When in reality we just made it less bearable and less likely to happen, because guess what — isolating yourself to train hard and work on your project alone looks cool in anime or in a YouTube video with a nice montage and motivational music, when in reality it hurts us on so many levels that I truly believe we have to stop romanticising it.

And I get it, I truly do. I’m a pretty introverted person whose battery recharges only when I’m at home, alone, doing nothing, or reading, writing. When I have no deadlines and nowhere to go, with my coffee and sweets. This is a perfect example of my day off when I get my energy levels back.

And even though it’s so tempting to just go and live in the woods in a log cabin with no internet and no people there, I know that I couldn’t do it. First of all, I probably would end up dying for a very stupid reason, and second of all, people need a community.

We’re social animals — we need other people around us to be sane, to keep our mental health in a good state.

Some people enjoy having an everyday circle to hang out with — definitely not me — but I do enjoy meeting with friends and talking to them, and I know how isolating yourself can hurt. I fell victim to all that bullshit about locking in and closing yourself away to become unrecognisable or whatever.

I spent a year alone in my apartment trying to build an income, trying to find answers, trying to lock in, and do you think I managed to do it? I ended up more depressed than ever, and I know the consequences of buying that lie from my own experience.

We need to understand why this idea is selling with such passion, why people are doing that to themselves when they watch those videos and read those articles on how to become unrecognisable in 12 months.

Because why all of this? To prove something? To whom? Those jerks from high school or a teacher who bullied you? To that girl you asked out who laughed at you?

Or to prove something to yourself? That you’re capable of something?

Yes, sure, I can understand this in a way. It does feel cool to achieve something and prove to yourself that you are capable, that you can do what you promised to yourself.

But why create an environment where chances are you will struggle much more by doing it all alone?

I’m honestly glad the new movies and the media in general are talking more about the loneliness epidemic. Acknowledging this is already a good sign — we can work with what we can see and measure. Being a lonely mf who’s sitting in his room all the time, locked away from everyone, is a very bad, stupid, and sad idea. Those who tell you otherwise are trying to sell you something.

Because if you are alone, it’s much easier to manipulate you. If you are alone, you don’t have that reality check from people who love you and could help you see things more clearly. Because if you are alone, there is no one close to say that those who tell you to lock yourself in a room for a year are bastards who just want you to buy a course or something. They want and need your money — they don’t care that you feel miserable.

Also, how the hell are they alone in their lock-in mode if all they do is scream about it all over the internet, posting a video every single day? It’s an attention grabber and a selling point — they are selling you the idea of what you would look like after you’ve gone through this challenge, etc.

“Look at me, I’m so alone and so locked in, please send me a message, I need to speak to someone because my friends and family abandoned me for admiring Andrew Tate” — this is how I see those hustle influencers.

I’m really glad to see how many people started calling this out, talking about it. I want to not only judge it but also talk about alternatives. About finding a community. I’m not saying that trying to improve your life is bad. I’m saying that hyperfocusing on anything while sacrificing your mental health, relationships with your loved ones and friends is bad.

This is also a message for me, because I kid you not — I’ve fallen for that lock-in mode trap more times than I can count. A new challenge that will change my life, a new routine, or some other nonsense. I’ve tried it all, and I swear there is nothing good in the end. Only regret and loneliness.

I recently watched the new Spider-Man movie, and I loved it, especially for displaying how loneliness can hurt, no matter the intention behind it. I’m trying not to give away any spoilers, and this isn’t a review or anything.

The new Spider-Man movie hit me hard because of that — the consequences of locking in and being self-isolated. How miserable and dark things get when you do that to yourself. I feel that, I’ve been there. It’s not a great place to grow and become a better version of yourself — it’s a dark and lonely place where things become dangerous. To finish my point, just check out the movie if you haven’t seen it.

At one point I was tearing up during the movie, remembering that year of my life, and I’m very glad I had friends who were ready to help me, who came to rescue me from that dark place.

So, to summarise what I wanted to say: Don’t be like those guru/red pill pricks. Be like Spider-Man. Accept the truth that you need people, a community. Not every day, but we need someone we could call and ask to meet, to have some coffee, to talk, to laugh, to be sad — but together, in person, offline.

Please call your friends or family and go outside.

I loved how easy you always seemed. So light and easy and nice and lovely, and I don’t know for sure, but I swear to God you must be funny. And also smell good. I said that already.

You almost flew past me every time we met. That short “Hi”, and then you left me alone in the corridor, smelling what’s left after you.

How good must that feel. That ease and lightness of moving through life like the main character of a rom-com. Hell, I’m in my own life and don’t even come close to thinking that about myself.

And everyone is so heavy and grim. No one speaks to each other in our building. And your “Hi” almost taking away that weight from all of us standing there, waiting for life to hit us again with its weight.

I almost forgot about you when she left me. I mean, when we broke up, should have said that. Wouldn’t have been so pitiful. And I rarely saw you. Your long, curly, black hair. Your sky-blue dress with white flowers, dark brown eyes and that little thing you tied your hair with, so cute.

I mean, you probably have a boyfriend. You must have a boyfriend. I saw you sitting in a car, a black Audi, an expensive one. I didn’t expect anything less from you.

It’s been several months since she left, and I thought, should I ask you out? I know, what chances do I have? I barely pay my rent here. You don’t deserve the weight that I wear, probably.

But when I see you coming out of the elevator again, after so many months (two?) of not seeing you, it’s not about whether I should or shouldn’t.

When I’m coming home from work, and you are in your usual home outfit (don’t ask, I just know, I notice these things), that green tracksuit. That “Hi” again.

I click that button “9” so many times to get home faster, as that would actually make the elevator faster. I see you from my balcony, just before you disappear. I know you will come back soon - this is my chance. Today or never.

But what if there is a boyfriend?

You’ve been here quite a lot lately. Your parents live here. You might have broken up.

Should I wait?

No! Someone won’t wait, and what’s next?

And that black Audi, I don’t have a car. Is that important to you?

No, you’re not like that.

Oh, you’re coming back.

Fuck, what should I say? The elevator, quick! It’s on my floor, lucky me.

I’m going down. The door is opening, and I see you.

“Oh, hey again”, I say. (I scream inside) My hands are shaking.

“Hi”, you say. That “Hi”. You smile. That smile. Am I the only one who sees you smile like that? I hope so.

“Hey, listen” I walk out of the elevator. You’re walking in, we are so close for just a second.

“Yeah?” You look at me. Wow, you’re actually listening. We are having a conversation?! You’re holding your bags, they look heavy. I see your fingers going white from the weight of the bags.

I’m holding the elevator door. What an idiot. You obviously need to go. Should I ask if you need help?

“Oh, sorry”, I mumble. “It must be heavy”.

“It’s alright”, you say. Every word comes out so easily for you, like you are not even wasting any energy on that. That must be nice, to live like that.

“I thought,” I say. “Maybe—” I pause. “Maybe I could get your number?” DID I JUST SAY THAT?!

“Oh, yeah, sure” DID YOU JUST SAY THAT?

I feel a pulse in my eyes like they are almost popping out. You’re taking the phone out, with heavy bags in one hand. What a story that would be. We will be telling our friends and family how I asked you out and didn’t help with the bags you were holding.

“Sorry”, you say. I know that sorry. I’ve never heard it from you, but I already know it’s not good.

“Are you asking me out?” you say. Was it just that simple? Can you actually just ask a question like that? And you don’t need to find some words that won’t sound like those words but they would mean those words and everyone in the entire world knows what they mean but me, who missed that conference where the entire world decided what words to use to ask someone out without asking someone out, without saying these exact words like they are prohibited, under the fear of death or exile, and you just said those words???

“Yeah”, I say. “I thought, um, maybe we can have a coffee or like, something?” OH MY GOD I AM SO PROUD OF MYSELF RIGHT NOW. The smoothest phrase I ever said aloud. My degree is less of an achievement than this moment now.

“Oh, yes, sure”, you say. I can’t believe it’s happening. You’re unlocking your phone. Of course it’s a fresh iPhone. You don’t even notice my phone. I take out my 6-year-old iPhone, thinking that I’m the happiest and the poorest motherfucker who had the guts to ask you out.

“Like friends? Right?” The worst that you could have said. I feel like something dropped in my chest. I’m trying to breathe, and I can’t. Is that your boyfriend, or a plastic bag over my head just now? I’m gasping for air.

“I mean”, you say. “I have a boyfriend”

There, you said it. My scariest nightmare. Even the one that I see all the time — when I’m in a ruined skyscraper that doesn’t have stairs — is less of a nightmare than what I feel right now.

“Oh”, I say. “I didn’t...” I don’t know what to say. I see you see that too.

“We still can have a coffee”, you say, but I know that you don’t actually mean that, how consolation prizes look. I know that look in your eyes, I’ve seen it before so many times.

“That’s...fine”, I say. The world is shaking, and I step away. I hear you saying something, but I can’t hear it. I rush away. I hear drums in my head, I hear the elevator door close behind.

I step outside of the building.

The summer evening sun hits my eyes. The weather is so nice, the warmth hugging me after the cool corridor. Imagine how lovely it would have been to go out today. Together. This lovely summer evening.

I haven’t taken the elevator since that day.

It’s when society swings between two opposite choices, just like a clock’s pendulum swings left and right.

When things go too far to one side, people get unhappy. They push back and jump completely to the opposite side. Of course, it happens over time, but this trend behaviour in society, once noticed, can’t be ignored any more.

It’s everywhere: in political views, tech, fashion. Remember those baggy jeans and how quickly we came back to skinny? I remember that happened 2-3 times already.

So, seeing all the stuff going on in the last couple of years and knowing about this effect, I was hoping and expecting it to finally start slowing down and showing the signs of return.

In this regard, I’m talking more about a tech/online/social media environment. I see how people are more interested in having offline experiences, learning how algorithms work to keep us glued to our phones, and how Big Tech has learnt to manipulate us to make more money.

Also, how politicians know this and use it to their advantage (David Foster Wallace predicted this many years ago, saying that people will vote for those who appear more often on the screens of people’s TVs)

And yes, we are far away from being fully aware of how bad social media has gotten into our brains. We still have a lot to learn about it. I know.

But what I am saying is - I see good omens. Call me delusional, but I genuinely believe people are getting tired of being manipulated, brain-rotted, and played by Big Tech, politicians and others who profit off of it.

Also, I see a lot of parts where people are frustrated, seeing how bad things are; the world is on fire, I know that, but today I’m feeling inspired to focus on good things and good signs I’ve noticed recently.

People are going offline more often.

They are going analogue to lower their screen time. They use physical notebooks, read physical books. They value real-life experiences more. Dumb phones are on the rise, and you know how things work in capitalism. Love or hate it - the market reacts to the demand with more propositions.

MySpace is coming back with no endless feed (Fingers crossed it’s not just rumours)

People are becoming much more aware of what they consume

They are standing up against data centres, cancelling their AI subscriptions, learning how to use much more private apps and online services because they are tired of their data being sold elsewhere.

Again, it’s not a pivotal point yet, I know. But I honestly believe that I see the pendulum slowing down. I want to talk about it so others would see what I see - there are good things that are happening now.

We are getting back to creative hobbies.

I personally started learning to draw and watercolour because I got so tired of all the AI slop images. Turns out there is a huge community of people learning to draw because of the exact same reason!

Who knows, maybe tomorrow I will wake up all angry and frustrated again, but today I just wanted to share some positive perspective on things, as a short brake of all the shitshow in the world.

Please let me know what good things you have noticed recently. Please share them with others so we’d know we still have a chance in this world.

I followed the rabbit hole of news, I saw how everything is on fire, literally and figuratively. Wars, dictators/pedos/billionaires, AI in creative space, data centres ruining the environment. And I feel the urge to do something about it, to help.

For some reason I feel personal responsibility for it.

And I’ve been absorbed by this dread for quite a few weeks, it stopped everything for me, stopped my creative work. I stopped writing, I stopped drawing. How am I able to be creative in the world that is dying, how dare I?

And today I woke up with the feeling that it has to stop. I just couldn’t do it anymore, couldn’t bear this overwhelming guilt.

And when I feel overwhelmed - I journal.

Feels painful to see the world we live in. And for some reason I also feel personal responsibility to fix it. I’m sure I’m not alone in this. But is it truly my feeling or has it been imposed to me?

And the more I dig into it, the more I see everything is only getting worse. No one is taking any responsibility nor having any consequences for their actions, for doing bad things, for starting wars, for doing awful things to kids, to people. The list only goes on and all I can feel is “I’m so small and powerless”. The world is so big, those bad guys are rich, powerful and are profiting and growing their power with each day while I feel exhausted. How could I fight it?

I wish I could help. Or, honestly? Maybe I wish I could ignore it and live worry-free lying to myself that there is no point in me trying to do something. Nothing I can do about it, right?

But there is that voice in my head that keeps screaming “THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT THOSE BASTARDS WOULD WANT YOU TO DO, YOU STUPID IGNORANT TWAT.”

Yeah, my inner voice is pretty rude. (I’m so special)

But the voice is right. This is exactly what they would want. To keep being ignorant of things they do. Or to feel this responsibility.

Seriously, how the hell should I go about helping the world?

And the answer is - I have no fucking idea.

What I do know is where to start - I need to put an oxygen mask on myself first. (Wow what a unique take, right?) But it’s not about saying something unique. It’s repeating the basics.

I can’t help anyone until I help myself first. So this is the take:

In order to help someone - you need to make sure you are okay. You’ve had enough sleep, you’ve been outside and offline, you’ve had your exercise and a good meal. You’ve kept your phone away and haven’t seen the news for a couple of days just to feel sane again.

And don’t you dare run into the comment section typing something that there are people who are in a much worse state than I am right now and we need to drop everything on the agenda and go help them.

I’m not saying that we need to stop helping others.

I’m saying that if you had a mental breakdown, lost your job and couldn’t get out of your bed - you definitely could not help anyone, let alone yourself. So please, please, please, take care of yourself.

The bottom line is, what I wish someone had told me a couple of weeks ago - save yourself first. Be kind to yourself. Take a long bath, read a book, take a day off and get some good sleep, eat that piece of cake from your favourite coffee shop. Get your energy level back.

This way you will be able to keep doing whatever you’ve been doing to help others. Everyone has their ways of saving the world, this is not about that.

This is about you. Unfortunately the world will always have someone who needs saving, but you have only this one body and mind, so start with saving yourself.

Let me know what you think about it, what’s your favourite way of resetting and not feeling guilty for it.

Author’s note:

All writing, art and design made by human hands.

Table of Contents

Myroslav opened his eyes. He recognised the walls in the small room and the smell of fresh borshch — his favourite. The weak light went through the window and it was unclear what time of the day it was.

How long have I been sleeping? he thought. Somewhere away in the kitchen there was the sound of radio and his brother and grandma talking. He tried to be careful, vaguely remembering pain in his stomach area. But trying to get up from the bed, there was no pain. The body felt weird, strong and light, he’d never felt it before.

Myr opened the door and went out to the kitchen. Danylo and Hanna stopped talking and looked at him. They had worrying looks on their faces like they weren’t expecting him there. The radio was playing news and the table was full of newspapers Danylo was reading through while Hanna was cooking.

“Finally,” Hanna said, came over and hugged him. “Slept well? Hungry?”

“How long was I sleeping?” Myr asked.

“Much longer than usual,” said Danylo, came over and also hugged his older brother.

“Your hand,” said Myr. “Have I done something to your hand?”

“Not at all, all good, see?” Danylo showed his hand being completely fine. He returned to the table and started clearing papers to prepare for lunch. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m great, never felt better.”

“Here, sit and eat,” Hanna poured freshly made borshch into the bowl and put out bread and garlic too.

“What actually happened?” Myr asked, sitting next to his brother who was already eating.

Danylo looked at Hanna expecting her to start talking. “You promised you’d tell after he wakes up.”

“I did, didn’t I.” She paused. “Where do I start. Well, first of all, you’ve slept for three days.”

“What? I’ve never...” Myr started talking.

“Let her finish, please, I’ve been dying to know everything and she refused to talk,” said Danylo.

“You did well, thank you for being so patient.” Hanna put a hand on her younger grandson’s shoulder. “You boys have this power within you, that was locked since you were born, and three days ago I unlocked it.”

Brothers were silently processing what they just heard.

“Not the best thing to start a day with.” Myr said. “I had a very bad dream and it seems to me like I haven’t woken up.”

“You will see what I mean.” Hanna said. “Your brother has already seen it working.”

“You did break my hand.” said Danylo.

“What? How is that possible? This is a fucking nightmare again.” His voice was trembling. Myr looked around to understand if he was indeed awake, looking for hints. He rushed out from the table and opened the door and ran out. Outside was cold and windy. December had just arrived and the air was biting with the hint of snow. Myr was barefoot in his jeans and a black cotton long sleeve. But he didn’t feel cold, which scared him even more. He stepped out and started looking around the house, their car.

“What are you looking for?” Danylo asked, walking out of the house. Hanna followed him too.

“I’m looking for that shit that followed me around for years. Is it a new dream now? WHERE ARE YOU, YOU PIECE OF SHIT, COME OUT.”

“You are not sleeping.” Hanna said, her voice was firm. “Try to collect yourself, I’m not playing with you and I’m tired of you doubting everything I say.”

“This is the type of shit I’d see in my dreams.” Myr said it rather to himself, keeping his voice down. He opened the car and looked around and then stormed out of the gate to see if something would stop him.

“What should we do?” Danylo asked Hanna.

“Who knows, let him run out, he will return as soon as he realises how silly he is.”

Myroslav ran out to the field. His body felt surreal. Every movement felt so easy and quick, so lightweight, like he could almost fly. In the next second he was near the lake. His jeans were wet from the moist grass of the field and yet he hadn’t felt any cold.

“That would do,” he said aloud, looking at the lake, and was about to jump from the small cliff when Danylo grabbed his hand.

“You don’t have to be that stupid,” he said. “You are not sleeping.”

“Let go.” Myr said.

“What have you seen in that dream?” he kept holding. “What scared you so much?”

“I said let go.” Myr pushed his brother and Danylo moved a bit. This surprised Myr as he’d never done it before, he felt much stronger now.

“Wow, you’ve definitely gotten stronger,” Danylo said. “Feels weird, isn’t it? Like you’re almost flowing, like you can lift almost anything.”

“How do you know?” Myroslav asked.

“Hanna said both of us have it, remember?”

“This is nonsense, it’s all a bad dream and I want to finally wake the fuck out of here.”

“Fine, as you wish.” said Danylo and grabbed his older brother and threw him a few good meters into the lake. Myr felt every second of that, seeing it almost in slow motion, recognising every bit of that place, where they used to jump into the lake when they were kids over the summer break. Even though now the place looked grey and cold, he knew it was home and he didn’t want to accept that it was not a dream.

The next second he was under the water holding his breath and he felt just a bit colder, his brain couldn’t cope with the idea that he was not dying of cold and he was just feeling a light pinch of the cold, the way you feel a cold breeze on a spring day, just a little uncomfortable but absolutely bearable. With his eyes closed he felt growing anger inside, becoming warm in his chest, and the next second he opened his eyes and saw everything darker around in the corners of his eyes, like smoke was surrounding him, but he felt so much more lightweight — the same feeling as when flying high on the swing or when jumping into the lake — and every move felt so effortless and quick that he turned around and flew his way out of the water so quickly and saw his brother standing on the cliff looking for him. The moment Myr stepped on the ground he inhaled and appeared out of the dark smoke in front of Danylo.

“What the fuck?” Danylo stepped back. “How the hell did you do it?”

Is he scared of me? This thought made Myr stop from punching his brother. This is so new, I’ve never felt so powerful. Myr liked that feeling.

“I just threw you into the lake and you are standing in front of me the next second, how did you do it?”

“I don’t know, I just wanted to punch you for throwing me and the next second I’m here.”

“I’m tired of waiting for answers.” Danylo turned around and walked back home. Myroslav stood there for one more second trying to understand what just happened and then followed his brother.

“What were you doing with those newspapers at home?” Myroslav tried to change the subject when he caught up with Danylo.

“Grandma brought them to see if something weird happened that could give us a hint on where to search for father.”

“Oh, I see, and it’s been a week already?”

“Yes, gran said it’s because you were seriously hurt, plus that unlock she said about. Weird stuff is happening, honestly, I’m glad you woke up.”

“Did I really break your hand?” Myr asked. He felt weird about it, the mix of guilt and pride at the same time that he was actually able to fight his brother. Myr learned to live accepting him being the weakest brother but now it felt good.

“Yes,” Danylo replied. They both walked towards their house.

“But how is it not broken now?”

“Something to do with that Khara or something, that power gran said about.”

“It can do that?”

“You were invisible back there and you are surprised about it fixing my hand?!”

“I didn’t see me being invisible, maybe that’s why you are much more surprised by that. Khara you said, huh?”

“Yes, you know something about it?” Danylo asked.

“Maybe, sounds familiar.”

“Well, let’s find out.” They walked inside the gate and saw Hanna. She walked fast towards them, holding a blueprint tube with the sabre in one hand and van keys in another.

“I think I know where your father is, you need to go, now.”

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Table of Contents

Author’s note:

All writing, art and design made by human hands.

Table of Contents

Weird, the pain is gone, and it’s so warm

“I can drive him to the hospital”

Is this Danylo I’m hearing?

“He’ll die sooner”

and grandma, what is happening? And someone’s holding me? It’s my bed, so comfy and their voices are so far away now, yes, thank you, let me sleep for a while.

Myroslav opened his eyes and saw the same room he’d seen so many times before. The same bunk bed, same small TV and a father’s chair beneath.

The same cold darkness. The same familiar apartment where he grew up, that brought such bad dreams now.

He crawled out from his bed. Every step felt known up to the second. The young boy already knew what awaited him behind, in the end of the corridor, sitting at the kitchen table. Every step made him closer again and again, as long as he could remember himself, those dreams were torturing him.

One step forward. It sat there, the unknown figure.

One step closer. Myroslav grew to live with this nightmare. He knew it never changed, it was the same all over again, though it kept him terrified up until the sunrise.

This time it felt somehow different.

but how different? More real? Steps felt more real, fingers could feel the structure of the wallpaper that we helped father and gran with

“Dad?” He heard his own voice. One last step, and then it opened its eyes. Burning red. But this time the young boy didn’t scream and didn’t run away. Myr was not a young boy in this dream. He was standing there frozen, an adult Myr, realising his height was normal. He was wearing the same sweater as before he fell asleep.

This is not right, he thought. everything should be different, I should have woken up by now

“I want you to trust me,” he heard Hanna’s voice somewhere from the distance, echoing. The moment he heard their voices, the pain arose in his gut, like someone was cutting it out alive with scissors.

“BA? Danylo?” he said out loud. Panic crawled deep in his throat with nausea. He twisted in pain and then saw the dark figure slowly stand up. The pain faded away the same second and Myr felt the urge to run, knowing that he usually couldn’t. His body was always frozen by terror, but this time he could move. He ran over to the door and even though he knew it had always been locked, he tried to open it, and it opened.

What the hell?, he thought and turned over his shoulder and saw the figure start walking, so he ran out of the apartment and closed the door behind him. Holding the door, he tried his hardest, but the figure tore it open.

Myr decided to run. The corridor was barely lit with fluorescent lights, he saw familiar corridor walls with green and white strips that aged badly.

what the fuck am I supposed to do? he thought, running. I need to find the exit. He turned over and saw It flowing towards him, and the light was turning off when the figure got closer, its red eyes watching Myr directly. His heart was going crazy with thoughts of whether he should fight or run. The next second it appeared just in front of Myr’s face, so quickly it almost teleported in front of the exit, and just watched him.

“FUCK!” Myr screamed and almost fell over, caught by surprise. He turned over and started running upstairs.

think, think, think, the second floor, it’s not too high, I could jump out of the building. He pushed the next door he saw, with his shoulder. It didn’t open. He looked around and saw the oldest door and hit it with his foot and it gave up. He ran inside and closed the door, though he knew for sure hiding wouldn’t work. The very next second it started pushing the door that Myr was holding.

His heart rate was so high, almost jumping out of his body, such terror. but why?

He looked around and realised it was their apartment again. How is that possible?

It pushed the door the next second with such power it threw Myr off, so he ran to the bedroom and saw his bunk bed, the TV, the father’s bed. Then he wanted to look outside, to assess if he could jump out, when It appeared just in front of Myr’s face again, so close. He ran out of the apartment again, the stairs, the next floor, he didn’t see It behind but he knew, he could sense its presence.

Myr tried another floor, ran from the different stair side, trying to run to the second floor or to the first floor to get out, and It always outran him, It always was already there waiting for Myr. As soon as he almost got there, the dark figure was standing and looking at him.

He ran back to the staircase again. How long have I been running here? He ran out on the second floor again, then the third, up and up again. Is it 9th floor? Wait a second, the building we lived in had only five

He looked around and pushed the same door that didn’t open, he saw the same door that did open last time and stopped for a second. This is the same floor with my apartment, he realised.

He was running around the same floor all over again. Like a never ending nightmare with no way out. He didn’t remember when was the last time he heard his gran or Danylo’s voice, it felt like hours, maybe even days passed by of him running.

This isn’t right. There has to be a way out, he hoped every time he tried to hide or run.

Maybe there is a way out, he finally thought when he saw the old door of his apartment. Seems like there is only one option available and he walked into his apartment. He saw It waiting and walked over. This time the fear walked away, the tiredness got stronger and Myr felt cornered. He collected all these years of nightmares, of waking up in the middle of the night in cold sweat not knowing if it was still a dream. He knew there was no way out other than to fight It, and if It wanted a fight, It would get it. He punched the dark figure with his most powerful punch he could ever imagine.

Myr felt nothing. He didn’t feel pain in his knuckles, and the figure didn’t move, Myr’s hand just stopped like something was holding the fist in the place where the face should have been, near Its eyes.

They both froze. Red eyes looked deep inside of Myr and he felt like fear was going away. He felt like he was getting calm and collected. He saw that the figure materialised a dark cloud that looked like a hand and offered it to Myr. What stood behind that offering was much more, and Myr could feel it. Without any words, he understood the power behind this offer. He could feel it inside with each second he considered accepting it. He was compelled to accept the hand, he felt it was something he wanted for such a long time. But at the same time something dark appeared in this offer, something that scared Myr. He wanted to accept this power so much that he almost felt anger growing inside. He was angry with himself for not allowing himself to get what he deserved.

To keep living a life like before, weak and useless? He heard his thoughts like they were coming from someone else, like someone else was talking to him, but it sure came from the inside. The dark figure just kept waiting.

Or to accept the power to change it. The voice continued.

“At what cost?” Myr said aloud. There was no reply. It was not a negotiation. Myr felt the power growing inside like a sneak peek of what he could get if he accepted it. But with the power, darkness grew in him, thoughts of what he could achieve with this power, what life he could have. He looked at the hand, it was so close, the power behind it was so strong and desirable.

At the same time he started feeling warmth inside, the warmth that helped him to question this offer. Question this power and the darkness behind it. He hesitated.

Danylo was sitting on the bed next to Myr while he was unconscious.

“How is he?” asked Hanna, walking in.

“Still hasn’t woken up,” he replied. Hanna checked his stomach area. It still had pink marks after the internal bleeding and broken ribs.

“Well, it’s been only a couple of days,” she said. “Looks much better. It worked then.”

“Are you going to explain what you have done there and what happened?”

“I’ll tell you everything when your brother wakes up, I don’t want to repeat it twice, you both will have a lot of questions but now just focus on getting some rest.” She sat on the bed next to Myr. “I shouldn’t have done it in the first place but it is what it is,” she sighed.

“Why is it taking him so long to wake up?” Danylo asked.

“He’s fighting it,” Hanna replied. “Stubborn kid.”

“Yeah, he is,” said Danylo and felt like someone grabbed his hand with a very strong grip. He looked at Myr and saw his brother’s eyes were burning red and looking at Hanna. With each second his grip was stronger and it hurt Danylo’s hand. He heard the crack of the bone.

“WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?” Myr screamed, looking at Hanna.

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Maysternya [my-STAIR-nya] is a Ukrainian word for workshop, which this publication is, my art studio, where I keep my writing and creative work.

What you’ll find here:

Non-fiction:

My essays on writing, creative process or whatever topic I find interesting to reflect on.

Fiction:

My ongoing serial: Sons of Runes and Steppe (SORAS)

It’s a dark folk fantasy based on Ukrainian folklore. It is the world I grew up in, full of strange laws of magic, ancient spirits and scary creatures, but also astonishing nature and kind people.

Author’s note:

All writing, art and design made by human hands.

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Hanna stood near the gate watching Danylo helping Myr to get up. She saw something she’d hoped she’d never see again. Someone who doesn’t know what they are capable of, someone who doesn’t know how dangerous anger could become. Especially if someone doesn’t know what Khara is capable of and it’s been suppressed their whole life.

She looked at Myroslav’s face. It was smashed. He breathed heavily, wheezing. She stood there, trying to get a grasp on what just happened, the explosion of the sandbag that was so firm and heavy like a concrete block and yet her grandson just ruined it with his bare hands. What have I done. She thought. They don’t know how to live with it and it’s getting stronger.

“You are okay, right?” Danylo was mumbling around helping Myr to walk towards the sink to wash his face.

“Yeah” Myr coughed with blood trying to speak.

“BA!” Danylo screamed. “He needs help!”

Hanna heard her grandson calling her from the distance and saw Myr bleeding on his sweater. She ran towards them.

“Where does it hurt?” she asked and started looking.

“Everywhere” Myr tried to smile while his brother held him and coughed again.

“This is not good.” Hanna started realising what was happening. She raised his sweater and saw his ribs were dark red.

“It’s internal bleeding, his ribs injured his organs” she said aloud, realising how bad the situation was.

“We need to call an ambulance!” Danylo screamed.

“He will die sooner than they will come.” Hanna said.

“What are we going to do? I can drive him to the nearest hospital!”

“Bring him inside” She tried to think fast, assessing the situation. “There’s only one thing I could do now” she told herself out loud, looking at her oldest grandson’s ribs and sweater soaking in blood. Her eyes were empty. “And I should have done it long ago, this is all my fault.”

“What are you talking about?” Danylo asked.

“Nothing. I want you to do as I say and he will survive” Hanna tried to focus.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Bring him inside carefully, and do exactly as I say.” Her voice was firm and confident. “We don’t have much time”

Danylo listened and tried to walk and Myr screamed from pain and passed out.

“Quickly!” Hanna screamed. Danylo tried to be as fast and as careful as possible. He opened the door with his foot and laid his brother on the bed. He heard Hanna behind him. She walked behind and checked for the necklace on Myr’s neck and found a metal spiral on a chain and untied it. Her movements were quick and steady.

“Give me yours” she demanded of Danylo.

“What are you doing? Does it matter now?” He asked but took off his necklace. It was the same one.

“More than you think. Now, I don’t care how it sounds but I want you to lay down and do not walk out of this room, everything will be good, just trust me, okay?” she said quickly, walking out and about to close the door.

“I don’t understand” Danylo sat on his bed. His eyes were wide open. He looked at his unconscious brother.

“I don’t expect you to, I’ll explain everything later, you need to stay here and it will be safer if you lay down.” She walked out, closed the door and Danylo heard her doing something in the living room. He heard the furniture moving, something falling off the drawers and table, broken glass, a plate, a wooden box.

What the hell is happening he thought and looked at his brother. He sat closer on his brother’s bed and tried to wake him up. Million thoughts went through his head imagining that he would make it to the hospital if he hadn’t listened to his grandma.

“You would call me crazy for trusting her again but she knows more than we do, I hope she’s right now too.” he said. In a second he saw the glowing under the closed door, similar to what he saw that night in their van.

I should trust her he thought. And then he realised that the world was spinning around, he felt drowsy, fast, like he was drunk but he’d never been drunk before. Alcohol had never had any effect on him for too long and this feeling was new to him. It scared Danylo. He tried to hold the bed, tried to focus to stop the spinning and couldn’t. He tried to move to his bed and fell over. He couldn’t understand what was happening to him but he knew it was wrong. Trying to climb onto his bed, he saw his brother was shaking.

“MYR! What the fuck is happening?” Danylo tried his best to focus but everything flew around him and he almost felt like passing out. The world around became darker but the glowing under the door seemed even brighter.

Myroslav started coughing with blood again.

“No, no, no, this is not happening, HANNA!” he screamed. “HE IS DYING!”
This is a fucking nightmare, this is not happening he repeated in his head. “I NEED YOU HERE”.

He will die now, he will die and this is my fault, I should have driven to the hospital He tried to climb over but his legs weren’t listening to him. Every move of his body felt heavier but he knew he had to do at least something.

Suddenly Myroslav started shaking even more wheezing heavily, almost like he had a seizure. At the same moment Danylo felt a warmth flowing in his gut. The warmth became hotter with each second, and what began as a nice feeling became painful the way he’d never felt before, like something was being cut out of his gut with a huge knife.

Screaming, his throat raw, he rolled over on the floor in pain, holding his gut. I can’t help him, I can’t help no one. The pain grew worse and flowed through his body. He screamed again hoping it would help and saw his brother’s hand hanging from the bed, dripping with blood. He wasn’t shaking anymore. The hand hung calm and peaceful, as if he was just sleeping, but Danylo knew he wasn’t, and knew it was a very bad sign.

HE WON’T DIE Danylo said to himself. He punched the floor trying to get up and saw the floor break under his knuckle. Danylo started crawling towards the door. His body felt like it didn’t belong to him.
“HANNA!” he screamed and pushed the heavy door. It opened wide like its weight was nothing, but he didn’t even notice it, he had only one image in his head. His dying brother. With one hand he was crawling, the other holding his gut that was hurting more and more with every second.

He passed the wood stove and crawled further. He saw the door to the living room closed and the light burning through the cracks of the door even brighter.

“BA!” he tried to scream but the pain was so high he couldn’t do it and just wheezed. The floor felt like quicksand, with each move he slowed down but kept going. When he finally reached the door and tried to push it, he realised that his power had left him. He could barely hold himself up on his hand and the darkness grew in his eyes more and more. Do not close your eyes he thought. Collecting his last pieces of power he tried to hit the door. It didn’t budge. The door was closed.

“Hanna!” he whispered and fell over. His head was spinning and he saw his brother in blood, he saw himself hitting Myr, in the face once, twice and then the gut punch, the sound of ribs cracking under his punch.

It was me, I did this he realised. I killed him. He lay near the door, his eyes were full of tears. The pain was insufferable. The pictures of his brother dying were circling in his head with pictures of him punching. The guilt and terror flooded Danylo when he finally collected all the power he had in him and all that pain in his gut and poured it into his fist and hit the door one last time with such power he broke it off the hinges.

He saw the rug pulled aside, the furniture was moved out of the way and Hanna was sitting on the floor in the centre of a drawn circle, in front of her was something melted and smoke was going out of it. Her eyes, ears and nose were bleeding and her face looked grey. This was the last picture Danylo saw before he passed out.

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“How is that possible?” said Myroslav, looking at his father’s empty coffin. The brothers stood together above the grave they had just dug out. The sky was dark and the flashlight in Danylo’s hand was the only source of light in the graveyard.

“You know what it means, Myr.” said Danylo. He looked around following the light around.

“Remember when we came here,” said Myr, “the graveyard was tidied up, someone cleaned up the mess we left the night we were attacked. What if someone took him?”

“Who would need a dead body?” Danylo was annoyed. “What are you talking about? You know exactly what it means.”

“He’s out there.” Myr came to the conclusion. “Walking somewhere.”

“Yes, and we need to find him.”

“And then what? Have a little chat?” Myr started walking. The brothers kept silent.

“I don’t know what we’re going to do.” Danylo said after a pause.

“We need to go home and tell Gran everything. We’ll start with that.”

“You sure it’s a good idea? Maybe it will be better to keep it a secret?”

“And then what? Do you know what to do with a creature that came out of the grave? I don’t. You don’t. Gran might know, so I’ll put my money on that. We need her and you know it. She told us how to stop that thing with the poppy seeds, she gave us a sabre, she knows much more than she tells us and I’m tired of that.”

Danylo closed the lid of the coffin and crawled out, took a shovel and started filling in the grave. Myr started helping him as best he could, trying to ignore the pain in his ribs. Why did I throw away that fucking nail. Myroslav thought. He felt the pain in his ribs and kept throwing earth into the grave pit. With each strike of pain he just continued working with the shovel.

Soon enough they finished, looked around and went to their van. When they got inside Danylo wasn’t starting the engine and just looked straight ahead.

“What if he struggles?” he asked.

“Dad? Why?”

“Do you think it’s okay to die and then just walk out? It’s unnatural. What if it hurts? I mean, it’s against nature, it has to be painful.” He tried to keep his voice low but Myr knew exactly what that voice meant.

“I don’t know. I wish I could say otherwise but I just hope it doesn’t hurt. What I do know,” Myroslav put his hand on his younger brother’s shoulder. “We will find him and we will help him. No matter what it takes, we will find all the answers and we will help him, you hear me?”

Danylo nodded and looked away. He started the engine and they took off.

There was the usual rattle of the van but for both of them the sound felt somehow distant. Danylo mechanically switched gears and drove the familiar roads. Their heads were empty of thoughts.

The brothers walked in and saw Hanna waiting for them in the kitchen. She had a cup of tea in her hands. No one spoke. Danylo sat on the sofa and Myr took a chair.

“We can deal with that.” Hanna broke the silence. “We have to.”

“You knew.” Myroslav said quietly. He didn’t look at her.

“I was afraid of it.”

“How are we going to find him?” Danylo asked. “And what are we going to do when we find him?”

“We’ll have to help him cross that border.” said Hanna. The brothers quietly nodded and said nothing.

“I keep thinking that we’re missing something.” said Myr. “I don’t believe it was just a nail that caused all of this.”

Danylo sighed. “I’m going to bed.” He slowly stood up and walked out of the kitchen.

“You go to bed too.” said Hanna to her older grandson. “We’ll deal with it tomorrow. Morning is always wiser than the night.”

The next morning Myr had his morning ritual with the coffee and a cigarette when Danylo walked out of the house. His face looked tired.

“Where’s Gran?” he asked. Something in his voice was off.

“She wasn’t here when I woke up.” Myr said. “Is everything okay with you?”

“Yeah, I’m alright, as much as possible.” He washed his face and walked inside. Myr followed him.

“I know when you’re angry. Talk to me.”

“Everything is fine. Leave me alone.” Danylo was looking for something to eat. His movements were quick and loud. He opened drawers looking for something he couldn’t name. After he slammed another drawer he stormed out and started stretching.

“Yeah, I can clearly see how everything is alright.” said Myr, following him out.

“Listen, do you want to tell me something? Because I don’t, and I’m not in the mood.” He jumped on the tree branch and started doing pull-ups.

“This is not how this works. If you have a problem we need to talk about it.” Myr lit a cigarette.

“Back off with that.” Danylo jumped down and started hitting the sandbag. It was big and heavy, almost rock solid after years of his father and him hitting it. Myr noticed that after each of his brother’s punches the bag had a slight dent. That had never appeared when Myr was boxing.

“Sure, deal with it however you like.” He sat on the bench nearby. “Who am I to judge.” He blew out the smoke. Danylo didn’t respond. He just kept punching, each hit harder than the last. His hands made a sound like a large iron hammer hitting the bag. Myroslav couldn’t ignore how impressive and strange it was, the way his brother was so physically strong. He had never questioned it, just accepted the fact that his brother had always been stronger — but how normal was it, really?

“Why the fuck are you staring at me?” Danylo asked. “Yes, I have a problem with you. Get out of my face. Now.”

“You think I don’t blame myself for what happened?” Myr stood up. “Do you think I sleep well knowing that our father is walking somewhere out there, after we buried him? No, I’m fucking not.”

“Don’t you dare pity yourself!” He pushed his older brother with one hand. Myr almost knocked over the bench but caught his balance at the last second.

“Oh really, is that what you want?” He stopped. “Fine. Hit me.” And he instantly felt a burning pain in his cheek. He opened his eyes and realised he was lying on the ground with a handprint on his face. His mind felt dazed and he couldn’t concentrate. His brother was walking away and Myr felt an insufferable desire to fight back.

“You call that a punch? Who hits with their palm, are you twelve?” He stood up and swallowed blood. He didn’t want to show he was already bleeding. Danylo turned back and saw his older brother standing still.

“That’s enough for you.” he answered.

“That’s for me to decide.” He quickly closed the distance and hit Danylo in the face. He felt a striking pain in his knuckles, and though he tried to hide it, it was impossible to ignore the pain in his ribs that were still injured. “FUCK.”

“You’ll hurt yourself quicker that way.” Danylo responded. He smiled with no blood on his teeth and pushed Myr away again, harder this time, but Myr reacted quicker and stepped back without falling.

“Get lost.” Danylo said.

This made Myr even angrier and he realised he would never beat his younger brother, not with direct hits. Speed has always been his only advantage against Danylo. He ran at him and this time hit him with a metal bucket he picked up, putting so much force into it he nearly fell over himself. The loud sound rang through his ears and he saw blood on his brother’s face. It made Danylo much angrier and he hit Myr with his boot.

Myr blocked the hit, quickly retreated and realised that Danylo was throwing real punches now, not holding back. The brothers clinched. Myr grabbed his brother’s hands, squeezing as hard as he could, thinking his way out of it. He saw they were backing up toward the tree with the sandbag and the gate. There was no way out. Myr was cornered. Danylo quickly freed himself and threw a jab straight at Myr’s face.

It landed heavy and Myr felt the ground shift under his feet, though he tried his best to stay focused and ducked another jab. Danylo was in a blood rush. He liked the feeling of finally letting himself go on his older brother. It had been years since they had been able to fight like even opponents.

He had stopped long ago when he realised he was much stronger than his older brother — he had been twelve, Myr sixteen. It had been embarrassing. But today it felt good and well deserved. It felt right.

He threw two more jabs. He could clearly see the blood on Myr’s face but his brother was still standing, which gave Danylo the appetite for a few more. Just a few more. Just one more. Just this last one. And he finally punched with his full power — but Myr dropped at the same second, luckily dodging, and the hit landed directly on the sandbag with such force the bag exploded, bursting apart in chunks of rock-solid compacted sand.

Danylo stopped, staring at his arms in horror. Myr lay under the tree, sand sticking to the blood on his face. He couldn’t open his eyes because of the sand. He held onto consciousness as long as he could but the darkness was already closing in. He saw those red burning eyes. He saw that figure. The pain went away for a second. It felt good and calm for a second.

He felt pain again. All over his body, mostly his face and ribs. He opened his eyes and saw his brother sitting next to him. “Hey.” He heard him say. “It’s not that bad, is it? You can handle a punch.”

Myr saw Hanna behind his brother. She was halfway through the gate and had stopped when she saw what happened. “Oh, hi Gran, we were just playing.” Myr said, trying to get up. The ground was still unsteady under his feet but he managed to stand.

“I did everything wrong.” Hanna said to herself. “Everything I did to protect this family was wrong. You can’t suppress it, it needed to be learned. Why was I so foolish.”

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“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Hanna screamed at Myr. He stopped drawing symbols in shock, he’d never seen his grandma so angry.

“I’m drawing.” said Myroslav. He dropped his pen and froze. “Didn’t know it’s not allowed.”

Hanna rushed towards him and started flipping pages in his sketchbook. She compared signs from the sabre and looked very nervous. Finally she stopped.

“You are good at this, at drawing.” She said calming her voice down.

“What was that? Explain yourself.”

“I’m going to say it only once and I want you to remember it.” Her voice became very serious again and she took her grandson by his shoulders. “Never ever draw symbols you do not understand. I want you to promise me?”

“What’s a big deal with it…?” Myr started

“Promise me!” she demanded.

“Alright, I promise, would you explain it to me?”

“These symbols, they have consequences if drawn incorrectly. It could backfire badly, and I don’t want anyone to get hurt, please try to understand. You never knew this existed and you are already doing things that could potentially hurt you.”

“I don’t understand, you mean I could use this magic too?”

“This is not magic, this is the way to ask spirits about something, how could you be sure you are not asking for something dangerous if you do not know the language? How could you be sure you are asking the right spirit?”

“This is insane.”

“I’m saying this to protect you, I’ve told too much, and I promised I wouldn’t.” she stopped herself and walked away from Myr and sat on the sofa.

“I’m not stupid gran, I won’t do it again, okay?” he sat closer to her and held her hand. “We all had too much stress recently and I understand why you want to protect us.”

“Just please, don’t do anything stupid.”

“Well, going to the cemetery at night is stupid and you still want us to go, after what happened last time.” he tried to smile.

“I’m afraid we don’t have much choice, I don’t want your father’s soul to struggle, it’s unnatural for the dead to be walking again, he does not deserve it, I should have tried better.” her eyes were wet with tears but she covered them with her sleeve.

“You need to go” said Hanna. “It’s getting dark and it would be much better if you do this before the midnight.”

“Always the midnight.” Myr sighed nervously.

Myr finished his cold coffee and hid the sword back in the tube and went out. Danylo was taking their equipment out of the van.

“It hurts to lie on the ladder,” he explained.

“Don’t you have some other spell for us? Something that would make a huge flashlight for us or invisible for evil forces?” Danylo asked Hanna, she gave him a look he knew he said something silly. “No? Ok then.”

Danylo sat inside and started the engine. Myr sat on the passenger seat. Hanna came closer to the driver’s side and Danylo lowered the window.

“Good luck, boys. Please be careful,” Hanna said. The engine revved and the van reversed out of the yard.

The brothers went through the familiar gate.

“I have an idea.” Myr said. “There is a space for a car, lets reverse inside towards the church, this way we’ll have our van closer in case we need to run.” He opened the gate fully and Danylo turned around the van and reversed close to the wooden church. There was no sign of anyone on the cemetery. Myr looked around and opened his blueprint tube just a bit and held the sabre behind his back. He felt much calmer this way remembering what Hanna said.

“I just realised how unfair that you get to have this sword and I have nothing to fight with.” said Danylo.

“Look at yourself, you had a small scratch last time, you don’t need a weapon you are a fucking weapon.” Myr made a nervous laugh and Danylo followed holding a shovel. They both sighed knowing what was behind the bushes.

“Should you take that out? You know, just in case.” Danylo pointed towards the sabre.

“Yeah, I guess you are right.” Myroslav withdrew the sabre out of the tube and out of the scabbard. They moved forward and stepped out to the graveyard. Danylo had a flashlight in one hand and a shovel in his right hand.

They looked at the graveyard. Even under the flashlight they could see it looked different. It had no marks on the mud from the last night, it was evenly spread by someone.

“Someone took care of it.” Said Myroslav.

“Looks like it, too bad we’ll have to ruin it again.” Danylo looked around. “Why do I feel calmer this time?” he said. “Last time was different, like much scarier and I could feel something bad is coming if that makes sense.”

“I know, right? Maybe it’s the sword? It has a bravery spell or something?” He looked at the sabre’s signs but in the dark it was just a sabre, nothing more.

“We are doing something very wrong.” Danylo said and made a first dig. Brothers both got used to working with the shovel, it was the very first tool they acquired. They helped with the farm all their life and it was a common exercise for them to dig, once they even helped their father with digging for a draw-well gig.

“Let me know when you want me to replace you.” Said Myr. The answer didn’t follow, just the sound of the shovel working through the cold earth. Myroslav sat on the bench at the nearest grave, the one that people use to sit at, when meeting the dead, to have a meal together, to leave some sweets.

How did we end up like this? Digging our own father’s grave. He thought. He will be there, dead. His face, I don’t want to remember his face the way it was on the funeral day but I’ll see it again.

They both kept quiet, Danylo had similar thoughts, trying to prepare himself before seeing his father again. He worked with his shovel fast and confidently although it was hard even for him. Fingers were freezing although he was sweating, wondering if it was because of the hard work or the terror he felt thinking about his father’s face. He tried to keep himself away from these thoughts, one dig after another. Barely seeing anything with the weak beam of the flashlight Myroslav was holding, Danylo almost felt like he wasn’t there and it wasn’t happening to him. This was his only way of processing things. The same way he’d learnt from his father, work hard until you fell asleep running away from the thoughts and questions you can’t find answers to. To painful questions.

What are we going to do when we don’t find a new job? What do I want to do next? Is it the same thing I want to do all over again my whole life? Is this what I deserve? And the most terrifying one What have I done to my mother…

“Keep it easy, wow. “Myroslav said. “You will kill yourself quicker this way, let me replace you.”

Danylo just now noticed how he was pushing his body to the limits when he ran out of his breath.

“What?” he asked.

“That’s ok, I’ll replace you, hold this.” Myr gave him a flashlight, took his shovel and helped him to get out of the pit. He was so heavy that Myr felt a stab of pain through his ribs.

“You okay?” Danylo asked.

“Yeah, think about yourself, it’s not a competition, geez.” He tried to hide his pain which was easy in the dark. Danylo sat on the same bench and wiped his forehead with his shirt then pointed the flashlight to the pit.

“Hey I just realised, how’s your hand?” Myr asked.

“It’s fine, I forgot about it.”

“So it worked pretty well huh?”

“What do you mean? The bandage and the herbs?” Danylo started uncovering his hand that had deep cuts just last night.

“Yeah, that. It’s kind of weird that you forgot about that, I thought we’d need to stitch it.” Myr was standing in the pit to his waist deep, looking at his brother’s arm. When Danylo uncovered it the hand was almost healed. It had a few marks reminding of the last night but they were not too deep.

“They look like it’s been a couple of weeks. I know you heal like a dog but this is just impossible.” They both looked at his arm for a moment.

“What about your ribs?” Danylo asked.

“Still hurt.”

“You sure you can dig?”

“Will see.” Myr said and tried to work his shovel through the earth and felt the striking pain again much stronger this time. “Fuck no, I can’t.”

“That’s fine, I caught my breath, get out.” Danylo said. “Why yours so bad, I had deep cuts but your ribs are not even broken.”

“And you wanted a sword? Yeah, right.” Myr said getting out with the help of his brother.

Danylo stood in the pit for a moment, surrounded by the dark. Even though it was an early evening, it seemed like night. “You think he looks the same?”

“Probably.” Myroslav said. “I hope not worse. Let’s just get it over with get out of here.”

Danylo looked inside the pit with the shovel in his hands.

“Take it easy this time, ok?” said Myr. “I said I’d replace you but don’t get too excited there.”

“I figured.” Danylo started digging again. They both were quiet again.

Myr looked around the graveyard. With the flashlight pointed at the pit he could barely see the gravestones and metal fences with tables and benches inside. It was at the end of the yard so they could see how big it was. Most graveyards were messy, overgrown with weeds, surrounded by rusty small fences.

“Hey not to change the subject,” Myr asked. “But, have you given any thoughts on my idea to move somewhere bigger?”

“Nah, I’m just digging here, you do the rest.” his voice sounded a bit annoyed.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s always like that, you make plans, argue with father on what to do better.” he started working with the shovel faster again. “You know he probably decided to work separately because he got tired of arguing with you.”

“Never seen that coming, how long have you kept it to yourself?”

“A while.”

“A while? Ok then, let’s talk” Myr raised his voice. “I was arguing because he was working all the time”

“Oh, believe me, I know very well what you were arguing about, heard it like a million times already.”

“There were smarter ways to make money and it pisses me off that you defend him and I look like shit now still having an argument with the father who doesn’t hear my arguments now.”

“Try louder, he might actually hear you.”

“Not funny.” Myr stood up and moved the beam from the flashlight.

“Hey, light.”

“I hate that we are arguing all the time, I hate that we are barely making any money and I hate that I need to guess what you want.”

“Okay, let’s go to Kharkiv, let’s go to Kyiv, whenever you want, just shut up.” Danylo said quietly while digging faster and faster. The earth was flying out of the pit and Myr had to walk over to point the beam.

“What are you mumbling over there?”

“I said shut up.”

“Oh, that’s much better, let’s just not talk.” Myr moved the light again. Danylo was digging half blind not stopping just working through and Myr kept talking. “This way we would definitely find how to deal with the business, how to take care of our grandma, just shut the hell up and keep going the way our father did, it proved everything working, right?”

“Shut up, shut up” Danylo was digging and mumbling when finally he screamed. “SHUT THE FUCK UP” and threw his shovel into the ground and they both heard the sound of the wood under the shovel.

They both understood what that was.

“Finally, at least I know that something is able to shut your mouth.” Danylo said. “Now come over and point the flashlight properly so I could open it. Where’s that nail?”

“I’m sorry, Danya” Myr said quietly. “I didn’t want it, I always want the best for us and I’m so tired, I just want us to have a good life.”

“I know.” the younger brother’s voice became softer. “I want that too, now give me that nail and let’s finish with this, we can always talk after”.

Myr took out a nail from his pocket while Danylo was cleaning the rest of the coffin’s top part to be able to open it.

“Ready?” Myr asked. He sat closer to the edge of the pit. Danylo nodded and opened the coffin lid. Danylo held his breath preparing to see his father and Myroslav fought the urge to close his eyes.

The coffin was empty.

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The November night was crawling into December, and the air was biting with its cold breath. The cemetery gate was unlocked and wide open. Someone stepped inside, slowly and silently. He knew where to go.

He walked past the wooden church into the main graveyard. The flowers were scattered everywhere. Mud, dried in the cold night, still held the marks of the recent fight. He looked at the ground. In the light of the moon, through that mess, he saw small black seeds.

“Poppy seeds, huh. We’ve got ourselves a witch.”

Myroslav opened his eyes. For a second his head was clean and calm, the way you feel when you wake and don’t remember the bad dream — and then the bad dream comes back. When was it not a bad dream?

He looked at the same ceiling he used to stare at every morning since he was a kid. Every red stain, every uneven bit of whitewash, was so familiar after all these years that he had grown to hate it. His brother was still sleeping, as usual. Nothing could wake Danylo until he decided to get up, so everyone had stopped trying years ago. The sun was up; its beams came through the window, showing the dust drifting in the air.

Myr tried to get up, and the pain struck him through his ribs.

It wasn’t a bad dream, then.

He touched his ribs, the linen cloth wrapped around his chest. He tried to roll over to make it less painful, sat up on the bed, and looked out the window. The field that used to be green, where they played football with their father when they were kids. Now it seemed yellow. Behind the field was a lake he couldn’t see but knew was there. The sunny weather seemed like a good sign after that dark night. His head started to show him pictures from last night, then the dream, spinning around.

He threw away these thoughts and started getting dressed. Jeans and an old knitted sweater. The corridor was cold. Hanna had firewood enough to keep the bedrooms warm, but that was it for the rest of the house, even though the house was small.

“Ba?” Myr called, walking out of his room, and got no reply. He went into the kitchen and put the kettle on the gas stove. He opened a can of instant coffee and put three big spoons in his mug. The smell started waking him up.

The sun made it look like it would be warm outside, but it was quite the opposite; the dark corners hidden from the sun still held frost. He sat on the bench against the house wall and lit a cigarette. The smoke was thick.

Their van was parked in the yard, just in front of the house. It was an old grey UAZ-452, nicknamed the Bukhanka, the “bread loaf.” The village had used it as an ambulance until it was written off years ago, and Arthur had bought it to use as their workhorse. It had a darker grey paint stripe that ran over the place where the red “Ambulance” sign used to be.

Myroslav heard the wooden door open behind the house. There was a small animal pen where they had kept cows and pigs long ago; now there were only chickens and ducks, something small for Hanna to manage.

“That’s a steam train,” she said, looking at him smoking.

“And good morning to you.”

“How are you feeling? How are your ribs?”

“Still the same.”

“You should be fine. Give them a couple of days, maybe a week. It’s nothing serious.” She sat down beside him. “Your brother is still sleeping?”

Myr nodded, breathing out smoke. “We’ll have to head back soon.”

“A job?”

“Not now, no. I wanted to close the project we have, and I’ve been thinking about moving somewhere bigger. There aren’t many jobs in Poltava these days.”

“It’s not the season. You know it’s always like this over the New Year,” she said, looking at him.

“I just wanted to let you know I’ve been thinking about moving. Didn’t want it to come as a surprise…” Myr looked straight ahead, avoiding her eyes. Hanna said nothing, and they sat in silence for a while.

“We have something to finish, and then — sure. You’re a smart boy.” She smiled. “I’m not the one to teach you. You always had this in you. Always wanted more. Just like your mother.”

The door behind them opened. They looked back and saw Danylo’s sleepy face. He walked out in jeans and a t-shirt, as if the cold wasn’t bothering him. It never was. He washed his face and his messy hair in the outdoor sink.

“Are you hungry?” Hanna stood up and gave him a small towel.

“Yes, sure.” He dried his face.

“I’ll make us something.” She walked inside.

“Slept well?” Myr asked his brother.

“Did I have a bad dream?”

“No. You remember everything correctly.” The older brother lit his second cigarette.

“I thought it was just a bad dream. I thought it was…”

“Welcome to the club. I thought that too.”

“What do you think?” Danylo asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you woke up earlier, had time to think, and you always have an opinion.” He went to the tree and hung by his palms from the big branch and stretched. The branch carried the marks of two palms, worn in over the years.

Also their father had hung a sandbag from the same tree in the yard. He had taught his sons to box, and Danylo especially had taken to it, training all the time. He was big, but he loved running and sparring; when he had the time, he went to a boxing gym in Poltava. Myr used to train with him, but he never understood how anyone could have that much energy, and eventually stopped trying to keep up with his younger brother.

“I guess this is the type of question we need to ask Gran. I have no idea what to think.”

“Wow, that’s unusual.” Danylo smiled. “Refreshing to see you without an opinion on something. I kind of like it.” He did a couple of pull-ups ignoring his injured hand.

“I was having such a nice morning,” said Myr. “Come on, let’s eat and talk with Gran.”

They walked inside and smelled the potato and chicken leftovers from the day before, in a pan with fried eggs. The brothers helped with the plates and sat down to eat. The room was filled with sunshine and steam from the pan and plates.

“I have more questions,” said Myr, “about yesterday.”

“Of course you do,” Hanna said.

“I mean, where do I even start. It’s weird even considering sharing my thoughts out loud.”

“I have one,” said Danylo, chewing. “I saw something weird in our van yesterday. When that thing attacked us, I saw these symbols inside the car — on the walls and the ceiling, and they were lit. I’d never seen them there before.”

“Ah, this,” Hanna said.

“You know about it?” Danylo asked.

“Of course I do. I drew them.” She smiled. “I’m glad they worked.”

“What symbols?” Myr asked.

“Kind of like runes, or something,” Danylo said.

“They have a lot of names, but mostly it’s a protection — an oberih. I drew it when your father bought the car, and it protects from evil forces. Last night you saw it working at its fullest. Must have been beautiful, I suppose.” She was excited. Myr sat between them and looked at Hanna, then at his brother.

“It was, yeah,” Danylo said. “And it did work. That thing — it didn’t get through, even though it felt like it could tear the van apart.”

“I’d almost forgotten about it,” Hanna said.

Myroslav stopped eating and looked at his grandma.

“It’s a combination of symbols. A language. People used to use it to speak with the spirit world, since the beginning of time,” Hanna said.

The brothers didn’t say a word.

“I knew you’d react like that. I don’t know much about it, but people used to draw these things all the time. To pray for a good harvest, for rain, for health, for the spirits’ blessing — or, like you saw yesterday, for protection from evil.” She stopped to make sure they were keeping up.

“But it was glowing. I thought it was just like all those things you hang around the house — the towels, the horseshoes,” Danylo said.

“Yes. It’s rare that one glows.” She smiled. “Nadiya taught me that one. It’s a strong protection.”

“A spell?? Like witchcraft?” Myroslav finally spoke.

“Why do witches bother you so much?” she asked.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that. What I’m asking is — is it magic?”

“No, it’s not like that. It’s a barrier evil can’t pass through.”

“It’s too much to process, honestly.” Myr stood up. “What else do we need to know?”

“Hey. Be nice,” Danylo said.

“I am nice. I’m just trying to cope with what I’m hearing. And we still have to fucking dig our father out, in case you’ve forgotten. Don’t you see it the same way as I?!”

“That’s hard to forget,” Danylo said quietly.

“Tonight.” Hanna said quietly.

“Tonight?! Why does it have to be at night?” Myr asked. “I’d rather have someone see us digging than get killed.”

“Simply because you have protection from evil, but not from the police,” Hanna stated.

“Police? Here? Please, this is the least of my concerns.” Myr said.

“She’s right, Myr,” said Danylo. “Can’t belive I’m saying it but igging someone out of their grave is a crime. Everyone around knows us. We might not get arrested here, but we will in Poltava, and you know it.”

Myr started thinking about last night, and the memories came back. The red eyes again. The dark cloud, the horror he’d felt.

“If these symbols work as a barrier,” Myr asked, trying to collect his thoughts, “is there something that works as a weapon?”

“Yes,” Hanna said. “Come with me.”

The brothers followed their grandmother. She walked out of the house and turned left, opening the small wooden gate between the house and a narrow cellar entry. She opened the cellar door, turned on the light, and stepped in. Myr saw the cobwebs everywhere and stopped in the doorway, blocking Danylo.

“Still scared?” Danylo mocked his older brother, and stepped down past him.

“Only psychos aren’t afraid of spiders,” Myr said, and ducked in.

They used the cellar to store food. It was small, four metres by four, with shelves of homemade jam, pickled tomatoes and cucumbers. A large bottle of homemade wine stood on the floor.

Hanna reached behind a shelf and took out something wrapped in a dusty piece of cloth. “I knew you wouldn’t find it down here,” she said. “And I know it’s not a good idea to give one toy to two brothers — but it’s the only one I’ve got.” She uncovered a scabbard with a sabre. “I didn’t know you’d need it yesterday.”

Danylo took it from her and drew it. It was lightweight, single-edged, gently curved.

“Careful. Don’t kill anyone in here,” said Myr. “What the hell is this? Why do you have a sword?”

“It’s a shablya,” Hanna said. “I thought you studied history.”

“Where did you get it?” Danylo asked, looking at it.

“It used to be Nadiya’s. But now, I suppose, it’s mine,” she said.

They went back out of the cellar.

“We need to hide it somehow,” Hanna said, when she saw Danylo holding the sword in the daylight. Myr looked at it and opened the van’s side door.

“I think I might have something.” He brought out the drawing tube he used to carry his architecture blueprints. He opened it, took out a few sheets of paper to free the space, took the sword, and slid it inside. It fit exactly right. Myr couldn’t hide his smile.

“Too early for Christmas,” said Danylo.

“It’s perfect,” said Hanna. “I’ll leave you to it. I have things to do.”

“Let us know if you need any help,” said Danylo.

“Don’t cut your eyes out with that thing,” she said, and left.

“So — what do you think now?” Danylo asked his older brother. Myroslav opened the tube and took the sword back out. It felt comfortable in his hand, and lightweight. He swung it a couple of times.

“Like the old days, when we used to beat the shit out of the thorny weeds by the lake,” Danylo laughed.

“It is, isn’t it.” Myr laughed too.

“You should take it. You always loved it more than me, I’m much better with knuckles.”

Myr looked closely at the sword and noticed something on the false edge — engraved signs running from the guard to the middle of the blade. He noticed a pattern; some signs ran in a row, some in a circle. Some symbols were repeated more than once. Symbols like a star, a sun, waves, tree leaves and geometric elements all in different shapes and forms. It didn’t look like letters, rather symbols. The work was neat, engraved very cleanly and professionally.

“Hey, Danya,” he said. “Any chance you saw these signs in our van last night?”

“Huh. They do look familiar.” He opened the van door and looked inside. “Can’t see them now, but you’re right. I definitely saw these signs somewhere before.”

Myr looked inside, moved their construction stuff out of the way, and leaned close to the walls and the ceiling. He saw faint, barely noticeable wax marks. “That’s clever. It’s wax — a very thin layer. How did it not melt? It’s like a million degrees in this van in the summer. It definitely should have melted by now, and she said she did it when?”

“When father bought the van, it was like fifteen years ago?” said Danylo.

Myr tried to make out the signs, but they were too thin, barely visible. He got out of the van, sat on the bench and lit a cigarette, studying the symbols on the sword.

“I’ll leave you with your new toy.” Danylo went inside the house, finished his breakfast, and got out to his usual exercise routine.

Myr came inside too and took out his sketchbook. He placed the sword on the table in the living room, opened his sketchbook and started drawing, trying to replicate the symbols one by one to see them clearly. The signs made no sense to him. They were just as they’d looked at first glance — the sun, a wave, a mill, a tree leaf, and a few figures he couldn’t place at all. They were difficult to draw, but his experience helped. After a couple of hours of drawing, he got tired and was just about to take a break to make some more coffee, when Hanna walked inside and saw him drawing.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” she screamed.

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They sat in the kitchen. All three of them. In the dead silence, they could hear blood from Danylo’s hand dripping on the wooden floor.

“Tell me what happened at the cemetery first. Who did that to you?” Hanna pointed at Danylo’s hand and Myr holding his ribs. The brothers looked at each other.

“We don’t know,” answered Myr. His eyes looked through Hanna. “I… I don’t know what I saw there.”

“Try to describe.”

“The wind. It arose so strong,” said Danylo. “Like a storm, we could barely see in the dark, but the wind threw dust and earth in our eyes and we couldn’t see shit, but it could see us.”

“It?” asked Hanna.

The brothers nodded.

“It was dark,” said Myr. “Like, I don’t know, a cloud? Like a dark cloud that moved so quickly, and when it hit me I could feel it was cold.”

“I caught it for a split second,” said Danylo. “And it felt like ice and it did this,” he showed his hand. Hanna stood up and took a box from the drawer. It had small bottles that made a sound of glass hitting each other, and some dried herbs.

“Let me help you with that,” she said. “You’re hurt too, Myroslav, what is it?”

“Ribs.”

“That would be harder to heal.”

She sat near Danylo and disinfected his hand. Then she took out a small bottle and wiped it on the linen. She took some herbs, put them in his wounds, and wrapped a cloth around his hand.

“Would you tell us what that was?” Danylo asked.

“Will you believe me now?”

“Try me,” said Myr. “I don’t know what to even think now.”

“I believe it was an upyr,” said Hanna. “The one I read to you about, when you were kids.”

“You mean the undead from stories?” asked Myr.

“Yes.”

Everyone was silent. Myr just looked at Hanna, she was looking directly at him, he was almost expecting a smile on her face, it didn’t happen. Then he looked at his brother, trying to process what he just heard.

“See, I hear what you are saying but my brain just refuses to gather it into one clear message.” He sat closer. “Are you on drugs or something?”

“For fuck sake,” Danylo snapped. “How long do you need something to hit your stupid face before you finally understand what just happened?” He stood up and started walking around the room.

“I don’t know…” Myr started speaking.

“YOU WERE THERE WITH ME! YOU SAW THE SAME THING I SAW.”

“I don’t know what I saw there and I’m trying to understand it now.”

“Try harder! It does not matter how smart you are, there are things above your understanding.” Danylo sighed, out of breath. “This is just impossible, some shit nearly killed him and he’s trying to find an explanation.”

“Boys, please,” said Hanna.

“There are laws of physics, everything can be explained.” Myr said with an empty stare.

“Good luck trying to explain that. Gran, please, what do you know about it and what does it have to do with our father?” Danylo sat back.

“I think it broke my ribs, it could have been much worse.” Myr said.

“Oh, I know, you were lucky it was something young, I’d say, up to fifty years.”

The brothers looked at each other again.

“You sure you want to talk now? Let’s talk tomorrow, let me deal with your ribs now.”

“No, it will wait,” Myr insisted and stopped his grandmother from helping him. “I want to know everything now.”

“I’ll tell you everything I know as long as you are ready to listen.”

“Tell us everything,” said Danylo. “Please.”

“I’ve seen it before,” Hanna began her story. “When I was a kid, we heard all kinds of stories, but some stories are much closer to the actual truth than people care to admit. They are afraid to admit it, they are so happy to find any small excuse to forget, to lie to themselves, to hide behind the laws of physics or whatnot, because the truth scares them.

There was a man in our village, a strong man, our neighbor, he was very kind, I still remember his face but not his name. And once he got killed, in a fight, people said. No one really knew what happened. The war was over, not many soldiers came back, but he had returned and worked hard and then suddenly got killed. I was maybe ten or something, I went to his funeral and saw his face in the coffin and he looked exactly how my son looked today, like someone had drained his life from him, grey and empty. Some people thought it was a disease. So was it a fight or a disease? It was easier for them not to ask questions, they had their own reasons. But there was one woman who insisted on putting an iron nail in his hand, everyone thought she was crazy and that she was insulting him with her witchcraft. People were weird about traditions in the Soviet time. She warned us and we didn’t listen.

And then people started finding dead herds a couple of nights after we buried him, and soon after that, people started going missing too.

One evening I was out and I saw him, that man. The sun was almost down and I saw him standing in the shadow across the river.” She pointed to the window. “And in the next second he was so close to me, nothing moves that quickly. And she saved me. She did something, said something, I don’t remember. That woman, Nadiya. She appeared near me and then stood between us. I remember the wind and the dust in my eyes and then in a second — nothing. She said that they needed to leave a nail, they needed to listen to her or he would return.”

“Do you think it was him, the one we saw in the cemetery?” Danylo asked.

“I don’t know for sure, but there’s more,” she continued. “Nadiya told me not to talk about it to anyone and she gave me this.” Hanna showed them an iron nail twisted in a circle that she wore as a necklace. “She said he might return. Don’t go out at nighttime and don’t answer any questions from strangers when they come to your house after the sun goes down.”

“That’s a lot to process for a ten-year-old girl,” Myr said.

“She started teaching me everything she knew. Medicine mostly, but also something that is difficult to describe to a normal person because they would start acting, well, like you.” She turned to Myroslav. “Which is why I read you those stories, I hoped that would help you to learn it, and not the way I learned it.”

“What happened next with that woman?” Danylo said.

“No one really knows, but one day she just left. People didn’t care, she didn’t have anyone here, I was the only one who remembered her and everything that’s left from her was the knowledge.”

“Who was she? A witch or something?” Myr asked.

“Oh, you wish, but no, I believe she was a Berehynia, a defender of our village. That’s different from a witch, but people don’t really care nowadays.”

“Did she tell you everything? How she fought it? What did she do to make it disappear?” Danylo asked.

“I don’t know if she did it, but I know what we need to do. We need to leave a nail in your father’s grave. Tomorrow night.” She went out of the room and returned with a handcrafted book in a leather cover that they hadn’t seen in years. She opened it and found a page with a picture she had drawn. It had a thin and grey face.

“When Nadiya saved you from that man, did he look the same as our father in his coffin today?” Myr asked.

“No, he looked normal, like himself before he died, even though he had a body, it felt like he didn’t have a soul, he was drawn by only one feeling — hunger.”

“What about the poppy seeds?” Danylo asked. “They helped.”

“It’s temporary, old tales say they have to count poppy seeds before the sun rises, if you remember,” she pointed to the book.

“Them?” the brothers asked simultaneously.

“Evil forces, the unclean,” she explained.

“So there is more?” Myr asked. “What else? Rusalkas?”

“Shut up.” Danylo said. “You wanted to know more, just sit and listen.”

“That’s enough for one day, isn’t it? You need rest and we need to fix your ribs,” she closed the book.

The brothers were too tired to argue. Danylo was half sleeping. “This is too much for one day I’d say. I’m going to bed.” he said.

“Shit.” Myroslav felt a strike of pain when he stood up.

“You okay?” Hanna asked.

“Ribs, not sure what’s with them.”

“Let me see,” said Hanna. “Injured but not broken, you are lucky.” There was warmth in her voice. “I’m sorry this happened. I didn’t know something like this would happen ever again.”

“I hope it will never happen again,” said Myroslav.

“I know how everything seems weird now, and I also hope I will be able to explain everything properly. It’s just, we do odd things to protect people we love.”

“It doesn’t look odd if you look at it that way.” Myr softened his voice. He saw his grandma in a way he had forgotten. That grandma who used to read to them when they were kids, who taught them to read, who cooked them the most delicious meals they ever had. “I’m sorry for what I was saying today and in the last couple of years, I haven’t been the best grandson.”

“I wasn’t the best grandma. You are right, who reads those scary stories to their kids.” They both smiled.

She opened a small bottle that smelled like herbs and alcohol. She soaked a linen in it and helped Myr make a bandage around his ribs.

“Should be good in a couple of days. Now, go get some rest, I bet Arthur is already sleeping.”

The room became silent.

“I meant Danylo.”

“I know, you always called him that.”

“I did, didn’t I. Danylo will be fine, his sleep will heal everything. The same as his father.”

“He was always absent, you know.” Myr said after a pause. “As soon as he taught us how to work, we separated, to make more money, he said.”

“I know, he told me that. Your father wanted you to learn how to take care of yourselves.”

“I keep thinking, what if we were together? Could we have saved him if there were three of us?”

“Don’t do that to yourself, Myr, it’s grief talking, believe me, I know it, I blame myself too, but there is nothing we can do.”

Myroslav stood up to go to his room.

“I’ve seen it before, that thing we saw today at the cemetery,” Myroslav said.

“What? Where?”

“In my dreams, I see this dream all the time. Something very similar, you know,” he paused. “But the dream is just a dream, right?”

“Sure, it’s just a dream. You are safe here,” Hanna said, standing up. “Don’t be bothered by bad dreams, my boy.”

“Where the night goes, there a dream goes.” Myroslav smiled.

“What?”

“You used to tell me this, when I had a bad dream, you used to tell me to stand and watch out the window and say it out loud three times. Was it a spell or something?”

“No,” she laughed. “It wakes you up so you don’t see the dream again, just logic.”

She took her bottles and bandages and put them back.

Myroslav went to his room and lay on his bed with eyes wide open. He kept wondering if he was missing something important. Kept coming back to what happened today and what Hanna told them.

And then he realised that the walls were different. He was not in the same room anymore. The walls were familiar, the same bunk bed, the same dream again. He walked out to the kitchen and saw it again, sitting at the kitchen table, waiting for the boy.

“WHAT ARE YOU? WHAT DO YOU WANT?” young Myroslav screamed, crying.

The figure opened its eyes.

Myroslav’s body didn’t listen again and started walking towards it and he felt the urge to stay, to see what would happen if he didn’t run away. But the figure didn’t move, didn’t stand up. It looked directly into boy’s eyes. And then the figure closed its eyes and Myroslav woke up.

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“Aren’t we going to talk about it?” Myroslav asked his brother when they took off from the driveway.

“Listen, I know what it looks like but I’ve never seen her so scared in my life and—let’s just do what she asked,” Danylo answered.

“You’re only making it worse, you know that? By playing along with those crazy stories. We are going at night to a cemetery for crying out loud, are you not seeing how nuts it is?”

“Just please shut up. Let’s do what she asked and go back home. We’re almost there.”

“I’m moving out, after all of this, I can’t live like this anymore”.

“What do you mean you’re moving out?”

“To Kharkiv or Kyiv. I’m tired of living from place to place, I want to do things properly and I can’t do it like this” Myroslav lit a cigarette. “We can’t live like this, we barely make any money and we work like crazy, and yet driving this old garbage and not having a proper place.”

“Seems like you’ve decided everything, what about gran? Have you thought about her? She’s getting older.”

“The witch will outleave us, I promise you, and it will be much easier for us to take care of her making money.”

“Us? Oh you’re taking me with you, what an honour. Look at him, such a big boy with his big education.” Danylo moved smoke out of his face.

“Go ahead, blame me for wanting to get out from this place. And of course I’m taking you with me, where else I’ll find a man who can lift bags of cement like bed pillows? Think about it. And let’s turn around and go home.” Myroslav put his cigarette into the car ashtray.

“We’re here.” Danylo stopped the car and got out.

“I’m sorry I haven’t told you this earlier. I wanted to prepare the whole plan and then to share it with you, I wanted to finish college.”

“You know you always do this, Myr” said Danylo. “Thinking you are the smartest and things need to be only your way.”

The old and rusty cemetery gate wasn’t locked.

“Good old story, I’m so selfish, thinking about how to actually start making money, move to a big city, start a business, to be able to put our gran to a nice care home.”

“You are not thinking about gran here, you are thinking how to get rid of her for someone else to take care of her.”

They walked in. The moon was hidden behind the clouds, barely giving them a chance to see their way, but they remembered where to go. The night was cold but windless.

“You know what, don’t want to go? Don’t go, I’ll go alone. Sit with her here for the rest of your life, I’m done thinking about everyone else and being called selfish all the time, maybe it’s time for me to actually be selfish.”

Danylo didn’t answer to that.

Brothers walked in silence on a wide road, large enough for a car to fit with a funeral procession, with thin trees on the sides of the road leading towards a small wooden church that looked grim even in the daytime.

They knew the graveyard started behind the church.

“This feels wrong,” whispered Myr.

“Why are you whispering?”

“I don’t know.”

“Afraid someone might listen to you?” Danylo mocked. “Aren’t you too old for scary tales?”

“You’d have to be an idiot not to be afraid of a cemetery at night.”

“I hope you’re wrong,” said Danylo quietly. “I think I saw something.”

“Not funny.”

“I’m not joking. I saw someone there.” He pointed toward the church.

“Maybe it’s a caretaker?” Myr said.

“Do you really think they are being paid to work at night? I doubt they are being paid at all.”

On their way to the grave, Myroslav heard something behind him. He instantly turned around but couldn’t see anything.

“I heard something,” he said.

“Now you are being funny?”

“I swear I heard something.”

“Well, I hope it’s horilka in your head.”

They walked past the church where they saw that movement.

Wind started to rise and Myroslav saw someone in front of him.

“I just saw something there, father’s grave,” he whispered.

“I saw it too,” Danylo whispered back.

They stood behind the bush area that divided graves and small fences. There was a big grave mound with flowers, and something was moving nearby. Danylo went ahead, and as soon as he stepped out, the movement disappeared.

“Are we both having sight issues? I just saw someone here a second ago,” Myr said.

“I know.”

“Maybe it’s our imagination?” Myr felt a sense of relief in that idea. Grief and alcohol do weird things to people, he tried to think logically.

The wind arose so sudden and strong that it was hard to breathe. It became a storm, earth and flower petals from the fresh grave flew into their eyes, and the brothers stood back-to-back instantly, like they were in school and knew their opponent was soon to make the first hit.

“I can’t see shit!” Myr screamed.

“Me too!” Danylo tried to cover his eyes when suddenly he felt something hit his legs and he fell over. “What the fuck!” he wasn’t used to being knocked down.

Myr turned to help his brother get up and felt a punch in his back so strong it threw him over his brother, and he hit his head against the gravestone. He felt blood over his nose and touched it with his fingers. It’s not happening, I’m sleeping, it’s not true, he thought.

Everything went dark in his eyes and he saw the kitchen from his dream, and the dark figure slowly walking towards. Red eyes. The figure was so close it could reach him.

“Are you okay?” Danylo asked from behind. Myr felt warm hands over his shoulder trying to get him up. The wind continued, whistling in their ears. He heard Danylo mumbling, Myr turned over on his back and saw it, standing behind his brother— is that the dark figure he saw in his dreams?

“BEHIND YOU!” he screamed. It threw a punch to Danylo’s face as soon as he turned over and disappeared again in a second.

“What the hell?” Danylo almost fell but stayed on the ground. Myr tried to get up and was hit in his ribs, throwing him further away from his brother. “Danya!” he screamed. The pain was so bad, it felt like the rib was broken. He had felt it before. His head was full of thoughts as he saw his brother getting hit one more time from behind by something so quick his eyes couldn’t catch it, but Danylo kept walking towards his brother.

“WHERE IS THIS THING?” he shouted.

“BEHIND! IT ATTACKS FROM BEHIND!” Myr screamed. Danylo tried throwing punches while covering his eyes, and accidentally caught the thing for a second. He held it so strong for a moment, afraid to let it go and he felt he cracked its bones, bones of the dark cloud, but instantly felt deep cuts on his hand and released it. The wind stopped and the figure disappeared.

Danylo ran to his brother and helped him get up.

“What the fuck is going on? What is this?” he mumbled. “I think I broke it.”

They found themselves ten meters away from the grave and then heard it—a scream so loud they covered their ears, but the sound went all the way through their veins.

“WE NEED TO GO, NOW!!” Myr screamed. The brothers almost took off.

“SEEDS,” Danylo screamed back.

“WHAT?”

“POPPY SEEDS.” Danylo took out a small bag when they saw it again, this time it was almost flying towards them from the trees. Danylo ran towards his father’s grave, took a handful of seeds and put them in the mud.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Myr screamed, but saw the figure disappear.

They both stayed near the grave. For a few seconds they tried to process what just happened and looked around.

“Do the full circle,” Myr said.

Danylo took seeds out of the bag, they stuck to his hand because of the blood and mud. “Help me.” He gave the bag to his brother and they both made the full circle while watching over and staying cautious expecting a new attack. It didn’t happen again.

The brothers silently looked at each other.

“You okay?” Danylo asked.

“Rib is broken I think, you?”

“Hand.”

“Broken?”

“Cut, it’s fine.”

They both walked back to their car, they both felt like it was exactly what they were asked for. When they walked past the church, the clouds moved and they saw the full moon. They felt relief. The adrenaline went down and Myr felt his broken ribs while Danylo felt his injured hand.

And then they heard it again. That scream.

“Car!” Myroslav screamed. They both started running. Myr felt huge pain in his ribs but was running faster than his brother. He started the engine and looked out of the car window and saw his brother running towards the car through the iron gate. He pushed the gate so it closed behind him for a second and the figure stopped in front of it, but the gate continued moving and opened. The figure disappeared again.

“BEHIND YOU!” Myr screamed and saw how something knocked his brother down again. Danylo started crawling towards the side door and continued getting hit by something they both couldn’t see. When he finally got inside and closed the door they both heard that scream again and it hit the car so it wobbled.

“DRIVE!” he screamed to his older brother.

The car engine revved and the car started moving. Danylo lay in the back of the van and opened his eyes. He saw some weird runic symbols glowing with warm amber light on the walls and the ceiling inside the car.

Myroslav drove as fast as he could all the way back. The light was on in the house. He opened the side door and helped his brother out. They quietly walked in, their grandma was waiting in the kitchen.

Danylo took a bottle of horilka and poured two full glasses. He gave one glass to his brother. The glass had bloodstains. They drank.

“Talk. Now,” Myroslav said.

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The funeral procession stood together around a coffin at the front yard. Grey clouds covered the sky in a thick layer and the wind was slow but crawled in sleeves so everyone tried to cover up to keep warm.

Trying to gather his thoughts, Myroslav couldn’t believe a heart attack would do this in just two days. Two days ago, he had seen his father. They had been working together on a renovation gig. He had been strong and healthy. It’s not right, Myr thought. It can’t be true. His mind kept returning to the dream he’d had that morning—the same dream he’d had his whole life but never told anyone.

Those red eyes. Why do I keep thinking about that dream? Is this just how grief works? He pushed away that thought.

The priest, tall and thin in a black robe, performed the memorial service — Panakhyda. He preached about the eternal memory and forgetting their father’s sins. Myr looked at his grandma; her lips were pressed tight. He had never seen her that angry. Sometimes her lips moved silently, whispering something no one could hear. When the priest finished, the others walked toward the coffin to say their last goodbyes. Myr noticed Grandma place something in her dead son’s hands. Myr stepped up next and looked at his father’s gaunt face. He barely recognized him. He touched his father’s cold hand and felt an iron nail pressed into the palm. What the hell is that? Myr thought.

But then the reality hit him—this was his father lying there. This was the very last time he would ever see him. Suddenly, Myr felt powerless, like a child, alone. They didn’t have a mother to turn to; their father had taught them to be physically strong, but mentally, Myroslav felt he had been a poor student. He was always full of doubts, and his father had always been there to provide direction when things felt uneasy. Until today.

His face was wet with tears. This is all bullshit. He was always so strong. He never said a word if he felt unwell. Never went to a doctor. Just herbs and all that nonsense. He was probably just sick and no one knew. He could have been alive if not for this.

He took the nail out of the hand, dropped it away, and checked if no one was watching. He felt the need of throwing out everything reminding him how stupid he was, how he hadn’t noticed his father being sick and not insisting on visiting a doctor.

Myr looked at his brother. Danylo’s eyes were red with tears, too. Everyone there was freezing, and the procession felt like it took ages. Although Danylo was hiding it, he was too inspired by his father to show his struggles.

Later they went to the cemetery and the burial was completed. Myroslav was on autopilot, walking with the others, not even listening to what the priest said, to what his grandma said . And he couldn’t find the final words to say, nor his brother. They watched as the coffin was put down in the grave, they dropped a handful of earth on it, cold and wet. His fingers were trembling. Danylo hugged his shoulder with one hand when they stood together watching their father’s burial.

Myroslav realized he was back home when they gathered for the pomynky — the traditional memorial meal where the living eat to settle the dead. He finally could feel his fingers again.

“If I die first,” Myroslav said to his brother when they stayed near the wooden oven trying to warm up their hands, “burn my body and don’t invite a priest. I don’t want anyone freezing to death while someone’s preaching for ages.”

“There are things much scarier than freezing, silly boy,” Grandma said from behind them. She walked in, looking angry. Guests were gathering inside, but the three of them were alone in the small room.

“Don’t start again,” Myroslav said. “I’m begging you. I just want to eat and have a drink.”

“Don’t you two start again,” Danylo whispered. “We have company, behave yourself.”

They hung their jackets and coats and walked inside. The big room was full of people; it was already dark outside and the lights and candles were lit. The big table with food was already prepared by Hanna — she had brought out warm soup, potatoes, and meat that she kept on a wooden oven metal plate to stay warm. The food was steaming and smelled so good the brothers realized they hadn’t eaten since the night before.

The evening went well. Everyone told stories about the boys’ father. They drank horilka and ate warm soup — the perfect duo after a freezing day at the cemetery. Danylo told the funniest stories with a sad face. How their father took them to the worksite for the first time. How the brothers messed up all the time or started fighting in the middle of a workday for no reason they could remember and their father said just one word, “Stop”. How unexpected he could appear behind them, like a cat, demanding it in a way they instantly froze still, almost wetting themselves.

That was the tradition, remembering good and funny stories no matter how sad you are, to pass the good memory.

Everyone laughed. Myroslav was quietly drinking.

When the last guest had left, they started cleaning up.

“So funny.” Myroslav said, trying to get up. “A lot of funny stories.”

“Yeah.” Danylo said, collecting plates. “It’s good we have so much to remember.”

“No, I mean, really funny.” Myroslav was swaying slightly.

“Are you drunk?” Grandma asked.

“Of course I’m drunk! I just buried my father because your stupid voodoo doesn’t work!” he suddenly screamed.

“Shut your mouth!” Danylo slowly walked in front of him. Myroslav was just a bit taller, but the younger brother was wider in the shoulders and stronger physically. They both knew that.

“Or what? Are you going to beat the shit out of me? Go ahead! Then the witch will bring some grass and I’ll be like new tomorrow!”

“Oh, you are so funny,” Hanna said coldly.

“See? I told you. Funny!” Myr said. He tried to push his brother, but Danylo stood firm and easily pushed his older brother back with one hand. Myr tried to grab him but was too drunk and fell back over a bench.

“Lay low and don’t make me kill you,” said Danylo angrily.

“ENOUGH!” Hanna screamed. The brothers stopped.

“Yes, enough. I’ve had enough of your shit. You know what you did, right?” Myr said, standing up. “He could still be alive if not for your ‘witch medicine.’ You’re blind fools if you believe in this shit. And you know what? It’s your fault! All this protection shit all over the house, in our van or our lives. All those horseshoes and towels and herbs and symbols — I’m cleaning it all out of my life. A nail? A nail in his hand? Are you nuts?” he screamed.

“Leave it be,” she demanded. “You are blessed by not knowing, and that is a good thing.”

“Blessed?! I remember all those tales you told us when we were kids. While other kids had nice bedtime stories, we had those horror stories. Remember that story about that woman who had drowned in a river and came back? That river near our house! I couldn’t sleep for weeks. Or stories about children’s spirits that need to be named? Children’s ghosts — the scariest type of ghost! I was twelve! This is not how you raise your grandkids!” He screamed. “A fucking iron nail in his hand... she’s crazy, I’m telling you, she has been and it’s only getting worse.”

“What are you talking about?” Danylo asked. “What nail?”

“Please tell me you didn’t do anything with that nail.” She looked terrified.

“I threw it away!” Myr said. “I told you, I’m cleaning this shit out of my life!”

“Silly boy,” she said nervously. “What have you done?”

“I threw garbage out of my father’s coffin,” he answered lowering his voice.

“Please listen to me. Listen carefully, or bad things are about to happen.” Hanna looked scared.

“I’m not listening to any more of your stories. I’m done,” Myr said.

“WILL YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP FOR A SECOND?” Danylo screamed at him. “Or I’m going to knock you out.”

“I’ve seen this before... I’ve seen this before.” Hanna sat on the bench and covered her face with her palms.

“What have you seen?” Danylo knelt and took her hand.

“A body like that. His life was drained. It wasn’t a heart attack. I’ve seen this before,” she repeated.

“Please, calm down and explain,” Danylo said, almost whispering. He kneeled in front of his grandma and took her hand. “What is going on?”

“I need you to go to the cemetery and do as I say. I will explain everything later, but we don’t have much time — it’s dark already. Please, I’m begging you, or there will be consequences.” Tears filled her eyes. “Please!”

“Okay, okay. I’ll do it. What do you need from me?” Danylo said.

“Have you gone nuts, too?” Myr said. “She’s crazy! Don’t you see?”

“What do you want me to do?” Danylo ignored his brother. She stood up, ran to another room, opened a drawer, and started talking to herself.

“Poppy seeds. That’ll do. I need poppy seeds,” she repeated.

“Oh my God, she’s lost her mind.” Myr began to sober up, his mind clearing as he realized what she wanted them to do. He remembered the folklore tales.

“Take this.” She handed a small cotton bag to Danylo. “Scatter them around the grave as soon as you can. It might not be too late. Make a full circle. Leave the whole bag of seeds there.”

“Are you having a breakdown?” Myr asked. “Is anyone listening to me?”

“Okay, I’d better go now,” Danylo said, taking the bag. “Are you coming with me?” he stopped on his way out.

“Listen to me, just calm down! Are you really going? It’s the middle of the night, you’ve been drinking, it’s not safe!”

“It’s not safe,” Hanna agreed. “And you need to hurry — and remember, if something happens, run to your van, you will be safe there.”

Danylo walked out, and Myroslav followed him, trying to ignore what he had just heard.

“Are you serious?” Myr asked. Danylo opened the van door, sat inside, and fired up the engine.

“This family is fucking crazy. He’s going to kill himself on the road,” Myr muttered, opening the passenger door.

The van reversed out of the driveway and disappeared into the night. Hanna stayed on the porch, watching them leave. “I hope it’s not too late,” she whispered.

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What if Hanna was right all along?

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Author’s note:

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Myroslav Bulavenko sat in the passenger seat of their loud, old van. He smelled gasoline. His younger brother, Danylo, was driving. The windscreen was wet with small raindrops. It was almost noon in late November 1996, Ukraine.

“What?” Danylo asked.

“Did I say something?” Myroslav said. He was only now realising he was half sleeping.

“Yeah, you were, but I couldn’t hear shit. Speak louder.”

“I think I fell asleep. I wasn’t saying anything.” Myroslav wiped a stray tear from his face and took out his pack of cigarettes.

“Okay, never mind then.” Myroslav fell asleep again.

Five-year-old Myroslav woke up in his bed at night. He looked down from his bunk bed to check if his younger brother was asleep, but the bed was empty. Myroslav climbed down and looked around. It was his room, but somehow it felt different, wrong. He stepped into his parents’ room only to find an empty bed there too.

“Dad?” he heard himself say. His steps felt slow. He wanted to run across the apartment to find someone — it wasn’t right. A five-year-old shouldn’t be completely alone. Where was everyone?

He walked into the corridor on his way to the kitchen and then saw it. A dark, tall figure was sitting at the kitchen table. Myroslav froze. He couldn’t breathe. No one was moving, but Myroslav knew the figure saw him.

“Is it you, Dad?” he finally asked, but heard no reply. The figure didn’t move; the boy knew it was staring into him through the complete darkness. The boy stepped forward. His body wasn’t listening to him. One more step.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. One more step. He was trembling in horror but continued slowly walking toward the figure. Already in the kitchen, just a few steps away, when he saw the eyes. In the darkness of the night, the figure’s eyes turned burning-red, staring directly at him. The boy turned away and started running. He tried to open the apartment door to escape; he knew he had turned the lock, but couldn’t move the door.

“SOMEBODY HELP!” he screamed. Myroslav turned his head and saw the figure slowly stand up.

“GRANDMA, DAD, ANYBODY—” The boy started smashing the door with his small hands. His eyes blurred with tears, and he could feel the figure moving closer.

“PLEASE!”

“Are we there yet?” Myroslav said, waking up.

“Don’t you recognise these places?” Danylo pointed toward the fields they were passing.

“Oh, yeah. Almost there.” For the rest of the trip, they listened to the rattle of the old van. Soon they saw the sign for the village: “Ozera, Poltava region.”

The van pulled into the driveway of a light blue, one-story house. Their grandma, Hanna, walked onto the porch. She wore a knitted sweater and black tracksuit pants. Her hair was short and silver.

“This junk makes so much noise. Didn’t your father teach you how to fix it? He could always fix it, I mean...” she paused.

“We’ll have to figure it out on our own then,” Myroslav said.

“He was always so busy. We haven’t had much time. We’ll fix it, Gran,” Danylo said.

“Good, good,” she replied. They hugged. Danylo was just a bit taller than Hanna but much bigger in the shoulders. She rubbed his dark blonde hair.

“When are they bringing him?” Myroslav asked.

“Soon. Let’s have some tea.” She hugged her older grandson. Myroslav was tall and lean. They walked inside. It was an old home, built by their family almost fifty years ago. The walls inside were white. The ceiling had orange water stains in the corners, but the house was kept clean and tidy. A kettle stood on the wooden stove to keep hot. She made them tea.

“I know we talked about it over the phone, but I don’t believe them,” she said once they sat at the kitchen table. “And I am not crazy. I can see how you’re looking at me.”

“He had a heart attack. There’s nothing else to it,” Myroslav sighed. “Can we just have a normal funeral?”

“Your father had the health of a bull. You both know that. Yes, he worked all the time, but he was too young for that, and—”

“I know, but,” Myroslav interrupted, “can we just say goodbye properly, without all of this?”

“Without all of what, Myr?” Danylo asked. “Continue what you were going to say.”

“I just want a normal funeral for our father. That’s it. I’m tired.”

“Without all that crazy bullshit, you mean?” Danylo said angrily.

“Don’t swear in here,” Hanna said. “I don’t want you to fight. Whatever happens, I don’t want you two fighting. Ever.” She sounded stern, and they both listened. “I knew my son very well, and he wasn’t himself these last few months. I know what I know. Believe me or not, it was not just a heart attack. And I want you to believe me because—”

“Because what? Oh my God, Gran, can we stop?” Myroslav snapped. “All my life I’ve heard these stories. All my life I do what you ask.” He stood up and paced around the kitchen, pointing at the herbs and the rushnyk, an ornamental towel, hanging on the walls. “All this ‘protection’ voodoo. It has to stop. We are adults now. The times are shit. We barely have any money, and you’re talking nonsense about mystical shit we’re supposed to be afraid of?”

“Are you done yet?” Danylo asked quietly after a minute. Their grandma sat silently, letting Myroslav finish his thoughts.

“Do you believe her?” Myroslav asked his brother. “Aren’t you old enough to believe in fairy tales?”

“Father believed,” he answered.

“And where is he now? Huh? Maybe he needed a real doctor instead of all those herbs and shit! I can’t... I just can’t. I need a walk.” He wanted to storm out. Danylo stood in front of his brother. He was much stronger and Myroslav knew that, although it never stopped them from fighting.

“Let him go,” Hanna said. “He needs to clear his head. Let him.”

Danylo moved to the kitchen table and sat with Hanna when Myroslav walked out.

“Do you really think it was something else?” Danylo asked.

“I have a feeling,” she said. “We’ll see once they bring him here. A heart attack... people don’t look like that after a heart attack.”

“Wait, have you seen him?”

“Yes and no. You’ll understand,” she said. “I had a bad dream the night he died — don’t tell your brother.”

In an hour, a long white van arrived in the driveway. People started gathering. Two men helped the brothers carry their father’s coffin out of the van. It felt light, almost empty. They put the coffin near the house so everyone could see it and say their goodbyes. Soon the priest arrived, and the funeral procession began as they opened the coffin. No one could believe their eyes. The person inside looked like he had been dead for weeks. Dark circles around his eyes, thin, grey skin, as if the life had been drained right out of the body. It wasn’t the father they remembered — it wasn’t even a human body; it looked like a poorly made clay figure.

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Chapter 2: How to make sure the dead will remain dead?

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This is what happened to me. I had this idea that it takes a couple of months to actually gain an audience here if I start sharing things I enjoy writing about, but I ended up with high expectations that were hit by absolutely normal reality — overnight success does not exist.

When you see someone succeed by posting something really cool every day.

(I can’t not mention this guy who posts a new picture every day where he tells a story and gained 600 subscribers in 20 days, looking at you ) you think wow, that is so cool and maybe I can do something like this too? But it probably took this artist years and years of learning and practicing and failing before he started posting his art so consistently. And yes, also, it’s a visual domain, not a writing one, but you get the idea. You start comparing yourself with someone who has practice and experience.

But wait a minute. I’ve been writing my whole life, I have experience too, I have written thousands of pages full of stories — I just never published them.

Does it make me a writer if no one reads what I write?

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My instant reaction is yes. I am a writer just because I write. Because this is the form of art I chose to discover myself, to get to know myself better — and it happens that I enjoy when other people like what I write, so naturally I’ve developed this addiction to vanity metrics.

And if I didn’t get the reaction I expected — I stopped writing, I stopped posting. For a couple of weeks I lied to myself that I was doing research, that I was preparing the launch of something cool and just wanted to be ready, when in reality I was hurt by 0 likes and comments under my posts.

And when I sat down to reflect on it I came up with this thought — I’ve been writing my whole life and no one saw it except me, so why did I suddenly stop writing just because I hadn’t got any reaction? It shouldn’t be an engine for me to continue writing, right?

But no, I started comparing myself to other artists, writers who have an audience, who share their art and people enjoy it — and I genuinely thought I wanted that too and yes, it’s embarrassing to admit but I really want people to read what I write and like it. (Also come on, English is my third language — it boosts my ego so much when people read it and like it, because I’ve struggled so much practicing writing in English and keep struggling with it.)

So what’s the cure for it? How can we fix this desire to please people with your art and keep doing your art because you enjoy it?

The answer is in the question and this is what I want to do — To enjoy.

I have enjoyed writing my whole life so I’m coming back to it. It’s difficult, don’t get me wrong, it is very difficult to ignore the lack of other people’s reaction.

I quit social media a couple of years ago because I constantly compared myself with others — so with Substack it’s the same, or with writers on other platforms. You just can’t ignore how someone has written a debut novel and got a huge deal just because they have an audience on TikTok or something.

But we don’t really know what was before that, how they gained that audience and what challenges they’ve gone through — we can only focus on ourselves and our perspective on this world, so I’m trying really hard to just enjoy writing, enjoy laying out my thoughts, enjoy spending time with my characters again, coming up with ideas, scenes, plots — and I will try very hard to ignore anything else.

So yeah, we are all writers just because we write. No more, no less.

Cheers. See you in the next one.

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Check out my other post:

In one season, the main character goes to New York, sits down at his typewriter, and, in two weeks, has a working draft of his novel.

I mean, what the hell?

Wouldn’t you think there is something wrong with you if you can’t pull off something like that?

And I always thought that I was doing something wrong. I thought I needed structure, I needed my first draft to be perfect, to be cool and edgy. Smart and interesting. And when I wrote and saw something opposite, I threw it out.

Deleted everything (Please don’t repeat my mistakes, never delete your work, EVER! You’d want to see your progress over the years, believe me)

And another sin I have is an interest in the craft of how the greatest writers actually worked. I mean their routine, their ways of writing, because I thought if I don’t write, I might as well learn how to write, if that makes sense???))))

My previous piece was about how writers promoted their work 100 years ago, and it was really interesting to do that research. You can check it out here:

What I’ve found through all these years of research is pretty liberating: the greatest writers were just regular people who also sucked at first, who didn’t know how to do their thing, who also developed their skills as they were actually writing, and their processes were messy.

The perfect writing routine never actually existed. (WHAT??)

Let me introduce you to some of the examples that I’ve saved over the years:

Some of them I could confirm the authenticity of with a quick Google search, but some of them I don’t even remember, and probably saved just because they looked cool.

As you can see, none of these pages is perfect, tidy, and structured.

They are messy, as all of us are, and I don’t know about you, but I feel so good about it.

This gives me hope that I’m fucking around with words, languages (my other struggle) and plot ideas, and even though sometimes it feels lonely — I know I’m not the only one who has this struggle of words circling in my head, appearing in a plot that never existed before — having that burden but at the same time a gift of crafting it into the world someone might enjoy reading as I have enjoyed reading and enjoy to this day.

Be messy, fuck around, make mistakes, write shitty drafts, this makes you a human.

But I always struggled to find ideas about what to write. I thought you needed to have your notebook tidy and nice (hello, perfectionists who buy notebooks and don’t write in them)

The idea behind sketch drawing lies in the concept of practicing frequently. And writing for me is something that I need to be ready for, like I have my routine, I need to have an hour or so. I need to have my cup of coffee (Non-negotiable), and I need complete silence around me, which is difficult because I live in a really small apartment with my girlfriend.

Because of that, I write not so regularly. I’ve created this perfect routine that’s almost impossible to achieve, so naturally, I have this pretty handy excuse not to write.

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But I want to change that. I want to learn how to write all the time, everywhere, like artists do when they draw sketches.

And recently, I think I found a way.

May I present to you ✨sketch fiction✨ (patent pending)

Basically, it’s flash fiction, but raw and unedited. Something that fits into two pages of a pocket notebook. A small sketch of a story, a scene, a dialogue.

With grammar mistakes, misspelled words (because that’s how people actually write their drafts, duh.)

I have proofs, I will show them in my next article, I’m working on now, I’ve collected photos of famous writers’ drafts, and my god, it’s beautiful, messy, raw.

Besides, in the AI era, it’s become important to show you being a real person, who makes mistakes, who misspells words, and uses wrong grammar, so this idea fits even better.

(Also, it’s a great way to post more notes on Substack because I’m struggling with being consistent with that, and these sketches are quite short, so they will be a perfect fit for that too, so please feel free to steal this idea.)

Below is the typed-out version of my first sketch that I wrote while commuting in train:

“He tried to concentrate”

Words don’t want to come out of open no matter how hard he tried.

The blank page looked at him with no intention to be helpful.

The clock behind was ticking, annoyingly reminding the presence of time that passes by.

Yet nothing.

This stupid thoughts started to infest his mind. You know, to make some tea. To have some tea.

Yet nothing by.

How hard it is to write at least one word?

Let’s see, you know this, take that pen.

“He…” you’re closer, now another one?

That’s not too bad.

You’ve started, that is something.

No please, no more tea. No coffee, begging you.

Just concentrate.

Yes! Concentrate! You can’t!?

That’s nonsense!

Just try at least, you’ll see. Don’t get me started. Try!

“He tried…” That’s better, what he tried? We went through this already.

Not nothing, can’t you see?

“He tried to concentrate.”

Well done! So, concentrate.

I’m going to assume, if you are reading this:

Ever since you were a kid you had your routine to escape the world you didn’t really like by playing video games, reading or writing.

Everyone has their own portion of family drama, I’m not gonna fall too much into that but I had my reasons to do the same, and being a guy who didn’t really enjoy sports but rather creative activities - I haven’t had much social life either. Damn I was even bullied by my school teacher but that’s another story.

As a kid who didn’t want to spend too much time at home, especially when it was cold outside I was almost the only visitor in our school library and I just sat there, reading or sometimes writing stories that helped me to be somewhere else and maybe at that point in my life I thought I wasn’t the happiest - I believe that those times were golden. I had my own routine, I knew the librarians’ names and they knew me, it was really cool, although the library in a small town in Ukraine, especially the school one, wasn’t huge or something, I had a place to go when I knew someone was already home.

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And I had fun, in my own way. But ever since I grew up and the question of my future came up I told my parents that I wanted to be a journalist. They were pretty upset with that, my father wanted me to become a farmer, he saw people making good money off of it in Ukraine and he wanted me to do the same. Also he didn’t know of good cases of journalists making money, they were either told what to write or faced some pretty unpleasant consequences. (it was in my father’s memory of the 90s - early 2000s) so he naturally tried to change my mind. Also we didn’t have much money for a fancy uni.

Anyway, everyone around me back then tried to tell me that making money by writing is almost impossible. Cases are very very rare and “you better get a good education and a job to make a living, writing is a hobby” everyone said. And I listened.

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I got my degree in journalism though and even got an internship at a local news outlet but then I got swamped by the need/desire of making money and went into sales where I picked up everything that people were obsessed with - non-fiction, hustle culture, money making books, videos, gurus. I thought that if I became obsessed with it - I will succeed, I will start making money and will come back to my writing and will fund my art myself. All these years I continued writing and reading but much less than ever.

Then YouTube got very popular and all those gurus went all in there. I remembered my online gaming escapism practices and I remembered how much time I had spent there and I felt guilty for having fun, I could have spent all that time and effort into something valuable, into some high income skill that will lead me to make money. All I was so obsessed with - I wanted a nice house, a nice car, a family. But I thought that you could have that only after you make a shit load of money, not before.

Have you ever found yourself in this?

You believed you can’t have kids until you had made money enough to have a nanny so your lifestyle won’t be too much affected or something

You believed that stability comes first, fun later.

You believed that you can’t have fun and live your life properly until you have money enough to never work again.

And then you stop. You just can’t do this any more. You’ve lived until your late 20s or early 30s hearing that and you just can’t do this anymore.

You realised that you have lived a life you regret. You have chased some glass castle ideas that you never wanted to chase in the first place.

You have worked places you don’t give a shit about.

And you realise that all you care about is something you knew you wanted to do ever since you were a kid but society told you was wrong, stupid, grow up already no one needs your silly stories.

And also, you have discovered that a lot of people actually make money by doing things they love. A lot of creative souls are writing, drawing, dancing AND making money off of it.

At first you feel angry, at yourself and at all those people who lied to you. Maybe not lied, they tried to protect you and they meant no harm.

But then you understand - this is good. You still have time to do something you love. To have fun, to be creative, even though it might never make any money you’d rather do that than work your ass off on a soulless job that has absolutely no meaning to you.

Or it’s ok to work 9-5 (contrary to all those gurus) but do some fun stuff after. To do the bare minimum there but be yourself after your job. To be able to fund your human part, your creative part.

Life is so short to spend it on stuff that doesn’t matter to you. Don’t forget to have fun, to do your thing. Don’t listen to anyone. Listen to that kid who knew what they wanted to do. They know much better than all those gurus online.

So this is what I’m doing, I’m having fun, I’m trying to hear that voice of the kid I was back then, the kid who had dreams and I’m a bit sad to admit that I listened to everyone else but that kid.

And I’m about to change that.

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Do you remember your old dreams? I know it’s a very uncomfortable question to ask yourself but would your young version of you be proud or sad to know what happened?

Is it something you came up with, or is it something you got from all those voices around you?

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You’ve found yourself in a trap you built around yourself.

Income numbers you wanted to chase. Businesses you wanted to build. An audience you wanted to grow. Topics you thought you wanted to discuss. At some point all of that was so loud in your head you couldn’t bear it anymore. You feel anxious and stressed all the time. You were spinning in the wheel, thinking about the life you wished for yourself and your family.

“Once I get there” was all you were thinking.

This thought woke you up early in the morning and was the only thing that helped you get out of bed. It was also that thing you said to yourself while declining meetings with friends, date nights with your girlfriend, trips, coffee, movies.

“Once I get there — I’ll live.”

You literally put your life on pause. You spent years doing just that — surviving, and telling yourself that at some point you would be free from the cage you put yourself in.

This is not the story where something magically happens and you are now living stress-free.

This is the point where therapy is worth considering. Because no one knows how many months or years you might spend chasing dreams that weren’t even yours. For months you might feel overwhelmed, and finally realise how foolish it was. How none of that matters. How you were spending your life on things that MAYBE at some point would pay back because SOMEONE said you should lock in, do the monk mode, go the extra mile, HUSTLE.

And then a question appears.

How often do you have ideas that are truly yours?

What if someone or something got into your head so quietly that you truly believe those thoughts belong to you? Was the goal really yours, or were you just stuck in a loop where everyone around you was either selling the dream or chasing it themselves?

The more you think about it, the more you realise that the vast majority of things you believed you had failed at — were never yours to begin with.

Some might say you’re just blaming others. Fair enough. But you also have to blame yourself for letting those ideas in and holding them so tightly that you forgot they weren’t yours.

There’s nothing wrong with inspiration or role models online. But only if you can still feel your authentic self in it. Inspiration should add something to you, not replace you.

Because those people are incredibly good at this. Putting ideas into your head is what they do for a living. They have to sell you those ideas in order to make money.

So yes, be inspired. But keep your guard up.

“Tell me what content you consume and I will tell you who you are.”

You might try checking your content subscriptions, and oh boy. Once you look closely you can’t ignore how many gurus are there. The consequences become obvious. Of course you feel anxious — you are constantly watching others succeed. Others who have teams, businesses, experience, time, and resources. And there’s you, alone, trying to build something meaningful and quietly burning out comparing yourself to people who are miles ahead of you.

But that can end now.

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The plan becomes simple — digital detox is not news in 2026. Slow down, read more fiction, spend time with your family, or outside. Write more, create more. You still work, but you start building something that is actually yours.

And if you want to keep it that way, you have to protect it at all costs. Try to spend a week not chasing anything. Just being with yourself. Don’t watch YouTube, don’t go to IG or TikTok for a week. Be bored and you will start hearing your own voice. The one that you used to hear when you were a kid. Become that kid again and go do some silly things that used to be you.

I struggle with this a lot too, and it’s much easier said than done, I know, believe me. But just imagine if we started trying to return to ourselves. What kind of world would that be?

If any of this sounds familiar, you’re not the only one.
Reply or leave a comment. I’d like to hear your story.

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