As I was saying in my previous post, people and their stories are the ones to inspire me the most. And the most amazing stories I’ve ever heard are those from my childhood. Because as a child, the things you learn and experience are far more interesting, blended somehow with magic and incredible. The imagination of a child is limitless, running wild and turning an apparently small thing into one of the most incredible stories. Maybe that is why I cherish my childhood and that long gone period of time is still the best time of my life. As a child, I had a lot of incredible people around me, and their stories are still echoing to this day. I grew up in a small town, a countryside more likely, together with three brothers and a cousin and I could fill up a dozen books with stories from my childhood.

My grandmother had amazing stories. In long, cold winter nights, sitting by the fire, she used to tell us stories about evil fairies and how to avoid them. Or about old gypsy witches and their spells. Stories that frightened and captivated us at the same time. I remember the story of Joimarita (to be spelled Joymahritza), an old hag who was punishing lazy wives every year on the Thursday of the week before Easter. If the young wives were not fulfilling their duties properly, they were terribly punished: Joimarita would burn their nails and fingers because they were not using them at their chores.

My grandfather was also a great storyteller. He joined the army for a short period of time during World War II. And although he didn’t fight, he almost died when a fellow soldier unloaded his gun accidentally. Fortunately, the bullet was miraculously stuck my grandfather’s caps, otherwise I wouldn’t be here to tell.

But he also had other stories. Mystical, incredible stories. Once he was chased by a wolf during a cold winter, when he had to walk daily along a forest. Other time, together with some friends, he told a special incantation and made a little devil appear on the edge of a fountain. He even attended a seance and he could swear he saw a key moving inside a book, without any human interference. He would tell those stories over and over again and each time he would mention something. And each time us, the children, we were speechless, trembling with astonishment. To this day, I still don’t know if those stories were true or he was just trying to make us stand still and behave for a second. But those amazing stories will always remain alive in my head.

But the most frightening, the most amazing stories were those told by strangers. Back than, people were closer to each other. They used to help each other during harvest time or when wood for winter was brought, to name a few. Summer was the busiest time of the year. Neighbors would gather and help each other until late in the night.  Camp fire were lit and people told stories around the fire. And we were even allowed to listen.

I remember to this day the story of an old woman, told during one of those summer nights. Crickets and night birds were singing their songs even louder, making the air seem somehow magical, almost tangible. We were listening with our eyes wide opened, our bruised knees to mouth. In a low voice, almost whispering, the old woman told us a terrible encounter her grandmother had had with the most strange and terrible creature. After finding dead chicken several days in the row, her grandmother had decided to watch at the window the back yard, where the hen-roost was build. It was a full moon and she was able to see everything quite clearly. A little after midnight, the chicken became agitated and the dog started to bark like crazy. That’s when she saw someone or something chasing the chicken. The creature had the size of a man, but the horns and hoof were the scary parts of its body. The grandmother couldn’t see the face too well, but at some point, the creature looked at her straight in the eyes. All she could see were the creature’s eyes. Enormous, red eyes staring at her. A priest was brought the next morning to bless the house and yard and the creature was never seen again.

I don’t know how much truth was in that story. Maybe that old woman was trying to scare us and send us to bed, for the hour was late. But I do know that the story has haunted me that summer and the summers after.

But this is only one of the strange, magical stories that charmed and frightened my childhood. For there were many other amazing people with just as amazing stories. Stories to be remembered and retold dozens of years later…