Ethereal Chronicles

I had barely been in town for a week before Mr. Ivanova sent me out to work in the fields. Few people wished to work there, he said, and the town could use with some fresh faced volunteers. At first, of course, I thought little of his words.

The summer that Earth’s Mother had gifted us with this year was an unbearably hot one, the rye wilting beneath the stifling enclosure of the sun, which blazed down upon it day after day. So my work began, regrettably, in the midst of a continuous heatwave.

The morning was not quite so unbearable; I had long since grown accustomed to discomfort from the trials of my past. But as the sun climbed higher to move to the center of the sky and the wind faded, my weariness deepened. And by the time another hour had passed, my skin burned so fiercely to the touch I was sure I would catch fire any waking moment. I began to see things, the rye playing tricks on my eyes as it pulled out pale tendrils to brush against my face, urging me to leave. But I would not.

I did, however, take a seat, resting my head between my knees as I watched beads of sweat drip from my forehead to the ground below. I remained that way for a time, lost in the heat, until an unsettling sensation crept over me, the presence of something else that lingered in the field.

“Hello?” A small voice called from the rye, and I stood, watching as a little girl pushed her way through the grass. Her skin was smeared with dirt from head to toe, and in her small hand, she gripped an enormous scythe.

“What are you doing here, little one? It’s too hot for you. You should head on home.” I said, forcing a smile to mask the sudden hot flush of discomfort that rushed through my body.

“I live here.” She said, stepping closer until she stood directly before me. She was so small that the top of her fair head barely reached beyond my hip. Playfully, I reached out a hand to tousle her hair, but she recoiled with an unnerving swiftness.

“So, what do you want?” I said, softly.

“I want to play a game.” The girl smiled. “Answer three questions I have thought of just for you. If you answer correctly, then I will reward you. But if not…your fate may not be so fortunate.

I chuckled, crouching down to meet her gaze. “And what are these ominous questions, little madam?”

“The more you have of me, the less you see. What am I?”

“Easy.” I smiled. “Darkness. I’m fond of riddles. Are you sure you wish to continue?”

The girl reddened, though I was not entirely sure whether it was at the hand of shyness or rage. “Next one.” She snapped. “If I have it, I don’t share it. If I share it, I don’t have it. What am I?”

“A secret.” I said, just as readily as before.

Her mouth widened again to reveal teeth blackened with rot. “What has four legs in the morning, two legs at noon, and three legs in the evening?”

I paused.

“Don’t know?” She asked, leaning forwards with anticipation before rocking back and forth on her toes as if savouring the moment.

“It’s not that.” I murmured. My head had grown too hot, a splitting headache rising to thud harshly against my temples.

“Yes, I know.” The girl said, her voice laced with anticipation. “So you forfeit?”

“Give me a moment.” I said, my voice faltering as I keeled over in the tall grass. A nauseating crack rang out as my nose hit the dirt, shattering, and I cried out with pain. The girl did not move nor did she exhibit terror of any sort, but began to hum a strange tune. The blood from my face pooled in the ground, and the rye drank it greedily, parched from the heat. I did not see what happened next, because before I could even gather myself, the girl had lifted the scythe high and brought it down with brutal precision, slicing it across my neck.

Now what continued in the field thenceforth, I can tell you, was something most sinister. It seemed that with every mysterious death that occurred there, an unknown, muddied girl would appear, carrying a scythe slick with blood, and the bodies that she left behind were without heads which were never found again but taken with her, to wherever it was that she disappeared off to.

APPEARANCE AND ATTRIBUTES

Poludnitsa is a demon from the Slavic countries of Eastern Europe, tied to the scorching heat of noon on hot summer days. Coming from ‘half-day’ or ‘midday’, she appears to individuals who have been labouring long and hard under the relentless sun, their bodies worn by discomfort, often on the verge of heatstroke. Before taking a physical form, Poludnitsa dwells in the wind, manifesting as flecks of dust, sand or dirt carried by the breeze.

She may appear to her victims as a beautiful woman, an old hag or even a small child, and she always carries a scythe or a sickle in her hand. Some tales depict her wielding an old frying pan, which she uses to shield the rye from the sun or allow it to burn in the heat. Those who toil in her field are subjected to cruel riddles often pertaining to their fate. Failure to answer her questions correctly leaves these individuals face to face with inescapable, imminent death.

In addition to death, Poludnitsa can inflict unbearable pains in the body, dismissed by others as mere aches from overwork, or drives people to madness. Those she kills are decapitated, or cursed with a deadly plague which quickly consumes them, draining their strength until they collapse before her feet.

Another terrifying aspect of this demon is her twisted fondness for dance, which she uses to trap unfortunate young girls who happen to wander across her field. The trance she places them into forces them to dance nonstop until Poludnitsa grants them escape or becomes exhausted herself. These girls are often driven to madness with the endless frolicking, cursed by no rest or reprieve.