

"Broomsticks and butter, brimstone and bread

a feast of a supper to witches was fed

Monday till Sunday the wine doth run dry

Till liver well-cooked meant the wicked did fly"

My gaze drifted to the window once more, bored by her song. I'd heard it too many times before. My thoughts strayed back to the fantasy hidden in my room but a noise stopped me from going there. My mother paused in her incessant whisking. The oven burned hot in the kitchen.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

"Why, there's someone at the door!" My mother said, her growling voice transformed into something sweet now that we had company. "A new neighbour from the village, perhaps."

I rested my hand on the cool iron handle and pulled the stem green door open.

My fantasy smiled at me pleasantly, his hair chestnut and his eyes the blue of a summer sky. His teeth were very white and the barest hint of baby fat still clung to his adult face. He was muscled, his arms strong and sure. Something woke up inside me, some form of want.

"Hello." He said, his voice low and pleasant. "I couldn't help but smell whatever you're baking. I just wanted to welcome you. No one told me someone was moving into the cabin."

"Welcome!" My mother shouted behind me, her tone warm as a hearth on a winter's night.

"It's nice to meet you." My eyes traced his face again and lingered on his body. He flushed a faint red. "My name is Yaga."

"I'm Alexei. I live in the village with my parents and my sister Vasilisa." He said, and my mother grinned and took the cakes from the oven. My stomach rumbled and he let out a lilting laugh. "Are you hungry?"

I shrugged, a bashful movement. The cakes were overpowering now and I saw hunger flash in his own eyes as he watched me.

We sat at the table and exchanged small talk as the night's curtain softly fell. The cakes cooled. My mother popped them from their tins and served him a grand slice and then another. His eyes drooped and I insisted he stay the night. I didn't want my fantasy to dissipate.

"But my mother..." He began, but I shushed him with one finger. Even in his stupor, he blushed. I led him into my room and when he instantly fell asleep I curled up beside him, my hunger unsated still. I breathed in his musky scent, my mouth brushing his arm. Snow pelted the window, winter dragging its first deathly breath as autumn truly perished. That night I burned in bed. The moon watched.

We woke to my mother's distant song as she kneaded bread and the oven sizzled. He smiled at me, shaking his head, his hair mussed from sleep.

"I didn't mean to stay." He laughed, his cheeks chubby in the morning light. They wobbled, and I brushed a kiss against his mouth.

"I meant for you to stay." I whispered and he stuttered over a mysterious word, his hand hesitantly going to my hair. My stomach rumbled.

"We should go and have breakfast." I said, chuckling. His face fell in disappointment. But I dragged him from the bed, hauling him downstairs. The oven sizzled.

"Good morning!" My mother said, her lips stretched into a joyous smile. "How about some homemade bread and jam?"

He sucked in a breath and tasted the air, enchanted by dough. As he took a piece in his mouth, a double chin threatened his neck. Another gulp, slithering down this throat, and another chin appeared. As he went to finish the last piece I leaned over and kissed his cheek for the last time.

My mother slashed his neck in one clean sweep, the blood spraying the tabletop. I sighed as she dragged his carcass away and prepared it for the true meal.

I finally finished my fantasy that evening. I closed my lids and saw blue eyes and chestnut hair. I opened my chapped mouth and...bit into the freshly cooked meat, seasoned with thyme. My mother let out a happy growl as she feasted.

I never wanted this to end. I wanted to feast eternally, instead of running and hiding from humans. The greasy juice of the meat dripped down my face and my mother shook her head.

"Baba Yaga." She reprimanded, using my full name. "Eat properly."

But even this meal didn't fully sate my hunger.

* * * * * *

In the bowels of the winter wood, Vasilisa searched for her brother. Her shouts were hurled aloft by the wind and echoed into towns the two witches had fled. The smell of spongecake walked the forest and one day soon, Vasilisa shall find its trail. A blade in her hands.