The Demon Formerly Known as Malchik Vlad

Babushka wasn’t always Babushka. She was once Dyevechka, a girl without a scarf living in the Pyotr orphanage of Tula. She thought that she must have had a better name at one time, but when she lived at the orphanage and then later with her tall, drunken Uncle Boris, they only ever called her “Dyevechka.”

A large, square, brick building with peeling blue trim around the windows formed the Pyotr. Each window of the three stories had an inverted cross for a frame that always seemed to fall in Dyevechka’s line of sight when she looked out at the grounds, no matter how tall she thought she’d grown. Old and flaky maples surrounded the Pyotr. Much of the bark had been carved into so often by neighborhood passersby that there was a ban against the kids playing anywhere near them. Mistress worried that these “unruly little scamps” would deface them further, when all the children wanted to do was climb them instead of wait in line to use the fifty year-old swing set. “Girls, away from the tree,” said Mistress. “You three know better.”

The girls did in fact know better, but had hoped that she wasn’t watching. Dyevechka moved away from the large tree, stepping far out of the cool shade to make sure Mistress saw that she obeyed. Daria and Anya, however, were slower. Daria kicked the grass at the base of the maple for a moment before walking over to Dyevechka. Anya stayed and clawed at the bark.

“Anya,” Mistress said. “I said away.”

Mistress stepped out from the awning that covered the large green doors of the Pyotr and stalked to the three girls. She adjusted her bun as her baggy black dress whipped about her skinny frame. Dyevechka picked at her fingernails and urged Anya with her eyes to get away from the tree. When Mistress reached them she grabbed Anya by the collar and dragged her over to Dyevechka. Anya wrenched herself free and adjusted her shirt. She pulled it down and left her fingers clenching the edges.

“I always see you urchins out here,” Mistress said. “Leave the trees alone or it’s the spoon every morning for a month.”

Dyevechka flushed and she found it difficult to look up into the woman’s eyes. Instead, she examined Mistress’ worn leather sandals and the turquoise toenail polish that was chipped off the big toe. Her tan feet were wrinkled and dried out at the heel, the skin cracking in large, white blotches.

“Play on the swing set like the rest.” Mistress took a step closer and a whiff of orange peel and sweat hit the girls. She pointed to the rusty swing where thirty other children stood in line. Dyevechka shook her head, still looking down. She noticed the dirt on her own sandals and wiped them on the back of her shin. A curl bounced against her temple.

Anya frowned. “There’s only one swing,” she said, “and there’re millions of us.”

The woman folded her arms and leaned forward. “I’m not here to argue with you girls.” Her voice rose in pitch and Dyevechka flinched. “You will treat your caretakers with respect and silence.” Dyevechka had a sudden urge to speak. She stopped herself, thinking of the orphanage’s wooden spoon and how her friends would be punished. The shade from the tree darkened Daria’s face and her straight black hair swung over her ears. Anya crossed her arms and pursed her lips. Dyevechka knew she was impersonating Mistress and picked at her fingernails some more.

“Don’t complain about the swing. You’re lucky to have it at all. And you’re allowed on the soccer field, too, you know.”

Dyevechka’s eyes widened. Even Anya was speechless. Mistress frowned and tugged at her tight bun.

“What?” she asked. “You don’t like the soccer field either? You’re a bit choosy for orphans.” “But—but the ram grazes over there, Mistress,” Dyevechka said. “We can’t go over there because the ram—”

Mistress leaned into her face. Her strong smell pressed around them. “The ram won’t harm you.” She laughed and Dyevechka thought it made her sound like a dog. “Now go—get away from the tree.”

Anya grabbed the other two by the hands and led them away toward the other children. “Let’s just go wait in line for the swing,” said Daria.

Anya whispered, “At least until Mistress isn’t watching anymore.”

The long line to the swing stretched over to the side of the Pyotr. Groups of three or four checkered it, punctuated by the occasional lonely, single child watching the lucky one whose turn it was cut high arcs through the air on the swing.

Dyevechka was still compelled to whisper when they reached it. “Is it possible Mistress doesn’t know about the ram?”

“I think she knows about it,” said Daria, “but it doesn’t sound like she believes in it like we do.” “Is that how far its influence has spread?” Dyevechka’s eyes widened. A demon possessed the ram, a demon which plagued the Pyotr and made it such a terrible place.

Every child at the Honorable Saint Pyotr’s Orphanage for the Neglected feared the demon ram. It poisoned their blood and made them the undesirables of Tula. It caused the townspeople to avoid them on Sundays when they walked holding hands down the street to the blue and white church. Most important, the ram terrorized the orphans by taking one from their ranks. Once Dyevechka heard that the ram ate the children, and another time that it simply sucked their souls out and hid their bodies in its brown, matted fur. Every so often when a child disappeared, the children called the demon by that child’s name. Currently they called it Evgeny after a tiny blond boy whom they hadn’t seen for some time.

“Aren’t the caretakers curious where Evgeny went? That was six months ago,” said Dyevechka. “They don’t seem worried at all. After he kicked the soccer ball into the vegetable garden and Mistress made him fetch it he just disappeared and they didn’t say a word. And what about Elena before him?”

Daria frowned and pinched her arm. “Stop it. You’re scaring me.”

Dyevechka waved her off. “It’s true, Dolly. You know it is. All Elena did was drop the tea pot in the dining hall.”

Daria’s lip trembled.

“The ram snatched her up that night and after that—”

“Stop talking, okay?” Anya said. “She’s scared.”

“He always takes one of us at night.” Dyevechka pursed her lips and fell silent.

She wanted to say that the demon ram grew eager for another. It had been a while since Evgeny disappeared, after all. She moved up in the line as children went through their turn on the swing. Behind the brick of the Pyotr stretched the grassy field and the vegetable patch that ran alongside it—Evgeny’s haunts. Dyevechka shivered and rubbed the goose bumps off her arms. None of the orphans ventured there of their own free will. Daria even cried when the caretakers forced them to play soccer.

“What’s wrong, crybabies?” asked a stout boy who had just come in line behind them.

Anya narrowed her eyes. “Shut up, Vlad. We’re not crybabies—you are.”

“Nah, she’s cryin’ all the time,” said Vlad, pointing at Daria.

Anya stepped forward and shook her fist. “Just you say that again, piggy, and I’ll punch your fat face.”

The boy scrunched his nose. “Bet you won’t,” he said. He stuck out his tongue and a greasy brown lock of hair fell into his eyes.

“Hey, get away from my brother.” A blonde girl stepped up behind Vlad and sneered at the three girls. A birthmark shaped like a half-moon protruded from her chin. “You touch him and I’ll pull your ugly hair out.”

Anya’s face flushed. “I’ll punch both of you in your guts, okay? Take it back, Vlad.”

“Take what back?” asked his sister. She flicked her hair back and then put her hand on her waist.

Vlad giggled and his chubby cheeks shook. “I said they’re crybabies, Nadia. Aren’t they?”

Nadia laughed, her yellow teeth showing beneath her dry lips. “Oh, definitely. Definitely crybabies.”

Anya shouted at them and Dyevechka grabbed her by the shoulders to stop her from attacking. “They’re dumb, Anya,” she said. “Don’t listen to them—they’re just stupid bullies.”

As she said this, Vlad bent over and tugged a handful of grass from the ground. He reached at Anya and shoved the grass into her back collar. Clumps of it flew into her hair but most of it fell in her shirt and out from its bottom. The back of her jeans caught a couple clumps and they inched their way inside her ill-fitting pants. Nadia sniggered. With a scream Anya turned around and launched herself at them, arms flailing. They fell to the ground in a cloud of dust. “Anya, stop!” Dyevechka said. She picked at her fingernails.

Daria reached for Anya to pull her off Vlad, but a swinging elbow caught her face. She flew back and clutched at her jaw. Her brown eyes welled up with tears and she let out a whine. “Oh, shush, Dolly. For goodness’ sake, don’t cry,” said Dyevechka.

All the noise attracted the other kids in line. They shoved each other out of the way to see the fight and cheered. Soon Mistress came running. A tall, redheaded boy tried separating them but Anya bit him.

Mistress pushed the kids out of the way and launched herself into the fray. She grabbed Anya first, reaching for the back of her dirty pink shirt. Her fingers clasped Anya’s collar and strands of her hair. Mistress lifted her from the ground and threw her to the side. “Stop it at once!”

Vlad scrambled to his feet before Mistress could grab him, knocking against his sister.

Anya said, “But he—”

“I don’t care,” said Mistress. “Get inside my office immediately.”

Tears filled Anya’s eyes. They trickled down her dusty face like dripping honey, smearing on her cheeks and catching at the sides of her mouth.

As she ran off to the Pyotr, Vlad laughed. “Crybaby.”

“And you, Malchik Vlad, wait in the hall.”

She didn’t seem to notice the older Nadia, who scrambled behind the redhead.

Vlad looked from Mistress to all of the silent children that surrounded him and now he, too, looked close to tears. He trudged to the door.

“Playtime is over,” the woman said. She glanced at Dyevechka and Daria with narrow black eyes. “Inside. Now.”

The children made their way back in. The two girls walked side by side into the green front doors of the Pyotr and the fake cool of the inside air hit Dyevechka’s face. Nadia was laughing about Anya. When she glanced in at Mistress’ office she saw no sign of her friend, but in the hallway Vlad sat swinging his bare feet on a creaky wooden bench. When they passed with the others he stuck his tongue out again.

Dyevechka and Daria found a table and waited to be served their dinner. The chatter of the other orphans in the dining hall made Anya’s absence noticeable. Dyevechka’s neighbor clanked his fork against his plate and slurped his tea. Finally their friend joined them. She scampered along the tiled and painted walls past the other children. Not many of the orphans looked up at her. Fights were common on the playground and their caretakers disciplined them often.

“What did she say to you?” asked Daria as Anya sat down beside her.

“She didn’t say anything,” Anya said. “She just whapped my hands with the spoon.” She reached for the teapot and poured herself a cupful, picking it up with dirty fingers that she hadn’t yet washed from playtime. There were red blotches on her skin and tiny purple spots were starting to form. When she finished pouring herself tea and mixing in sugar she put her hands in her lap and stroked the fresh bruises.

Dyevechka grimaced and took a bite of her ham. She was punished often, for she always talked out of turn in her classes. Last month, Mistress both whapped her and give her a stern talking-to. She rubbed the back of her own hands. One time Mistress was in such a foul mood that the bruises didn’t disappear for two weeks.

“Stupid bullies,” Anya whispered.

Dyevechka peered around Daria to where Vlad sat a few tables away. Anya turned around to see him and made a fish face. Vlad noticed that they were staring and leered. He sipped his raspberry compote and some of the red juice dripped down his chin. When he put the cup down, a large pink ring stained around his lips and he grinned, raspberries clearly stuck in his teeth. “He’s so gross,” said Daria as she turned to her own food.

Dyevechka watched as Vlad stood up from his table and came up behind Anya and Daria. When Anya noticed him she turned around and clenched her purpled fists.

“What do you want, piggy?”

Vlad laughed and kissed her on the cheek. He did it so quickly that Dyevechka thought he just hit her with his face.

“Gross.” Anya swung at him but Vlad was too fast, bolting back to his seat. Anya whipped her body back to face the table. She blushed and stared at her plate a few moments before picking up her fork.

“He’s the worst,” she said.

That night, thoughts of the demon ram flew through Dyevechka’s head. The kids in her room were all frightened of sleeping by the window because they thought that was how it snatched up children. It was her turn to risk it that night.

Braches swayed in front of the moon and Dyevechka jumped, her heart racing. The window’s painted blue trim glowed in the dim light of the stars. Aside from the regular breathing of the girls around her she thought she heard voices outside as well. Rather, she thought she heard one voice—Evgeny’s. She pulled the prickly blanket over her face and closed her eyes, trying to ignore it. She remembered Vlad calling them crybabies and held back her tears, but more than once she was sure she heard Evgeny say her name.

The next morning Dyevechka walked down the hall to the stairs on her way to breakfast. There were fewer echoes in the stairwell than usual. Dyevechka wondered if she were mistaken about the day, for usually the halls and stairs were full at this time with pushy kids rushing to their oatmeal. She had slept so badly that she thought it was possible to forget. When she reached the cafeteria, she spotted Anya and Daria and grabbed a bowl so she could join them.

“Where is everyone?” she asked.

Anya shrugged. Dyevechka picked up her spoon and quickly finished her breakfast.

“Excuse me,” she said to the dishwasher when she put her empty bowl on the counter, “isn’t it Friday?”

Anya and Daria walked up behind Dyevechka. The dishwasher tossed her towel on the bowl and said, “It’s too early for games, girls. Get to your classes.”

They rushed off to mathematics. Voices echoed through the winding hallways and bounced off the tiled walls. When they entered, their teacher hadn’t arrived. Some orphans looked excited and one boy’s eyebrows were shot to his hairline. Another groaned and shook his head. One girl in the back said nothing and only stared out the window to the outer Pyotr property. When Dyevechka came in closer she realized it was Nadia.

“What’s going on?” Dyevechka asked the redheaded boy. “What’s happened?”

“You haven’t heard?” he said, turning fully to face her. “They say it must have happened sometime last night.”

“What? What happened?” asked Daria. Her dark eyes reddened.

The redhead leaned forward. He whispered, “Vlad is missing.”

Dyevechka’s jaw dropped.

Nadia was clutching her textbook. The three girls walked over to her. Anya’s eyes widened and Daria’s tears began to flow. Dyevechka peered out the window to see what they were looking at. The demon ram sat on the far end of the Pyotr orphanage property near the fruit patch that the cook grew for her compote. At that distance it looked more like a lumpy brown rock than anything else. The only exceptions were the large, knobby horns that jutted out of its skull and curved in a wide arc around its ears. She got the feeling that the demon’s dead marble eyes stared in their direction. Its head swiveled toward the Pyotr and it sniffed the air.

Their teacher’s arms were full of papers that fluttered as she walked into the room. “Sit, children. Why are you not already at your desks? Quiet down and get in your chairs.”

For the rest of the class period, Dyevechka could think only of Vlad and certainly nothing of mathematics. She did her exercises poorly and with an absent mind. She even dropped the chalk twice while writing them on the board. Their teacher noticed the odd behavior of her students but only inspected them curiously as they filed past her desk at the sound of the bell.

An entire day of classes passed this way for all the orphans in the Pyotr. On Fridays after dinner they were allowed an hour of playtime (to tire the urchins out, Mistress reasoned), and when the last bell chimed the children rushed for the green doors. Everyone wanted to talk about Vlad the bully-turned-demon and in the echoing hallways Dyevechka walked alongside two younger boys. One said, “Can you believe it?”

“I thought it might take him, you know,” replied the other.

She searched for Nadia among the older children. She rushed up behind a blonde girl, but when she tugged at her sleeve, it was someone else. Dyevechka craned her neck looking but didn’t find her.

Instead she saw Anya and Daria and the three girls darted out of the Pyotr together. They convened in the evening shadow cast by the goalpost closest to the building. Dyevechka was breathless and too fearful to blink. A terror always filled her chest when the demon ram took a child. It could have been her.

“Well, we have to find the truth,” Anya said. Her eyes were wide.

“What do you mean?” said Dyevechka. “Find out what?”

“The truth,” she said again. “We need to see if Vlad’s really been taken.”

Daria bit her knuckles.

“Oh, come on,” said Anya. She placed her hand on Daria’s shoulder. “We don’t even have to get that close.”

Daria shook her head, her black hair flying.

“We’ll be fine. Yes, we will,” Anya said. “We’ve got to help him if we can.”

“Why?” asked Dyevechka. “He’s always been so mean to us.”

“Because, okay? We just do.”

Daria moaned and Anya squeezed her shoulder. “If the ram’s taken Vlad for his own then he won’t want one of us so soon.”

Daria looked at the dewing grass and a beetle crawled past her feet. “But I don’t want to give it any ideas for next time. Why do we even have to see it?” she said. “We’ll be able to hear him at night anyway.”

“Don’t be such a baby, Dolly,” Anya said. “We can’t know for sure that way.” She looked to see if Mistress were around. She turned her gaze toward the back of the property but didn’t see the ram either.

Dyevechka took a deep breath, picking at her fingernails and feeling a warm spurt of blood. “I’m pretty sure that it’s Vlad, Anya. We haven’t seen him all day and none of the teachers said anything about him being adopted or at the hospital—”

Anya put a finger up to her mouth. Dyevechka followed her line of sight and saw Mistress stalking the grounds behind them. She was leading their redheaded friend toward the orphanage by the ear. As soon as she was out of sight, Anya said, “Come on. This way.”

She raced over to the brick building and followed its foundation to the other end of the property. Daria sniffled and followed her. Dyevechka hesitated, sucked at her bleeding finger, and then ran after them.

Terror flowed through her blood as she ran along the cold, trodden mud next to the Pyotr. She traced the brick wall with her fingers and ducked under the blue frames of the windows in case anyone were watching. The thrill of abandoning the playground was made sweeter by the sound of Mistress scolding the redhead on the other side of the Pyotr.

The setting sun cast its rays in shades of purple and pink that melted together in the sky. Its colors shone between the leaves of the maples. The sky contrasted sharply with the harsh, gray colors of the many twenty-story apartment buildings that surrounded them and the dull red of the Pyotr itself. Casting glances around her as she went, Dyevechka bolted from the shady brick wall and raced to follow the others as they went from tree to tree like animals seeking cover.

Moments later, Dyevechka bumped into the other girls when she reached the bush they hid behind. She had ran so quickly that for several minutes she only heard her own breathing. But she soon caught her breath and crouched down next to the others.

Before them was the vegetable garden—empty.

“What do we do now?” she whispered.

“If it’s not here we sh—should go back to the playground,” said Daria. Dyevechka strained to hear her.

“We could try over by the fruit patch,” Anya said.

Dyevechka started to say, “I’m not—” when crunching leaves and feet padding in the mud reached her ears. She locked eyes with Anya and the color drained from her face.

The sound stopped.

“Anya—” Daria whispered.

“Shush, Dolly.”

The silence continued and Dyevechka couldn’t bear it any longer. She stood and grabbed the bush for support and slowly peered around its prickly leaves. One of its branches cracked at her touch. A cry caught in her throat.

There stood the stout demon ram, facing them directly not five steps away. It stared without blinking with heavy, dead black eyes. Its lips parted and Dyevechka noticed with horror that a bright pink ring like smeared raspberries stained the pale skin around its lips. Its furry, brown legs flexed as it took a step forward and its knobby horns gleamed in the evening sun.

“What’s the matter, crybabies?”