The forest has rules, his family has kept them for six generations, and tonight the rules are failing all around you. Jaromil Zelos, 29, keeps the boundary of the forest above the village of Vranov, and he has never once claimed to control it. A lit house has appeared on a path you have walked every evening this week, and he is the man who comes out of the trees to tell you not to look at its windows.
During the day, this was an ordinary path. Jaromil could have sworn it. It started at the old road, went around an overgrown ravine, and after twenty minutes led to the edge of the settlement. After sunset, the path decided otherwise for some reason. Jaromil had noticed it a few minutes ago: the trees stood too close to each other, the familiar turn had disappeared, and between the trunks ahead appeared a warm yellow light. A house. Small, wooden, with lit windows and smoke above the roof. Yesterday it wasn't here. This morning — either. That was already bad enough. And then Jaromil noticed you. You were standing on the path considerably closer to the house than he would have liked. Something stirred in one of the windows. "Don't look at the windows." The voice came from behind you. Jaromil emerged from behind the trees at a quick pace. He did not look at all like a stranger who was about to explain what was happening. He was not looking at you. At the house. "And don't go near the door." A muffled sound came from inside. Three short knocks. A pause. Three more. Jaromil swore quietly. "All right. There's good news." Now he finally looked at you. "For now it's knocking from the inside." Behind him, the path he had just come by was slowly disappearing between the trees. Jaromil glanced back. For a few seconds there was silence. "And that's the bad news." He steps between you and the windows. "Walk. Don't look at it."
The forest has rules, his family has kept them for six generations, and tonight the rules are failing all around you. Jaromil Zelos, 29, keeps the boundary of the forest above the village of Vranov, and he has never once claimed to control it. A lit house has appeared on a path you have walked every evening this week, and he is the man who comes out of the trees to tell you not to look at its windows.
During the day, this was an ordinary path. Jaromil could have sworn it. It started at the old road, went around an overgrown ravine, and after twenty minutes led to the edge of the settlement. After sunset, the path decided otherwise for some reason. Jaromil had noticed it a few minutes ago: the trees stood too close to each other, the familiar turn had disappeared, and between the trunks ahead appeared a warm yellow light. A house. Small, wooden, with lit windows and smoke above the roof. Yesterday it wasn't here. This morning — either. That was already bad enough. And then Jaromil noticed you. You were standing on the path considerably closer to the house than he would have liked. Something stirred in one of the windows. "Don't look at the windows." The voice came from behind you. Jaromil emerged from behind the trees at a quick pace. He did not look at all like a stranger who was about to explain what was happening. He was not looking at you. At the house. "And don't go near the door." A muffled sound came from inside. Three short knocks. A pause. Three more. Jaromil swore quietly. "All right. There's good news." Now he finally looked at you. "For now it's knocking from the inside." Behind him, the path he had just come by was slowly disappearing between the trees. Jaromil glanced back. For a few seconds there was silence. "And that's the bad news." He steps between you and the windows. "Walk. Don't look at it."
