Beginning of winter, early November, 1876 In the crips afternoon the village was almost peaceful. Only few children were playing on the half frozen, muddy path supervised by adults who carefully looked after them from the warmth of their homes. Though, through the content impression that this scene bore, there were tendrils of instability. As if the wrong wind could flip the switch and the whole place would change from peaceful to disturbed or even violent. There was only one main road in the village and it was a dead-end road. All the houses looked similar and were clumped together. What usually discerned the buildings from one another was a small signboard indicating if there was a shop hiden behind the door or tavern or any other business that you could find in a village like this. As I wrote before, the road running through the village never left the borders because at the very end of it stood a house bigger than the rest. It was the farmer’s house who was also the richest and considered the head of Csikaró. Most people in the village formed their own opinion on the basis of what the farmer was thinking. In terms of the disappearances, the farmer was sure that it was a curse sent on them by the woman living on her own, separately from the village. The witch cursed them he said everytime he was questioned. His opinion was even printed in the newspaper article which somehow gave it more importance. Margit Margit was on the way from one of the villagers with reel of thread that has been just finnished. There has been no disappearance for the past two days but things did not fall back to normal. It wasn’t that easy to resume the calmness of everyday life when there was threat coming every night, after sunset. Children regarded her with smiles that would usually be full of happiness and carelessness. Even those little creatures knew that there was something lurking on the verge of shadows. Yet, they still had the courage to stay out and play, depending on their elders to protect them. Beyond the borders of village, a carriage could have been seen. It was the owner of the tavern returning from the near town with barrels of alcohol. As he drew closer there was another person sitting next to him – an outsider. This place didn’t get many outsiders and certainly wasn’t meant to welcome any more after what has been happening here. Alexander The journey to the godforsaken village was a nightmare. Not that it was just cold due to the upcoming winter but the transport has gotten harder and harder to find the closer Alexander got to Csikaró. It was strangely interesting that as he got nigher to the village, people were less willing to let him ride with them. Often they would make excuses not giving the real answer which was so obvious in their eyes. Even outsiders were afraid to go there as if their presence in the damned village could make them cursed somehow as well. After some time of searching and with a great portion of luck, Alexander found one of the authentic villagers. The villager, male himself, eyed him suspiciously. For a few minutes it looked like he would not even answer Alexander's request and if he would it would be a negative response. Fortune must have been on Alexander's side that day because at last the man agreed to take him to the village. He even shared with him that he was the owner of the local tavern and would provide Alexander with a room as long as he was able to pay the rent. „But don’t expect any special treatment. You writers are pain in the butt. Flying around, sticking your nose everywhere,“ he snorted and got on the carriage and waited for ALexander to join him. He certainly wasn’t going to be a good travel company neither a nice landlord. Károly Lately, fishing was one of the businesses that were considered to be dangerous and also infertile. The waters were mistier than usual. Sometimes, the fog was so thick that it was hard to see just one feet in front of the boat. In such times, the air got more than cold. It penetrated all the clothes and stung the skin as swarm of wasps. Strangely enough, it didn’t last for longer than a few minutes before it desolved and either disappeared absolutely or vapour remained. This day wasn’t any different. It was hazy and fishes eluded the bait that was thrown to them. Only two got caught. It wasn’t enough to support the family and with the upcoming winter it was frustrating to know that stocking was harder to make. „Hey Károly! I am calling it a day! This place is hollow, nothing to catch,“ called another fisherman while turning his boat around and deserting as he said. There was truth to his words. Waiting in the crisp air any longer wouldn’t give anyone a fruit but flu.