The icy night wind pierced even thick windbreakers, but the travelers stubbornly climbed up the mountain. Leading the procession was a tall young man with long red hair. He wore round black sunglasses perched on his nose, and a chain with an eight-pointed star pendant hung on his chest. He moved so quickly it seemed fatigue was foreign to him. A massive hiking backpack with a tent towered on his shoulders. This was Artemy.
"How much farther do we have to go?" someone in the group asked, catching up to the leader.
"Not so far. We can set up camp just past those trees," he replied, pointing toward the sprawling branches of some fir trees.
Soon the entire group reached the spot, and people began splitting off into smaller groups. There were about twenty travelers in total, but only five gathered near Artemy. He had already built a fire pit and lit a flame. Everyone sat down on logs around it. A kettle quietly creaked in the fading wind, and people poured hot tea into mugs and began telling scary stories.
"I suppose I'll start," said one of them—a local old man who had brought up the rear during the mountain ascent. "Long ago, ancient spirits called rinoi used to dwell in these woods. They were once girls who went out mushroom picking and got lost in the forest. The elders said it was the forest itself that killed them. Only their bodies were ever found on the outskirts, and their blood had been completely drained."
Some of the travelers shivered in fear, and the wind howled around them. The howl seemed to whisper, Leave…, but the old man calmly sipped his tea. The others settled down, and he continued:
"We also have a leshy living in these forests. He finds lost hikers and leads them deeper into the woods. That's where the rinoi keep them—for entertainment," the old man chuckled. "Just last week, someone disappeared, by the way."
Everyone fell silent. Then a tall man in his forties sat down on one of the logs. He had long dark hair with slight curls, eyes that gleamed mischievously in the firelight, and a kind smile on his lips.
"Sounds like you're sharing stories about missing hikers," he said. "I'm Víkto."
"Nice to meet you," nodded the old man. "I'm Vakuta. Yes, I was just talking about the man who vanished a week ago."
"And you think some leshy or your… rinoi are to blame? Nah. That's just human carelessness and overconfidence. Nothing mystical about it."
"And why are you so sure?" Artemy asked, eyeing the man dressed in jeans and a leather jacket from under his brows.
"Because I'm a hereditary sorcerer," the man replied. "In my spare time, I hunt monsters. Just three days ago I took out three vampires, and before that, a few werewolves and even some mermaids. And here? I don't sense a thing."
"Whoa," someone exhaled.
"Could you find that missing hiker?" Artemy asked with interest.
"Only if he's dead. I can smell a corpse from a mile away. They reek."
"Well, give us a heads-up if you find a body," Vakuta said, and everyone laughed.
Of course, this Vikto lied — sorcerers had long since vanished from these parts. They started pitching tents, and soon the whole camp was asleep.
The next day, the travelers set off for the next camping spot. The glow of dawn lit the slope they ascended. They walked quickly along the trail, sometimes cutting their way through tangled bushes. The air was damp, thunder rumbled somewhere in the mountains, and soon the sky was covered with clouds. Rain began to fall, and the group had to take shelter in a grotto near the path. They drank tea from thermoses and waited for the storm to pass.
After half an hour with no sign of the rain stopping, Vakuta suggested a proper rest. People settled wherever they could—some on rocks, others directly on the ground. Vikto stood near the edge of a cliff, gazing into the ravine.
"Would you like some tea?" Artemy asked, offering him a thermos.
"No, thanks. But I wouldn't say no to a snack."
They returned to the improvised camp. Once everyone had eaten and the rain stopped, the group continued onward. The delay had set them back an hour, so they reached the next camp closer to nightfall. Fires were lit, and people gathered around them.
"I was once walking through the forest," Artemy began his story. "Suddenly, I saw something hanging from a tree. I got closer. It was dark all around, not a soul in sight, just the wind rustling the leaves," — and as if on cue, the treetops rustled. "I looked carefully and realized—it was a corpse, old, already dried out. Like someone had pulled it from a grave and dressed it. I ran back to the village and told the elder. They sent a search party. Turned out, the corpse was the fiancée of the local count—either Kametirov or Katomirin, can't remember—but he had disappeared into the river even earlier than his bride. His body, by the way, was also found. On the neighboring tree."
Silence fell over the camp, but fear quickly gave way to more ghost stories. Vikto approached the group gathered around Vakuta and Artemy and said in a deep, eerie voice:
"The body's over there," and pointed into some bushes with a stick.
Even the old man, who had seen much in his life, felt a cold sweat trickle down his back.
"Show me," he said hoarsely, grabbing a flashlight. Artemy followed.
They approached the bushes. The forest seemed to hold its breath, anticipating something grim. Not a single leaf stirred. Just in case, several people armed themselves with sticks and followed Artemy into the underbrush. The next moment, they came running out with stunned faces. Vikto thought their eyes might pop out.
"Th-there," Artemy stammered. "It's a dog. A dead one."
Vikto just shrugged.
"Every living thing is subject to death. I'd better go set up my tent—don't want to sleep in the cold."
He turned and headed toward the fires.
"I'm coming with you," Artemy said, almost shouting, and dashed after him. The rest of the "bush expedition" quickly followed.
Vikto chuckled quietly. He knew for certain—there were no monsters left. He had personally gotten rid of them all.