It was only after an extended wait that the aged servant led me through a narrow hallway to the dark wood of the study door. After entering I spied a wizened, frail, man; huddled deep within an oversized armchair. A bony hand gestured me to take the seat opposite him, a matching armchair woven in the traditional style. I took my seat, whereupon he greeted me in a faint voice, scarcely more than a whisper. “I trust you did not come for pleasantries, rather I’m certain Markov told you I knew something of the Mikoyan case.” I inclined my head yes, watching his expression closely all the while. Old Inquisitor Boris slowly closed his eyes, straightening his back as he reclined into his plush chair; he sighed deeply, tenting his fingers before his nose.
?“Mikoyan is a name I wish age had stolen from me, it is only through my great misfortune that its memory has lasted me these ninety seven years. I’ve forgotten so many things, even my wife’s face fades from my memory, yet I remember that long cold day as though it were yesterday.” Here he paused, the left corner of his mouth lifted slightly in a mirthless smirk. “For now I will take your doubt as a sign of interest. Perhaps when I finish you will not be so quick to question my recall. Have you ever heard of the hamlet Kraseno?”
?Noting my confusion he slowly broke into another smirk. “Kraseno won’t be found on any maps, nor will you find it by walking where it once stood. Even in my younger days, Kraseno was known to its neighbors as a place of decay and decadence; though I had only recently arrived in Petrograd, even I soon learned the foul reputation of Kraseno. For us in the White Guard, especially us new recruits, the superstitions of the locals were worth a closer inspection. The first time I heard of Kraseno…” Here, the aged Captain trailed off, perhaps recalling some long lost companion. “Never mind the specifics, in truth the only thing that mattered was the town’s ill reputation. It seemed as though, despite its abundant seas and rich forests, Kraseno held something… unclean. Yet at the time, we had no reason to investigate, as we had other concerns between the Woodland Heresy, and the Iconoclasts.” He paused again, the old lawman letting out a nostalgic sigh. “My poor wife, Saints guide her home, had so recently departed with the pox, and the Guard was a refuge for my solitary soul. A chance to do good in such a harsh world. That was the first time I heard the accursed name Mikoyan.”
?“Just as today, people began disappearing, and when found their bodies were mutilated, or bore strange and disturbing symbols. The Guard, naturally, was what the people turned to in order to save them from a menace that had baffled police.” Here he opened his eyes, the slate gray orbs staring deep into my own “In those days, people understood the practitioners of evil magic should face Church justice. Your police will never accomplish what the Guard of those days could.” His brows knit together sharply “My apologies, neither you nor I am responsible for what the Guard has become.” He heaved a deep, trouble sigh. “As I said, by means of our own channels, the Guard tracked poor accursed baby Mikoyan, then a mere lass of six years, to the vile hamlet of Kraseno. Senior Inquisitor Parov, my mentor at the time, and myself were dispatched with some acolytes to that sleepy little town.”
?“We arrived on a cold October day; though the past couple of days had been overcast, when we reached Kraseno the air was heavy with fog and a cold, miserable, rain. The first thing of note I found in Kraseno was the shocking absence of people. The town still stood, dark buildings looming from the fog in all directions, yet despite this, I found not a soul. And though the rain continued to fall, the air itself was unmoved by any wind, a still, oppressive presence over the proceedings. Parov led, and the acolytes followed behind me in our somber procession. The doors to all the main buildings hung open, and after investigation yielded little clue, as they were all empty, down to the humble church building. The dark wooden buildings seemed long abandoned at that, no traces of food, nor inhabitants, and everything with a soft cover of rot and decay in the wet air. Yet from the spire of the church, we caught a glimpse of what would prove to be the source of Kraseno’s woes. In the distance, where the black rock met the gray sky, rose a towering dacha, bowed with the weight of decades’ neglect, and in a window, a light softly flickered.”
?The old man drew a deep, rattling breath, as if to steel his younger self for what he did not know yet. His face settled in a grave and unfriendly demeanor, and he began again. “We dutifully marched to that lonely dacha, and as we marched, the wet mud of the town near the shore turned steadily into harsh, slippery rock. In the midst of our advance, the troops began to shiver, not from the cold, but from the premonition of evil that haunted us. I remember the image of Acolyte Sava clutching tightly to her beads under her jacket and muttering prayers to the gods above. Even if we did not show it, all among us felt the deep unease radiating from that accursed dacha. I found myself unable to take the final step over the threshold, though the door hung ajar; it was Parov who finally opened the door, though not without his own momentary hesitation.”
?Here again the old man fixed me with his baleful eyes “Make no mistake, child. None of us could ever be called cowards. We had all seen death, evil magicks, heresy, and of course, human suffering. Yet the sight that greeted us beyond that door, of a man, well dressed but shabby in his personal grooming, slumped motionless on the stairs in some horrid facsimile of casual ease, most certainly beyond any doubt, dead. Well, that served to rattle even the bravest among us, faced as we were with his twisted, unnaturally pale form. His bloodless corpse was slimy with decomposition, yet his face, almost ecstatic in its expression, served to so unsettle the troops that Acolyte Paulus was sick on the spot. Though in slightly better shape, none of us were in good form as we scattered into teams of two to search the house.”
?“Parov and I climbed to the third floor, ahead of the others, and upon reaching the narrow hall, spied the only room in the house illuminated by anything but our own lanterns. We drew our sabers in preparation, and quickly made our entrance, yet despite our anticipation, neither of us was ready for the sight that greeted us in that chamber. In one corner of an opulent, decaying bedroom stood a man bedecked in old aristocratic robes, long in face, and beard, seemingly transfixed in wondrous awe at the sight of events in the far corner. Our gazes naturally shifted to follow his, and what we saw haunts me to this day. Poor, unfortunate, young Mikoyan shivered in ragged rope bindings, while what I can only call a Thing approached her with a sickeningly slow gait.” Here his haunted eyes flicked down to the floor, and the electric lamp overhead flickered momentarily. After a shuddering breath, he recommenced his story. “I shall do my best to describe the Thing, though nothing I can say will impress upon you the terror of that moment. Think if you will, of the form of an emaciated child, swollen torso, huge skull, the outline of bones, over which the skin is stretched taught and thin. Then imagine its thin arms, too thin, seemingly, for any locomotion, yet still dragging its hideous potbellied form towards the defenseless child. Its skin held the same unhealthy slickness of the town, yet was covered also in scales, shining dimly under the light of the lamps. When we entered, its gaze turned to us, and what I saw around its mouth, I cannot utter. I recoiled in horror, then charged forward with drawn saber to strike the Thing where it stood. Behind me, I could hear the dull sound of saber meeting flesh, and a faint strangled cry as Parov dealt with the human perpetrator of this madness.”
?It was at this time that the old man drew inward, clutching at himself as though a frail old woman at market, wrapping herself tightly in her shawl. He continued, in a quiet tone. “The Thing, it stared up at me, and I down at it, and when I did, I could see nothing but the face of my dearly departed wife, the woman I swore to protect and cherish. At this vision, I froze, unable to strike the killing blow, for I could not strike my own wife! At that moment, it broke contact, instead turning to my right, and I once more saw it for what it really was, a foul disgusting Creature not even good to fertilize the black earth of the town. A sharp crack split the air, and the Creature fell back, and with hideous spasms died where it had stood. I turned to see Parov, clutching his pistol, shivering and white as a sheet. Wordlessly we stared at one another, then watched as the Thing’s helpless twitching slowed to a halt. In deep silence, Parov gently lifted poor accursed Mikoyan to his breast, cradling her as though his very soul was contained in that child. As he left, he pointed to the lamp behind me. I understood his wordless command, and dashed the lamp upon the Creature. The oil ignited, and though it burned wetly, and created excessive smoke, the Thing was consumed in its entirety. Unfortunately as the dacha was wet, the wood itself failed to catch, and it continued to stand as we silently filed away. My last sight of evil Kraseno was of the dacha fading into night’s blackness. And while we slowly rolled away in that cold gray rain I heard Parov mutter to himself “My own child, dear gods, I killed my own child…”
?The Old Man heaved a heavy sigh, as though the conclusion of this horrifying memory had freed him of some physical weight. “My memories of what came after are far less complete. As I recall, Parov very suddenly retired to some small country monestary, and shortly thereafter an entire battalion was dispatched to Kraseno. I had heard that the town was entirely leveled, and the dacha burned to its foundations, with what remained being cast into the waves. The Guard served me as well I served it, and I recommitted myself to stamping out anything that would even consider corrupting the world so hideously. I spent much of my life hoping to forget such a thing ever happened, though I never could quite free myself.” His cold gray eyes met mine, and in that instant, I saw the old Inquisitor as he looked then, a man, strong in conviction and in body, but with tired sad eyes that had caught a faint glimpse of the evil that lurks in the forgotten corners of this world.