‘Baba Yaga and the Bear’ by Gregg Chamberlain

Persistence, Persistence, Persistence

From Pulp Literature Issue 45, Gregg Chamberlain recounts the tale of ‘Baba Yaga and the Bear’ as told to him. Enjoy the beginning of this account with an excerpt from Issue 45, Winter 2025.

Baba Yaga and the Bear

by Gregg Chamberlain

Is it true? Is it so? Maybe yes, maybe no. Don’t ask me, I do not know. But this is how I heard the story go.

It was once upon a day, when the skies were grey, with cloudy gloom for the afternoon so the warm sunlight could not shine so bright. That is when the good Baba Yaga stepped out of her little izba to look upon her garden.

Yes, that’s right, I say ‘the good Baba Yaga’, for that is the proper and respectful way to speak of the most powerful witch there is, was, or ever will be in all the worlds. Baba Yaga has eyes so sharp and ears so keen that she can hear the merest whisper of a word, good or ill, spoken about her, and also see who spoke the word. What would she do then? Ah, that would depend upon the word that is spoken.

Still, that is nothing for you or me to worry about, for we will say nothing but good things about Baba Yaga, whose mood upon that afternoon of which the story tells was as grim as the grey overcast sky. The old witch’s dour look was truly dire to behold as she cast an eye over the rows of plants in the ‘medicinal’ corner of her garden.

The lips of her mouth twisted for a moment into a thin smile as she looked upon bunches of blooming belladonna.

“Nice,” she murmured.

The pointed petals of the flowers perked up at the sound of her voice, and spread open wider in appreciation of the wise woman’s praise.

Baba Yaga moved a couple of steps further along the mounded rows of the garden. Her face clouded over as she surveyed the miserable-looking monkshood. The corners of her mouth sank down, and thick frown lines bumped up against the wrinkles of her face.

“Gavno,” she muttered.

The leaves of the monkshood drooped and its blue-purple flowers wilted at the contempt in the old witch’s voice.

Baba Yaga glared down at the pathetic patch of monkshood. “I will see you looking much better soon,” she said. “This is so, yes?”

Petals quivered and leaves fluttered as each and every monkshood plant straightened to attention in immediate agreement.

Read the rest in Pulp Literature Issue 45, Winter 2025!

Gregg Chamberlain lives in rural Ontario, Canada, with his missus, Anne, and their cats, who let the humans think they are in charge. He writes speculative fiction and poetry for fun. One example of his fun, ‘The Monster Hunter’, appeared in Pulp Literature Issue 10, Spring 2016. Several dozen other examples have appeared in Abyss & Apex, Ares, Daily Science Fiction, Polar Borealis, Weirdbook, and other magazines, along with various anthologies. He also does zombie filk rewrites of traditional nursery rhymes and campfire songs, just because he can and to showcase his strange sense of humour.