Once upon a time a little girl lived happily with her father, in a cottage on the edge of the forest. But when her father remarried and a new stepmother arrived, the little girl became less happy and more scared.
In real life stepmothers are usually lovely, but this little girl had a good reason to be afraid of her stepmother.
Her stepmother was the sister of Baba Yaga, and Baba Yaga was the most famous, the most feared, the most ferocious witch in the whole Russian forest.
Baba Yaga had iron teeth, sharp and glittering and strong.
Baba Yaga lived in a hut built on a pair of hen’s legs, always bending and shifting and scratching the ground.
Baba Yaga travelled in a mortar and pestle, sitting in the giant bowl and using the long pestle to bounce herself along the ground.
And Baba Yaga ate children for supper.
So the little girl was afraid of her stepmother, because she thought that her stepmother would try to feed her to Baba Yaga.
The little girl was right.
One day, the stepmother said, “I want to do some sewing. Fetch me some pins from my sister in the forest.”
The little girl broke the back off the brooch which held her red shawl together and gave the metal spike to her stepmother. “You can use this as a pin, so I don’t need to go into the forest.”
The stepmother sniffed. “I still need thread. Fetch me some thread from my sister in the forest.”
The little girl found a loose thread on the fringe of her shawl, pulled it out carefully and gave the red thread to her stepmother. “You can sew with this, so I don’t need to go into the forest.”
The stepmother sniffed, then smiled. She bent the pin and dropped the thread on the fire. “Now do as I say. Fetch me pins and thread from my sister in the forest.”
The little girl sighed. She couldn’t keep finding ways to avoid Baba Yaga, she had to go and face her. So the little girl tidied her hair out of her eyes with her polished wooden comb, and put a slice of sausage and a slice of bread in a blue napkin, then walked into the forest.
She walked along the grey gritty path, comb in her hair and picnic in her hand, until she stubbed her toe on a smooth white pebble. She looked at the pebble on the grey path, then looked around. There were no other white pebbles and no white rocks nearby. She smiled. “You look out of place in this forest, just like me.” She put the pebble in her pocket.
She kept walking through the forest, comb in her hair, picnic on her arm, pebble in her pocket.
After a long hungry walk, the little girl saw a wooden hut on two scaly orange legs, scritching and scratching in the dirt. She had reached Baba Yaga’s house.
The little girl clambered up and tried to get in the door. But a dog barked and growled at her. She could see the sharpness of the dog’s ribs though its mangy hair, so she gave the dog the slice of bread. The dog let her past and into the house.
Then a cat leapt at her, hissing and spitting. She could see the knobbles of the cat’s spine through its flea-bitten fur, so she gave the slice of sausage to the cat. The cat purred and left her alone.
Then a young woman in ragged clothes, shivering and blowing her nose, stepped out of the shadows. “Why have you come to my mother’s house? We don’t often get willing visitors.” The young woman sneezed and coughed. The little girl pulled off her warm red shawl and wrapped it round the young woman’s shoulders.
Then a loud voice boomed from the weaving loom in the corner. “Get out of the way, daughter, so I can see what my sister has sent me!”
Baba Yaga stamped towards the little girl, her wide smile showing all her polished iron teeth.
The little girl said, “I’ve come to fetch pins and thread, please.”
“My dear child, I have plenty of pins and thread, there on the shelf by the loom. And you may have them before you go. But first…” Baba Yaga leaned over the little girl, prodding her and sniffing her. “But first, after your long journey, let’s give you a nice hot bath.
“Daughter, fill that pot by the fire. Girl, sit on my stool and weave, so I’ll hear the shuttle and know you’re still here. Cat, watch the girl. Dog, guard the door. I’ll fetch some herbs and spices for the water, to make you taste… er… smell nice.”
Baba Yaga stepped into the pantry to look for herbs and spices.
The little girl started to weave. Click clack, click clack.
The daughter, in her red shawl, started to fill the pot. But she was using a sieve to carry the water.
The cat watched the shuttle, washing the grease off her whiskers.
The dog sat in the doorway, crumbs on his nose.
And Baba Yaga yelled from inside the pantry, “Are you still there, girl?”
“Yes.” The little girl kept weaving. Click clack, click clack.
Baba Yaga yelled, “Is the bath full yet, daughter?” The daughter said, “Not yet,” as she carried another dripping sieve over.
Then the cat jumped up on the stool, put her paw on the shuttle and began pushing it. The little girl stood up and grabbed pins and thread from the shelf, then she smiled at the daughter and stepped over the dog, who wagged his tail.
The little girl started to run home.
Baba Yaga heard the shuttle click clack, click clack and she didn’t hear the dog bark, so she stayed in the pantry searching for herbs and spices.
The little girl ran and ran as fast as she could, through the forest towards her home.
Then Baba Yaga found the dill, horseradish and caraway seeds, so she stepped back into the room.
She saw the cat sitting on the stool making a terrible tangle with the wool, the dog wagging his tail at the empty doorway and her daughter carrying a wet sieve to the pot.
Baba Yaga screamed, “How dare you all betray me? Why would you betray your own Baba Yaga?”
The cat said, “All the time I’ve lived here, you’ve fed me nothing but dead mice. That little girl gave me sausage.”
The dog said, “All the time I’ve lived here, you’ve fed me nothing but dry bones. That little girl gave me fresh bread.”
The daughter said, “All the time I’ve lived here, you’ve given me nothing but rags to wear. That little girl gave me a warm red shawl.”
Baba Yaga gnashed her iron teeth and screeched, “I’ll be back to deal with you all, once I’ve caught my supper!”
She leapt into her mortar and thumped her pestle on the ground.
The little girl heard the thumping and ran faster.
But the thumping got louder and closer. The little girl knew that Baba Yaga would soon catch up with her, so she pulled the polished wooden comb from her hair and threw it behind her.
As soon as the comb hit the ground, it turned into a tight-packed thorny hedge. Baba Yaga couldn’t fit her mortar and pestle between the thorns, so she had to stop chasing.
The little girl ran.
Baba Yaga used her iron teeth to cut down the hedge, and started chasing the little girl again.
The little girl heard the thumping get louder and closer, so she threw the blue napkin behind her.
As soon as the napkin hit the ground, it turned into a deep blue lake. Baba Yaga couldn’t thump her pestle on the water, so she had to stop chasing.
The little girl ran.
Baba Yaga bent down, drank up all the lake, and started chasing the little girl again.
The little girl heard the thumping get louder and closer, so she found the white pebble in her pocket and threw it behind her.
As soon as the pebble hit the ground it turned into a high icy mountain range.
Baba Yaga started to climb the mountains, but before she reached the top, she was frozen solid by the cold. She stuck to the mountain, with icicles dangling from her iron teeth. And the last anyone heard, she was still there.
So the little girl went home, and when the stepmother saw her step-daughter return safely from Baba Yaga’s hut carrying pins and thread, she was so afraid of the little girl’s cleverness and power that she ran away and was never seen again.
Baba Yaga’s dog and cat and daughter lived happily in the hut on hen’s legs. And they always ate sausage and bread for supper. Never ever little girls.