Baba Yaga and the Little Girl
A classic folk tale about a brave girl, a dark forest, and a hut on chicken legs
Page 1
Once upon a time, a little girl lived in a small cottage on the very edge of a village. Beyond the cottage fence, a great dark forest stretched for miles and miles. The girl's father had married a second time, to a woman who was cruel to his daughter. The stepmother wanted the girl gone. One evening, she put out all the candles in the house and turned to the little girl. "Our lights are all out, and I must finish my sewing," she said, her voice like ice. "You must go to my sister's house, deep in the woods, and ask for a needle and thread. Her name is Baba Yaga." The little girl knew that Baba Yaga was no aunt, but a terrible witch who lived in the woods. But she did not dare disobey. "Yes, Stepmother," she answered quietly. "I will go at once."
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The little girl went to her room and took out a tiny doll her own mother had given her long ago. "What shall I do?" she whispered to it. "The stepmother is sending me to Baba Yaga." The doll's little bead eyes seemed to shine. "Do not be afraid," a tiny voice squeaked from the doll. "Take me with you. As long as you have me, you will be safe." So the girl wrapped the doll carefully and put it in her apron pocket. She went out into the back yard, where her stepmother was waiting by the gate that led to the woods. "Do not come back without a needle and thread," the stepmother hissed, her face a cold mask. "And do not be long about it." The girl nodded, her heart thumping, and slipped through the gate. She took a small piece of bread and cheese for her journey, and a little flask of water.
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Before she went into the deep woods, the little girl hurried through the village to the bustling market square. She dodged through the crowds until she found the stall where her real aunt sold jams and breads. "Auntie!" she cried, pulling on her sleeve. "My stepmother is sending me to Baba Yaga for a needle and thread!" Her aunt's warm smile vanished. She leaned over her counter, her face full of worry. "Oh, you poor child. That is a terrible errand. But listen carefully." The kind woman quickly gathered things from under her stall. "Take this ribbon, this little bottle of oil, and this ham. When you get there, be kind to those you meet." The girl took the gifts. "But why, Auntie?" "Just give them these things," her aunt urged, looking over her shoulder. "Now hurry, before your stepmother sees you."
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The little girl thanked her aunt and slipped away from the market, walking toward the great forest. The path was narrow and twisted between ancient trees whose branches clawed at the sky. It grew darker and darker, until the only light came from the moon, filtering down in silvery patches. Strange sounds echoed around her—the snap of a twig, the hoot of an owl, the whisper of the wind in the leaves. The girl's heart beat fast, but she kept walking. "Am I doing the right thing?" she whispered to her pocket. "You are," the tiny voice of the doll replied. "Just keep going straight ahead." So she walked on, deeper and deeper into the woods, trying not to look at the strange shapes and shadows that danced at the edge of the path. She held the gifts from her aunt tightly in one hand.
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At last, the little girl came to a clearing. In the center stood the strangest house she had ever seen. It was a small, dark hut perched on top of two enormous chicken legs, and it was slowly turning around and around. The clearing was surrounded by a tall, strange fence made of twisted, white wood that looked like bone. On top of each post sat a weird, glowing lantern that cast a sickly green light on everything. The girl froze, her breath caught in her throat. This had to be the home of Baba Yaga. "What do I do now?" she whispered to the doll. "Say the magic words," the doll squeaked. Taking a deep breath, the girl called out in a clear voice, "Little hut, little hut! Stand with your back to the woods and your front to me!" The hut stopped turning. With a great creak and a groan, it settled down so its door faced her.
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The door creaked open, and the little girl stepped inside. There, lying on a bench by a huge brick oven, was Baba Yaga herself. She was a bony old woman with a nose so long it touched the ceiling and teeth made of iron. "What do you want?" she rasped, her voice like stones grinding together. "My stepmother sent me," the girl said, her own voice trembling only a little. "To ask for a needle and thread." Baba Yaga’s eyes glinted. "I know her. Very well. You shall have your needle and thread, but first, you must work for it. Here are your tasks." She pointed a bony finger. "Sweep the yard, clean the hut, sort this pile of grain, and cook my supper. If it is not all done by the time I wake up, you will be staying here... forever!" With that, she lay back down and began to snore, a sound like a rumbling volcano.
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The little girl began to cry. The tasks were impossible! "Do not worry," whispered the doll from her pocket. "I will do the work. You get some sleep." The girl lay down, and while she slept, the doll magically sorted the grain, swept the yard, cleaned the hut, and cooked the supper. When the girl awoke, everything was done. She quietly went out into the yard. A thin servant girl was weeping. The girl gave her the pretty ribbon her aunt had provided. "Thank you," the servant whispered. The black cat came to her, looking hungry. "I've been given nothing but dry crusts for ten years," it meowed. She gave it the ham. The great iron gate groaned as if in pain. She took the oil and poured it on the hinges. Two great black dogs rushed at her, but she threw them the rest of the ham, and they wagged their tails. She was ready.
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Just as the girl slipped out, Baba Yaga woke up. "The girl is gone!" she shrieked. She ran to the servant. "Why did you not stop her?" "You never gave me a ribbon in all my life," the girl replied. Baba Yaga ran to the dogs. "Why did you not tear her to pieces?" "You never gave us more than burnt bones," they growled. She ran to the gate. "Why did you not creak and slam shut?" "You never oiled my hinges," it groaned. Furious, Baba Yaga jumped into her giant mortar, grabbed the pestle to steer, and swept the tracks away with a broom. She flew through the air, thumping and crashing through the forest, faster than any horse. The girl, running for her life, could hear the terrible noise getting closer and closer. "She's coming!" she cried to the doll. "What do I do?"
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"Quickly!" squeaked the doll. "Take the towel your aunt gave you and throw it behind you!" The girl pulled a small, embroidered towel from her bundle. Without stopping, she threw it over her shoulder. The moment it touched the ground, it grew and grew, wider and wider, until it became a deep, broad, rushing river! Baba Yaga reached the bank and screamed in fury. The river was too wide to fly across and too deep to wade through. She shook her fist at the little girl on the far side. "You escaped this time!" she screeched, her voice echoing across the water. "But never come back to my forest again!" She gnashed her iron teeth, but she could do nothing more. Defeated, she turned her mortar around and flew back to her hut on chicken legs, leaving the little girl safe on the other side.
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The little girl rested for a while, then made her way safely out of the woods and back to her own home. She ran to the door just as her father was returning from the market. He saw her torn dress and scratched hands and swept her up in a huge hug. "Where have you been?" he cried. The girl told him everything—how the cruel stepmother had sent her to Baba Yaga, the terrible tasks, and the frightful chase. When he heard the whole story, the father grew terribly angry. He went into the cottage, took the stepmother by the arm, and led her to the door. "You have been cruel to my daughter," he said in a voice of thunder. "Leave this house and never return!" He drove her out, and she ran off towards the dark woods, and was never seen again. From that day on, the little girl and her father lived together in peace and happiness.
About this story
- Audience: kids (ages 6–12)
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