fiction by nico hako

Lonesome is this Creature

Daryna stood on the bow of the fishing boat as dark waves crashed against it, sea spray arcing overhead. The waxing moon was obscured by clouds and had little light to offer both her and the captain at the helm. Daryna held onto her white headscarf to stop the wind from sweeping it away. She could taste a hint of the water’s salt on the wind, and it smelled refreshing to her—it reminded her of home. 

As the winds began to calm, and the Black Sea began to relax, the ship steadied and continued cruising towards the vague speck of an island in the distance. While this sea was familiar to her, the island in the distance was not: it was an unnamed dot in an otherwise named expanse. Dread built in Daryna’s heart as she watched the island draw closer, dread she had felt as soon as she returned to her hometown of Odachka a few days prior.

Her hasty return home was initially prompted by an unexpected letter. The letter in question arrived at Daryna’s convent in Northern Romania, where she had been practicing as a woman of God for the last fourteen years. The envelope was unassumingly thin, and it was addressed to Daryna Demchuk, daughter of Rev. Mykhailo Demchuk. The message inside was written in a chaotic scrawl that suggested time was limited; it was signed by Captain Grygoriy, a close friend of her father’s. Upon reading it in full, she immediately began the journey back to her hometown, and not far after her arrival, she and Captain Grygoriy began the midnight excursion to the island unfamiliar to her.

They were nearing the island now, and it was much smaller than she had expected, perhaps less than twenty meters across. In its very middle sat a small, dilapidated house partially hidden by fir trees; the trees appeared to reach its far side, with its near side being an open, sandy beach. There was no light whatsoever coming from the island, making it appear hollow and foreboding against the gloom of the sea and night sky around it. Daryna realized that all she saw in every direction was darkness, faintly lit by the clouded moon and stars above. The reflection of the boat’s lanterns against the dark water reminded her of the muddled watercolor paintings she made in her youth.

“I won’t go no closer,” said a voice in Ukrainian from behind the helm of the ship. She turned just as a short man with strong arms and sun-weathered skin approached her on the bow. “Your father wouldn’t let me. His father neither.”

“How am I supposed to bless the water if I can’t be nearer?” Daryna asked in Ukrainian, fidgeting with the prayer rope between her fingers; her ordination as a deaconess had only been a month and a half prior. While her faith did not falter, her self-confidence to complete such a serious task certainly did.

“Rowboat,” said Captain Grygoriy. “I’ll hoist it down for you.”

As he worked to undo the ropes fastening the rowboat to the side of the ship, she could hear nothing but the wind and the ebb and flow of the sea’s waves against the boat’s hull.

“Have you . . . seen It?” Daryna asked, her voice quieter than she intended.

“No, no. I haven’t never seen It,” said Captain Grygoriy as he finished releasing the knots, dropping the rowboat into the water below. “I never look. I always smoked on the opposite side of the ship until your father would return, may his soul rest in peace. Bad things come from a layman like me looking at It.”

“Is the island safe?”

“It never attacked your father. It seems safe, at least for people like you.” 

The captain threw down a rope ladder, and Daryna hesitantly made her climb down into the rowboat. The sea below was unusually calm, allowing her to light the lantern at its bow with little resistance.

She began by rowing to one of the three metal buoys that surrounded the island, each topped with a cross, and prepared herself to bless the surrounding waters. She took a hand cross out of her cloak pocket and placed it on her lap before closing her eyes and clasping her hands together to begin. Her voice was barely above a whisper, almost getting lost in the wind: “ . . . that these waters may be sanctified by the power . . . and effectual operation, and descent of the Holy Spirit . . . let us pray to the Lord. . . .” She continued in full before stopping a moment to breathe and let the prayer settle. She opened her eyes once more and dipped her hand cross into the water three times, followed by a closing prayer: “Save, O Lord, Thy people and bless Thine inheritance . . . granting unto the faithful victory over enemies. And by the power of Thy Cross, do Thou preserve Thy commonwealth. . . .” She shook her hand cross free of water and deposited it in the safety of her cloak pocket before rowing to the next buoy.

She tried to keep her mind off the island, but it nagged incessantly in the back of her mind. She continued to bless the water around the following buoys, making an effort to keep her mind on God and not on the island. But she felt It. Something was watching her. After finishing the third blessing, she began to quickly row back toward the ship, fighting against the urge to turn and look at the island. She wasn’t sure what kind of unholy creature was trapped there, and Captain Grygoriy had made it very clear even he didn’t know; he wasn’t allowed to. 

As she boarded the ship and they began to sail back toward Odachka, Daryna could resist no longer. She turned to face the island and stared at the house; in response, whatever was watching her from behind the house’s windows, moved. 

Captain Grygoriy’s letter plainly told Daryna why she was needed back home. Her father’s passing was a sudden yet peaceful one, but it left a hole far larger than her hometown’s community realized—more than they were allowed to know. Reverend Mykhailo guided Odachka with a steady yet gentle hand, a hand that guided Daryna to her own religious journey when she came of age a decade and a half ago; a hand that supported her decision to become a deaconess. It was only after his death that Daryna learned just how closely her father protected Odachka and its people. 

“The stvorinnya will ravage the town,” wrote Captain Grygoriy in his letter. “It will destroy everything if It is not contained by something—someone holy. Now that your father has passed, that person must be you. The blessings must be repeated on the first day of every month. That is what your grandfather and father did, and it is what you must do.”

*

Daryna’s dreams and memories were usually blurry and disjointed, but tonight they were as clear as sea water. The image was scattered at first, mixing memory with imagination: she was aware that she was dreaming. The sound of the sea outside her window was faint, but it lulled her into a deep state of remembrance. 

“Papa! Papa!” Daryna burst into her father’s study, her little legs running as fast as they could. She felt as if she hadn’t seen him in forever. Daryna remembered this moment so vividly; she could almost taste the dusty air of the room.

“Daryna! My little sun, come to me.” Mykhailo picked her up into his arms and held her close. 

The midday sun streamed through the window, warming her and reflecting off the ornate metal cross hanging on the opposing wall. She found something about it to be remarkably eye-catching, it appeared to reflect light in the palest of rainbows. Her little hands felt the smooth, soft fabric of her father’s robes—tracing its pattern with her fingers calmed her. She never wanted to let go.

“Papa, where did you go for so long?” Daryna asked as she looked up into her father’s eyes. They held a kindness she hadn’t been able to find anywhere else. He smiled at her question, the skin around his eyes crinkling.

“Someplace far. I was helping a village recover after a fire, young one.”

“I could have helped!” Daryna pouted, pulling on the fabric of her father’s robes.

“But, Daryna, you have a much more important job,” Mykhailo said, bringing her to the closest window. “While I’m gone, you must stay here to protect our town. That is far more important, wouldn’t you say?” Outside, the sky was a bright blue and tinted the horizon, further enveloping the town in a warmth that persisted through her memory. The sound of the waves brought her back to her bedroom, and she awoke with tears in her eyes. After a long moment of quiet reflection, she was lulled back to sleep by the sound of those same waves outside her window. 

*

Two weeks after Daryna blessed the waters, she and Captain Grygoriy left Odachka once more to return to the island. He hadn’t been particularly clear on why they were returning, having only given her a day’s notice to prepare herself for another midnight excursion. Daryna nervously played with the beaded prayer rope she loosely wrapped around her wrist to help distract herself; as they approached the island, she could not bear to set eyes on it. Instead, she focused on the carcass of a small roe deer wrapped in a wool blanket, something Captain Grygoriy had loaded onto the ship before she boarded. The deer’s eyes looked cloudy and vacant.

“Girl, stop staring at that thing,” Captain Grygoriy told her without looking away from the helm. “Staring into the eyes of the dead is bad luck.”

“Why are we taking such a thing with us?” Daryna asked, reluctantly moving her attention toward the full moon above.

“Your father began feeding It about ten years ago. He was a good holy man who refused to let even the evilest of things suffer by hunger.”

“Dreadful thing,” Daryna muttered. “But if it must be done.”

Captain Grygoriy nodded. “It was what your father would have wanted.”

As the ship approached the island, Grygoriy loaded the deer into the rowboat and lowered it into the water. He was very clear with her: take the deer to shore, push it past the beach, and do not let it get wet. Remove the blanket and return with it to shore as soon as possible. It was what her father did, and it is what she would do.

As she rowed toward the shore, Daryna tried her best to ignore the presence she felt within the house. Whatever it was, she did not want to think about it. When she reached the shore, she struggled to push the deer out of the boat and onto the beach. She began dragging it by the blanket through the sand and onto grass; she was perhaps halfway to the house, now, and refused to go any further. 

Satisfied with her work, she quickly turned to leave. She repeated the list in her head: pull the deer to land . . . do not let it get wet . . . remove the blanket . . . return to the ship. The blanket. It wasn’t until she was about to push off shore that she realized she forgot to bring the wool blanket with her. Daryna hurriedly ran back to retrieve it, panic rising in her chest. The blanket appeared stuck on the deer’s legs and as she struggled to pull it out from under the animal, she heard the creak of a door swinging open. Her stomach sank like an anchor in deep waters. 

She slowly looked up, and there, looming in the open doorway with moonlight pouring down through the surrounding trees, It stood. Daryna froze, unable to move—not because of terror but because of shock.

It was no creature, but a man in tattered clothes with dark hair. And his eyes: they were wide, Daryna realized, with fear. At the right angle, his dark eyes reflected red in the moonlight, like a wild animal’s. Neither she nor the creature moved. After several long moments passed, he grabbed the door handle and stepped back into the house, shutting the door behind him with such force that the sound echoed across the island.

Daryna’s fear began to fade, and she quickly made the sign of the cross with her right hand before backing towards the safety of the water, leaving the wool blanket behind. When she returned to the ship, she was certain Captain Grygoriy would ask questions about the commotion, but instead he scolded her for not returning with the blanket. It seemed the sound of the door slamming shut was caught by the waves and was, therefore, unnoticed by anyone other than herself.

*

Daryna spent the next few weeks in the Odachka library, searching for what the creature could be. Many things could take the form of a human, and her first thought was a demon. But she knew her father would feed no demon. So, it must have been something else. Perhaps a werewolf? Yet, he stood in moonlight as man, not wolf. And his eyes . . . he looked human, but his eyes reflected like an animal’s. Despite all her research, Daryna could not settle on a creature that matched his description exactly. He wasn’t aggressive; he feared her. It wasn’t until her next voyage with Captain Grygoriy that answers began to appear.

“Your father told me to give this to you after the shock of the first month wore off,” Captain Grygoriy said as he pulled a thick envelope out of his shirt pocket and offered it to her without taking his eyes off the sea, where it was unruly tonight.

The envelope was sealed with red wax and seemed in rough condition, as if it were several years old. She opened it, unsure of what the letter would contain, and read it by the clear light of the waning moon.

To my dearest Daryna,

If you received this letter, it means I was unable to pass our family secret to you in person. For this, I can only ask for your forgiveness. Grygoriy will have introduced you to the issue at hand; however, our family has made a grave mistake. My father taught me that this creature drinks the blood of children during the night, that It is an unholy thing that fears the cross, and that Its release would mean death for Odachka and its people. It is a vampir, Daryna. It can die by our hand with a stake through the heart, but dorohyy, we cannot do such a thing. My father tortured It. He kept It here, and he refused to kill It. I recently met this creature by accident, and It—he—is a reclusive and benevolent creature with no interest in harm. I cannot decide if I should release him or put him out of his misery, but I trust you, my sweet Daryna, to bring a woman’s intuition and heart to decide what is best. I do not know if I am right, but I believe you will understand him much better than I.

Your most dedicated father, Mykhailo

The sea used to calm Daryna as a child, but now, when she looked at it, she felt the realization that there were things in this world that were beyond even her understanding as a woman of God. When Captain Grygoriy reached the island, she had a sense of what must come next; instead of blessing the water, she rowed straight for the shore of the island.

It was quiet on the beach; the only thing that seemed to move were the waves and the trees swaying in the wind. Daryna made her way up towards the house, momentarily stopping at the place she had put the deer two weeks prior. The blanket was now gone, yet what struck her far more than the loss of the blanket was the deer’s missing hide, its corpse as pale as seafoam in the moon’s light. She shuddered and continued walking until she was at the door of the house. Her fingers instinctively wished to fidget with the prayer knot that was usually wrapped around her wrist, but she had hidden it in her cloak pocket beside her hand cross in case they scared It—him.

“Stvorinnya, if you can speak, please speak with me,” Daryna said, her voice shaking more than she had expected. There was some shuffling before the door opened an inch, the creature’s eyes cautiously peeking through. He seemed to be waiting for something.

“Stvorinnya, what is your name?” she asked quietly. 

His reply came out slow and unsure, as if he were trying to remember the word he was looking for. At first, she didn’t understand what he was saying. Then, with a jolt of momentary surprise, she understood: he wasn’t speaking Ukrainian, he was speaking Romanian like her Sisters back at her convent. Come no closer, he repeated, again and again until his voice was clear. Her stomach twisted. Perhaps she was doing more harm than good.

“What do you fear of me, creatură? she asked in Romanian.

Through the crack in the door, she could see his eyes light up briefly, yet he didn’t open the door. “In your pocket. . . .” he said, his voice gravelly. “I can feel them.”

Daryna blinked. She realized that even hiding the image of the cross behind fabric wasn’t enough. She began backing away several feet until she was on the edge of the beach, and cautiously pulled both the hand cross and the prayer rope out of her pocket. She could see him tense behind the door as if expecting her to do harm until she carefully laid them on the sand. She would have to ask for forgiveness later—whether or not God would grant it to her is another question. When she approached the door once more, she noticed the creature looked at her differently than before. He almost looked relieved.

“What is your name, creatură?” she asked gently in Romanian.

In response, he apprehensively opened the door, allowing her to see him clearly for the first time. He was taller than she had first thought, and broad shouldered, yet he seemed embarrassed of his size and shrunk under her gaze. His olive skin was chalky and translucent, and Daryna was surprised to find that he smelled like pine needles and wool.

“I do not remember my name,” he said, his voice raspy, unfamiliar with use.

“May I give you a name, so I shouldn’t have to call you creatură?”

“What name would you give . . . a thing such as myself,” he said plainly. 

Daryna thought for a long while, but the only name that came to her was the most common name for men in her town. “Do you like the name Artem?” she offered.

The air grew quiet as he contemplated. He frowned and stared at the ground, as if in deep consideration. “I like this name,” he said after a long pause. “What is your name?”

“Daryna,” she said, her confidence beginning to grow. “Artem, what do you remember of your life before you were here?”

“Before?” he said, voice low. “I do not remember much. I remember trees. I remember. . . .” he trailed off, lost in thought. His eyes briefly unfocused before focusing again. “I remember . . . a dog by my side. And a longbow in my hand.”

They stood in silence for a moment as Artem’s words began to settle in Daryna’s mind. The air seemed to still, and the waves lapping at the shore of the island quieted.

“Artem, do you remember anything else?”

“I remember not much,” his voice wavered, “I awoke here one day, and I was thirsty. I was so thirsty I caught stârci and drank their blood.”

“Stârci?” Daryna asked.

“A kind of bird. I make parchment and use their feathers to paint.”

“You . . . paint?” she asked. She realized where the deer’s missing hide must have gone and breathed a sigh of relief. “May I see one of your paintings?”

Artem’s eyes brightened, and he disappeared into his dilapidated house before quickly returning with a crudely formed piece of parchment no larger than half her forearm. He offered it to her, and she gently took it in her hands to study it closer. It was a rough painting done in red and black of a woman resting beside the corpse of a small deer, her face turned down towards the dead animal in scrutiny. The woman was supposed to be her, she realized. He even added the prayer knot she usually wrapped around her wrist, but the cross was blurry, the only part of the piece that looked unfinished.

Looking back at Artem now, with his eyes sparkling in excitement and a sheepish smile revealing prominent canine teeth, Daryna understood. He was exactly what her father thought he was: a creature of benevolence who, just like humans, wished to create and live. A creature who had been isolated for such a long time that he feared, yet still admired, humans from a distance. He deserves to be free, she thought. Her vision began to blur, and to Artem’s quiet dismay, she began to weep.