Part 5
The night grew deeper.
The fire in the hearth slowly dwindled, leaving red embers pulsing among the burned logs.
Şehsuvar was still sitting at the table.
He had not gone to sleep.
His thoughts kept returning to what Khanım had said.
The part of me that wants to live.
He did not like that sentence.
As though the part of him still on the battlefield had become something different.
As though he had simply abandoned it.
“If I truly leave my original body behind,” he muttered, “who will protect it?”
There was no answer.
Şehsuvar turned.
Khanım was no longer by the hearth.
She stood before the window, watching the snow fall outside.
He rose and approached the window.
From there, he could see a small village almost entirely covered in snow.
A few houses still had their lights on.
Smoke drifted from the chimneys.
In the distance, a man was carrying firewood.
For a moment, the scene felt peaceful.
It was hard to believe that a few dozen kilometers from here, people were killing one another.
“What kind of place is this?”
“A village.”
“I can see that.”
Khanım looked at him.
“Then don’t ask something you already know.”
Şehsuvar snorted.
“You really are annoying.”
“I’ve been told that many times.”
A faint smile appeared on her face.
Then there was a knock at the door.
Three times.
Knock, knock, knock.
Khanım turned.
“Naciye?”
There was no answer.
Şehsuvar sensed something strange.
Not a sound.
Not a smell.
A presence.
Someone was standing behind the door.
But that presence did not feel human.
Khanım raised one finger.
“Don’t move.”
Şehsuvar stopped.
The woman slowly walked toward the door.
Her hand touched the handle.
She opened it.
There was no one there.
Only snow.
But something lay on the threshold.
A footprint.
Small.
Far too small for a soldier.
The tracks continued for several steps toward the forest.
Then they stopped.
Şehsuvar stood behind Khanım.
“What is that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t you know everything?”
“No.”
That answer made Şehsuvar even more wary.
Khanım crouched and touched the snow.
Her fingers stopped.
She studied the tracks with a serious expression.
“These aren’t human tracks.”
“Then what are they?”
Khanım stood.
“We’ll find out.”
They left the house.
Naciye appeared from the back door a short while later.
“Where are you going?”
Khanım turned.
“Come inside... back into the house.”
Şehsuvar looked at Naciye.
The young woman was carrying an oil lamp.
Her hands were trembling.
“Don’t go into the forest.”
“Why not?”
“People in the village have heard someone calling to them from there.”
Şehsuvar frowned.
“Whose voice?”
Naciye swallowed.
“The voice of someone they know.”
And
“When they went to find the source of the voice... they never came back.”
Silence.
The wind moved among the trees.
Şehsuvar looked at the forest.
Strangely, the trees stood close together like rows of soldiers.
Mist hung low among the roots.
Khanım took one step forward.
“That’s a koncolos.”
＼(^o^)／＼(^o^)／＼(^o^)／＼(^o^)／
Naciye immediately went pale.
Şehsuvar looked at her.
“What?”
“Don’t say its name out loud.”
“Why not?”
Naciye gripped her lamp tightly.
“Because my grandmother said that creature would hear.”
The woman did not look surprised.
“Do you believe stories like that?”
Naciye answered:
“I don’t know.”
She looked toward the forest.
“But three people have disappeared.”
“Russian soldiers?”
“No.”
“Ottoman soldiers?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
Naciye looked at him.
“Villagers.”
Şehsuvar fell silent.
The war had brought many terrible things to this land.
But something hunting villagers in the middle of the forest was another matter entirely.
Khanım raised her hand.
“Don’t come with us.”
Naciye shook her head.
“I know this forest.”
“You don’t know what’s inside it.”
“I know the way home.”
“We’re really going in?”
Khanım smiled.
“You want to know what happened to you yourself, don’t you?”
Şehsuvar had a bad feeling.
They entered the forest.
The farther they walked, the quieter their surroundings became.
There were no birdcalls.
No animal sounds.
Only their footsteps on the snow.
Naciye walked in front.
Şehsuvar was in the middle.
Khanım brought up the rear.
Suddenly, a voice rang out.
“Şehsuvar...”
He stopped.
The voice came from among the trees.
A man’s voice.
One he knew very well.
Şehsuvar stared into the darkness.
“Who is it?”
Naciye turned around.
“What did you hear?”
Şehsuvar did not answer.
The voice came again.
“Şehsuvar...”
This time, it was closer.
And he recognized it.
It was his father’s voice.
His heart stopped for a moment.
“That’s impossible.”
He stepped forward.
Khanım immediately caught him by the arm.
“Don’t.”
“That’s my father’s voice.”
“I know.”
Şehsuvar looked at her.
“How do you know?”
Khanım did not answer.
The voice came again.
“Şehsuvar... come home.”
Şehsuvar’s breathing grew ragged.
It had been years since he had heard that voice so clearly.
He almost stepped forward.
But Khanım tightened her grip on his arm.
“Don’t listen.”
“Why?”
“Because your father isn’t here.”
The voice changed.
Now it sounded even closer.
Softer.
“My son...”
Şehsuvar closed his eyes.
He wanted to believe it.
But something inside him told him the voice was wrong.
Too perfect.
Too precise.
As though someone were imitating his memories.
Then Naciye whispered:
“Don’t answer.”
Şehsuvar opened his eyes.
A shadow stood among the trees.
Tall.
Thin.
Motionless.
Two pale eyes watched them from behind the mist.
Şehsuvar gripped his rifle.
The shadow smiled.
But its smile was too wide.
Far too wide for a human face.
Khanım stepped forward.
For the first time since Şehsuvar had known her, the woman’s face showed not the slightest hint of a smile.
“Now,” she said softly,
“you’re going to see something the people here fear even more than war.”
The shadow moved.
And from deep within the forest came laughter that sounded nothing like a human voice.