CH Oneshots

An Old Man's Winter Night

I really am on a roll with these aren't I? Hadn't published for months and now this. Warning for very heavy topics, this concerns the Ingrian Finnish Genocide by the Soviet Union. If you're not up for that, don't say I didn't warn you.

Juhani is an original character by me, he's just a human. The title is inspired by a Robert Frost Poem by the way, I highly suggest go reading it, its good.

-Aili

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Juhani let out a ragged breath, trying to keep the grief from overtaking him. Another life gone, like water draining into the earth, gone in a second never to return. Times like this he found it hard to find any hope or joy in the world.

He was just a child.

A small, sweet, scared child. Someone who deserved far better than the fate he'd been given, than the hell that he'd been born into. In a way Armo had reminded Juhani of his own grandchildren, though the boy had always been much more timid than his son's children had been.

He couldn't be blamed for that, this life had a lot to be scared of.

Juhani longed to do more, the constant pain of not knowing where all of his sons and their families were tore at him every waking moment, and now another life he cared about was snatched away in front of him and he hadn't been able to do anything.

This pit of ice and death was not fit for anyone, much less a young boy like Armo. Disease had taken his last bit of strength, making him so weak he could hardly sit up at the end.

If only it had been summer, then at least Juhani may have been able to find something growing that could soothe his pain, if nothing else. But the icy winter wind rattled the walls, laughing and mocking him as he sat there, feeling alone and helpless.

If only there had been more space, more warmth, more food, more water, more something, the boy might not have gotten to this point, and he would still be here.

If only things had been different.

If only this nightmare would end.

If only...

He hated the thought, hell, Juhani despised himself for thinking of it. But it might have been a mercy that the child would not have to suffer any longer. If this was the fate he'd been given, it was a small blessing that the pain was now over.

He whispered a small prayer in the darkness.

Lord, My God, Please watch over and guide his soul, protect him and keep him safe by your side. Until the day all your plans come to pass and we are all together with you again, Amen.

Juhani exhaled, finally allowing himself to cry. This never should have happened. Such a cruel thing should be unheard of in this world.

But cruel things continued to happen, despite all who wish it not to be true.

He knew this far too well himself, having lost his own father, then three of his siblings during his childhood. Hunger and sickness had always bitten at the heels of humanity, and so it would be true for all of history.

But it never should have been like this.

This was unlike anything else Juhani had experienced through his long life. It was no natural plague sweeping a town or famine of the land, as even he himself had survived before. This circumstance was in every way avoidable, these conditions forced upon them by another's cruel and uncaring hand.

For all the world's punishments and cruelties, that one seemed the worst.

In another life, he could have been happy.

Juhani tried to prepare himself for what came next, gazing down at his hands to avoid seeing the painful reality. It felt too soon to think of a burial, with everything too raw and fresh still, though he knew that would have to happen eventually.

There were always graves waiting to be filled, even when the ground was frozen and stiff through and through.

A minute passed, then another, and a small cough caught his attention, causing Juhani to look up again.

The fear he felt at that moment probably took several years off of his life. Armo was breathing again, starting to wake up as if he'd merely been asleep. No signs of death left lingering on his face

Juhani paused, overwhelmed and confused by what he was seeing. He had died, there was no doubt about that. Yet here he was, color returned to his face, alive and breathing, blinking confused in the dim lighting.

He was shaking as he touched the child's hand, still expecting to feel the cold grip of death that had been there a minute before, but they were warm and soft, he seemed the picture of health, as if he hadn't been on his deathbed just moments before.

It seemed like a miracle, but he didn't know how that would be possible.

A thought struck Juhani, He'd heard the stories about land spirits, representatives of the people who could not speak for themselves. He'd heard the rumors of what was happening to them, how one by one, they were disappearing, vanishing in the night like so many of their people.

They were people who could return from death.

It was rare to come across them, and he'd never heard of one being so young. Decades ago, his mother- so he was told- had met Vatja, a stark and bitter old woman by her description. But she and all the others that were talked about had always been described as adults, not children.

If this was a People's Spirit, he had to be a young one.

"What-" Juhani spoke softly, "Who are you?"

he looked up at the older man, fear and confusion flickering in his eyes, then looked down at his hands, almost as if he were ashamed or hiding something.

He held out his hands in front of him, palms facing upward and still looking away from me.

It started slowly, just the tips of his fingers changing color, but it spread quickly over the rest of him. Changing his warm toned skin to a mix of yellow, blue, and red in the style of a cross flag.

A surge of fear and panic struck him as the truth was confirmed. The boy he had been caring for was a land spirit, he wasn't human. This was Inkeri, representative of himself and all these people here, and he was a boy scarcely older than eight years.

If this were found out, if anyone knew, would they be safe?

Imaginary scenarios flashed in his mind. If someone saw, if the guards were told, Juhani and his few remaining sons would be punished at best, killed at worst. The fate this child would face when captured, he'd be taken away, lost to the world again. Some people may wish to help- but it was too risky, better for him to stay hidden. He was safer that way. Nobody could know.

His mind whispered a silent prayer at the noise and darkness of the barracks, a small blessing that hid both of them.

Juhani put his hands around Inkeri's, and looked the boy in the eyes.

"Hide it." he said in a low voice, "Don't let anyone see. It isn't safe."

"I-" Inkeri tried to say something, but it died in his throat.

"If they see," He continued, "You will be taken away, hurt. I won't be here. Keep it secret, keep it hidden. Never say anything about this again."

Inkeri swallowed nervously and nodded, changing back to human again.

At that Juhani relaxed a little, still trying to stifle a sob and holding back tears from everything that just happened.

He couldn't bear to lose another person he loved.

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