Ethereal Chronicles

I was offered a job that spring; an opportunity I gratefully accepted, desperate to ease the strain of my current circumstances. My town was a bustling yet forgotten place, tucked deep within the shadow of the surrounding mountains. Only one Banya belonged to the area, nestled near a winding river, but its fortune had recently soured. Rumours spread that a Bannik had taken up residence there, and since then customers and workers alike had refused to return.

I was not so easily spooked by such tales. I fancied myself a child of modernity, enthralled more by the wonders of science than the fading superstition of ghosts and demons.

The owner, however, insisted that my time there would be difficult. Even in solitude, he said, the bathhouse never truly felt empty. A heavy, malevolent energy swelled, all dark and oppressive as it clung to every wall and hung from every room. Water would slosh in tubs long drained, and faint echoes of coughs would drift through the walls, though no visible mouths made them. At times, one might feel the burn of unseen eyes upon their skin.

On my first evening, I was the only worker on duty and saw fewer than a dozen customers. The remaining townsfolk kept their distance, cautious of provoking the spirit with their presence. When eventually time came to close for the night, I felt no unease, no manner of strange sight or sound to warrant the stories that I had been told.

The Banya was modest in size; a single hallway with four steam rooms on either side. At its far end lay the great communal bath – a large, shallow pool that glinted in the dim light.

I moved through the building at an unhurried pace, my eyes adjusting to the warm timber and shadows that pooled within each doorway. I wiped every bench and basin and swept each floorboard, the sounds of my work echoing softly through the empty hall. By the time I had finished, the sky beyond the windows had surrendered entirely to darkness. I gathered my things, and turned to leave.

But as I lifted the key from my pocket, a sudden shudder passed through me. From somewhere down the corridor came the faint trickle of water. A dim, amber glow seeped out from beneath a door on the right, along with a spilling mist of steam.

Nervously, I stepped forward to push the weight of my hand against the door. It groaned open beneath my touch, but as it did, the light vanished, the sound died, and the room fell still.

Unease prickling at my skin, I made another sweep of the building, checking every room, door and window to make sure that nobody was inside and nobody could get in. Once I was certain of my satisfaction, I headed back once more to leave through the great front door.

But at the turning of my back a second time, a sudden wave of dread hit me, so strong it rooted me where I stood. The air grew thick, and the walls, pushing off an eerie fullness as if taking an enormous breath, began to press me back into the main body of the hall. In that moment a sharp laugh split the silence, so close it grazed my ear. I cried out, the shock pulling me from my trance and allowing me to spin around, but the space was empty.

“Who is it? Who is there? Show yourself to me!”

My voice rang through the corridor, sharp and trembling. No answer came, though some low remnants of laughter continued, until finally the weathered croak of an old man whispered through the bathouse.

“Your skepticism is insulting. Perhaps a proper introduction will cure your ignorance.”

At his words, whoever it was, my feet began to shuffle forwards in an uncanny fashion, not because I had begun to walk but because my steps were not my own. Step by step, I drifted down the corridor towards the great bath at its end, through a door which now lay slightly ajar.

The room in which I entered flickered with dim candlelight that I had not created, from candles that I could not see. The great tub which stretched across the room was no longer empty but brimming with hot water and steam that curled to kiss the beams of the ceiling. Impossible, because I had emptied it not even an hour before.

My body did not stop at the threshold. My hands moved of their own volition, shedding the fabrics from my skin until I stood bare. Then, without my command, I stepped into the bath. The warmth wrapped around me, heavy and stifling. It might have felt somewhat soothing had I not seen a short, shrivelled looking thing scuttle from behind one pillar to another.

It was a dishevelled, tiny man. His long, white beard trailed behind him like a robe, fittingly so since he was otherwise unclothed. His feet were bare and absurdly large, jutting out at such angles that, in any other moment, I might have laughed. But the sight of him, both human and wholly wrong, unsettled me. He peered out, rubbing at the tip of his snout-like nose, and lifted his gaze to me.

“If your future portends greatness,” he said, “you won’t feel a thing. If it portends death or suffering, however…” He clasped his clawed hands together, twisting his face into a smile behind the mass of white hairs, “then the pain might not be quite so easily endured.”

Before I could open my mouth to reply, he had already darted around the room to clamp his withered hands down upon my shoulders. The air fell still as he hummed and twitched in the unknowable ritual of his predictions. Then, with a sudden sigh, he raised one hand and brought it down upon my back.

I cried out as his filthy, jagged nails carved four deep gashes across my skin. Warm blood streamed into the milky water, clouding it red like ink spreading through paper.

His voice, now low and cold, slid past my ear.

“You have offended me. And so Death will come for both you and this Banya.”

I gasped and clutched at my back, spinning around to face him, but he was no longer there. His disappearance triggered a foul, thick smell. From the doorway coils of thick, dangerous smoke began to creep into the room, curling and writing like a mass of living things. Somewhere beyond, an unnoticed fire had begun to rage.

Jolting with fear, I moved to escape the confinements of the bathtub, but I could not move. The water was gone and I lay there, bare, my blood pattering against the dry surface.

The fire raged with intensifying fury, its scorching tongues licking hungrily at the trembling walls of wood around me. Smoke filled my lungs, each breath an unbearable, burning struggle, and through the choking haze, two gleaming eyes glinted in the firelight.

A cruel laugh echoed through the bathhouse.

APPEARANCE AND ATTRIBUTES

The Bannik was a Slavic bathhouse spirit. He usually resembled the appearance of a small, naked old man with a long beard, though he had the ability to shapeshift into whichever form he desired.

In the Banya (bathhouse), a Bannik demanded respect. Anyone who failed to honour him, or accidentally intruded upon him while bathing, were often faced with wrath. Such encounters would result in them being strangled to death, or having boiling water poured over their heads. Christian images were forbidden in the presence of a Bannik, since he often dwelled in the company of demons and forest spirits, which he invited to bathe with him.

A Bannik was also said to possess prophetic powers. If he stroked the back of a lone bather, it signified safety. If death or danger was close by, then he would scratch them.

Certain rituals were performed to appease a local Bannik, such as leaving offerings of branches or soap, accompanied by a formal thank you uttered out loud. If a Bannik remained displeased, then he would burn down the Banya in his rage.