Free Festival of Fear by Graham Masterton Page A

she croaked.
    â€˜Who are you?’ Grace demanded, although her words came out like broken pieces of china. ‘How did you get here? Get out!’
    â€˜ Jestem głodny ,’ the women repeated, more urgently this time, and she beckoned lasciviously toward Daisy, and stuck out the tip of her tongue, which was pointed and slippery-gray, like a snake. Her long chin was covered in black bristles.
    It was then that Grace glanced downward, and saw how the woman had materialized. Gabriela’s doll Anka was lying on the floor, half hidden by the comforter that hung down from the side of Daisy’s bed. Anka’s eyes were closed, as they always were when she was laid down on her back. But her mouth was wide open, and thick black smoke was gushing out of it.
    The smoke had risen up into the room and twisted itself into the shape of the woman in black sacking. Like a genie rising out of a lamp , thought Grace.
    She looked up again. She was so frightened that she felt as if her skin was shrinking. The woman was swaying toward them, her claws still lifted, her eyes gleaming. But now Grace understood who she was, and what she was – or at least she thought she did. All of the nightmares that Anka had swallowed to protect Gabriela had come pouring out of her, as black and as noxious as burning oil.
    It was Baba Jaga, the Polish witch of the woods, the ever-hungry devourer of innocent children.
    â€˜ Jestem głodny ,’ she rasped, for the third time. ‘I am starving, you understand me? I have need to eat.’
    Daisy said, ‘ Mommy ,’ but Grace pushed her toward the stairs and said, ‘Run, sweetheart! Run! Get out of the house just as fast as you can!’
    â€˜No!’ screamed Baba Jaga, swaying toward them. ‘I must have her! I must suck her bones!’
    But Daisy scampered down the stairs, whimpering, and Grace stood her ground. Although her voice was shaking, she managed to say, ‘I have plenty of food for you, Baba Jaga. I have so much food you won’t feel hungry for another year.’
    Baba Jaga’s tongue darted out again, and licked her sharpened teeth. ‘I do not believe you. You do not want me to eat your girl, that is all. But I will eat your girl, I promise you, and I will eat you, too, and I will chew your intestines like pasta.’
    She lashed out at Grace, and caught the sleeve of her sweater in her claw. Grace tried to pull herself away, but Baba Jaga drew her closer. Grace turned her face aside, but she could feel the prickle of Baba Jaga’s chin hairs against her cheek, and she could smell Baba Jaga’s breath. It smelled like the Cienisty Orphanage, of boiled turnips and dirty disinfectant water and rotten chicken. It smelled like children’s despair.
    â€˜Come with me,’ she said. ‘Come on. Come with me. I will give you food.’
    Baba Jaga’s eyes closed. Unlike human beings, her eyelids closed upward. Then they rolled down again, with several fine strings of sticky residue clinging to her lashes.
    â€˜Very well,’ she agreed. ‘But do not try to trick me. The people who have tried to trick me, their skulls surround my hut.’
    Slowly, Grace edged her way out on to the landing. Baba Jaga followed her, with her claws still snared in the sleeve of her sweater. Although she was mostly made of black smoke, and appeared to have no legs, she walked with a lurching, complicated limp.
    Grace led the way slowly down the stairs to the hallway, and through to the kitchen. For some reason, she had imagined that Baba Jaga would not be reflected in mirrors or windows, like a vampire. But as she crossed the kitchen she could see the witch clearly in the shiny black glass of her oven, and in the windows that looked out over the yard.
    She could see herself, too, pale faced, but looking surprisingly calm. Is that really me ? she thought. Me, with a real, live witch ?
    There was no sign of Daisy anyplace, and Grace