The Legend of Kazimir
One of the most distinctive features of the forest of Zukin is a long, gravelled path that winds its way uninterrupted through this dark, thickly growing country. For hundreds of years this road has connected the towns of Miten and Zourov and many a night, carriages large and small can be seen traversing the trail in this gloomy woodland. It was on this path, on an unusually cold and misty night, that I had the most remarkable encounter of my life...
As I stood under the rickety, old lamp post, impatiently awaiting the arrival of my carriage, I cursed my fate for having planted me in the middle of an alien country at the most ungodly midnight hour. A few days earlier, I had arrived at Miten, where I was representing my firm in the settlement of the proprietary effects of an old and recently deceased client. Having finished my work earlier than I had expected, I had spent my time wandering about the little village. Unfortunately, the prospects of my ambling were soon exhausted and I found myself eagerly anticipating my return journey.
As I stood thus, absorbed in pitiful meditation, my attention was caught by a figure, emerging well-nigh like an apparition, out of the swirling, midnight mist. It walked slowly and deliberately with- as I soon realized- a limping gait. I was quite overwhelmed at the sight of this man since hitherto, all my senses had been devoted in anticipation of my conveyance. As he drew near, I saw that his head as well as half his face was covered by a thick scarf. His shoulders, hunched against the cold wind, were draped in a long, thick coat. All at once, as if jolted out of a deep reverie, he became aware of my presence. He stopped short and almost impulsively, tightened the collar around his throat. Slowly, reluctantly, he moved toward me until he stood quite close to the lamp thereby affording me a clearer view of his person. Instinctively I recoiled, for I was the beholder of such a monstrous physical appearance as I had never witnessed before!.
What struck me foremost was the pallor of his complexion; a nearly cadaverous hue of the skin as if all the blood had drained from his face. His eyes were large and protruding; the skin over the lids was uncomfortably taut. There were a few wisps of broken, lifeless hair that had managed to escape from beneath the scarf. But more than the appearance, it was what I saw in those eyes that filled me with mortal dread. There was terror in those eyes- an acute, agonizing terror as if Lucifer himself had granted an audience to this man!... It would be no exaggeration to state at this point that my voice was frozen in my throat. Almost as a revelation, it dawned upon me that I was standing in the midst of a vast, unknown forest, the impenetrability of which was augmented by the most gloomiest of hours!.
I stood still, as rigid as an Egyptian sculpture, for how long I do not know, as I had lost all conception of time. He shuffled closer and I could see that he was trying to say something. A deep, inhuman growl escaped his throat and he raised his hand beseechingly, in the attitude of a blighted miscreant, imploring his judge to hear his plea. When he spoke, his voice was strangely muffled and constrained:
'I am Miklos Kazimir'.
I was confounded by his speech for how could such a grim, foul creature, the mere sight of whom reminded me of deathly decay, speak so commonly?. Nevertheless, with great effort I managed to venture a question:
'Sir, are you a resident of Zourov?'.
'Nay, I live in Miten on the yonder hill at the abbey. I am a priest'.
His answer assured me for indeed I myself had visited the solitary church of Miten as well as the adjoining abbey a few days earlier. But alas, my certitude was brief for what he uttered next was so terrifying that I very nearly lost my balance and my valise- which was perched precariously on the gravel- fell sideways with a little thud.
'I have been living there for three hundred years', he said, looking directly at me... To my chagrin, he began to move closer and with his long, spindly fingers removed the scarf that had hitherto covered the lower half of his face.. Dear readers, I tell you the exact truth. For at that moment, I experienced an extremity of terror that I would not wish, even on the pain of death, on a fellow human being. As the wrapping dropped away, I saw to my horror that he had no lips!!!. The customary aperture, my friends, was entirely absent!.
I must have lost consciousness then and there for the next thing I remember is waking up in a carriage, half- lying on a seat next to an old lady. She immediately moved closer and offered me her little flask of water. I drank with desperation for my mouth was dry with extreme thirst, and feeling a bit revived, I turned to my fellow passenger. All at once, the memory of my terrible experience returned with a force, causing me to recoil in terror. The kind lady looked at me reassuringly, and reaching for my hand, recalled for my benefit the event that my mind had so successfully blocked out. As the carriage had come to its customary halt by the lamp post, they had found me lying unconscious by the side of the road. My face was blue and my hands almost frozen, and judging the extreme cold to be the cause of my accident, they had hurriedly bundled me into the carriage.
By this time, I had regained a semblance of self control, but for some reason, found myself wary of narrating my experience. I only ventured to ask if she knew of the whereabouts of a priest named Miklos Kazimir to which she answered with a smile:
'Ah, there has not been a single visitor to our village who has failed to ask about him. Why, he was a monk attached to our church at Miten. Even though it has been over three centuries since he last walked this earth, there is not a child in these parts who has not heard his story', and bending forward in the attitude of one about to impart a holy secret, she continued almost in a whisper,' they say that he had made a covenant with the devil, in exchange for powers beyond any human imagining... He was found dead, one night in his cellar, with his lips sewn together!!'...
And then, with a sudden, horrifying cheerfulness, she added,' His story is the stuff of legend in our village. Why, it's as if he still lives and walks amongst us!'.
By Zaina Anwar
One of the most distinctive features of the forest of Zukin is a long, gravelled path that winds its way uninterrupted through this dark, thickly growing country. For hundreds of years this road has connected the towns of Miten and Zourov and many a night, carriages large and small can be seen traversing the trail in this gloomy woodland. It was on this path, on an unusually cold and misty night, that I had the most remarkable encounter of my life...
As I stood under the rickety, old lamp post, impatiently awaiting the arrival of my carriage, I cursed my fate for having planted me in the middle of an alien country at the most ungodly midnight hour. A few days earlier, I had arrived at Miten, where I was representing my firm in the settlement of the proprietary effects of an old and recently deceased client. Having finished my work earlier than I had expected, I had spent my time wandering about the little village. Unfortunately, the prospects of my ambling were soon exhausted and I found myself eagerly anticipating my return journey.
As I stood thus, absorbed in pitiful meditation, my attention was caught by a figure, emerging well-nigh like an apparition, out of the swirling, midnight mist. It walked slowly and deliberately with- as I soon realized- a limping gait. I was quite overwhelmed at the sight of this man since hitherto, all my senses had been devoted in anticipation of my conveyance. As he drew near, I saw that his head as well as half his face was covered by a thick scarf. His shoulders, hunched against the cold wind, were draped in a long, thick coat. All at once, as if jolted out of a deep reverie, he became aware of my presence. He stopped short and almost impulsively, tightened the collar around his throat. Slowly, reluctantly, he moved toward me until he stood quite close to the lamp thereby affording me a clearer view of his person. Instinctively I recoiled, for I was the beholder of such a monstrous physical appearance as I had never witnessed before!.
What struck me foremost was the pallor of his complexion; a nearly cadaverous hue of the skin as if all the blood had drained from his face. His eyes were large and protruding; the skin over the lids was uncomfortably taut. There were a few wisps of broken, lifeless hair that had managed to escape from beneath the scarf. But more than the appearance, it was what I saw in those eyes that filled me with mortal dread. There was terror in those eyes- an acute, agonizing terror as if Lucifer himself had granted an audience to this man!... It would be no exaggeration to state at this point that my voice was frozen in my throat. Almost as a revelation, it dawned upon me that I was standing in the midst of a vast, unknown forest, the impenetrability of which was augmented by the most gloomiest of hours!.
I stood still, as rigid as an Egyptian sculpture, for how long I do not know, as I had lost all conception of time. He shuffled closer and I could see that he was trying to say something. A deep, inhuman growl escaped his throat and he raised his hand beseechingly, in the attitude of a blighted miscreant, imploring his judge to hear his plea. When he spoke, his voice was strangely muffled and constrained:
'I am Miklos Kazimir'.
I was confounded by his speech for how could such a grim, foul creature, the mere sight of whom reminded me of deathly decay, speak so commonly?. Nevertheless, with great effort I managed to venture a question:
'Sir, are you a resident of Zourov?'.
'Nay, I live in Miten on the yonder hill at the abbey. I am a priest'.
His answer assured me for indeed I myself had visited the solitary church of Miten as well as the adjoining abbey a few days earlier. But alas, my certitude was brief for what he uttered next was so terrifying that I very nearly lost my balance and my valise- which was perched precariously on the gravel- fell sideways with a little thud.
'I have been living there for three hundred years', he said, looking directly at me... To my chagrin, he began to move closer and with his long, spindly fingers removed the scarf that had hitherto covered the lower half of his face.. Dear readers, I tell you the exact truth. For at that moment, I experienced an extremity of terror that I would not wish, even on the pain of death, on a fellow human being. As the wrapping dropped away, I saw to my horror that he had no lips!!!. The customary aperture, my friends, was entirely absent!.
I must have lost consciousness then and there for the next thing I remember is waking up in a carriage, half- lying on a seat next to an old lady. She immediately moved closer and offered me her little flask of water. I drank with desperation for my mouth was dry with extreme thirst, and feeling a bit revived, I turned to my fellow passenger. All at once, the memory of my terrible experience returned with a force, causing me to recoil in terror. The kind lady looked at me reassuringly, and reaching for my hand, recalled for my benefit the event that my mind had so successfully blocked out. As the carriage had come to its customary halt by the lamp post, they had found me lying unconscious by the side of the road. My face was blue and my hands almost frozen, and judging the extreme cold to be the cause of my accident, they had hurriedly bundled me into the carriage.
By this time, I had regained a semblance of self control, but for some reason, found myself wary of narrating my experience. I only ventured to ask if she knew of the whereabouts of a priest named Miklos Kazimir to which she answered with a smile:
'Ah, there has not been a single visitor to our village who has failed to ask about him. Why, he was a monk attached to our church at Miten. Even though it has been over three centuries since he last walked this earth, there is not a child in these parts who has not heard his story', and bending forward in the attitude of one about to impart a holy secret, she continued almost in a whisper,' they say that he had made a covenant with the devil, in exchange for powers beyond any human imagining... He was found dead, one night in his cellar, with his lips sewn together!!'...
And then, with a sudden, horrifying cheerfulness, she added,' His story is the stuff of legend in our village. Why, it's as if he still lives and walks amongst us!'.
