The Tale of the Girl Who Outsmarted Fear
Deep in the heart of the Russian countryside, where birch trees whisper secrets and snow blankets the earth like a downy quilt, there once lived a girl named Anya. Her grandmother often told her strange and wonderful stories by the firelight, but one tale stood out above all others—the story of The Fear With Big Eyes.
“Fear,” her grandmother would say, tapping the side of her nose, “is like a shadow that grows taller the closer you get to the candle. But remember, U strakha glaza veliki—fear has big eyes. What seems monstrous in the dark might shrink to nothing in the light.”
Anya loved these words, though she didn’t fully understand them—until the night she decided to test them herself.
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The Village and the Whispering Woods
Anya’s village sat at the edge of an ancient forest locals called the Whispering Woods. Its trees creaked and groaned like old storytellers, and children were warned never to wander into its depths after sunset. “Terrible things live there,” the adults would say. “Creatures with glowing eyes and claws as long as scythes!”
But Anya was curious. One frosty evening, while her parents slept, she wrapped herself in her woolen shawl and slipped into the woods. The moon cast silver light through the branches, and her breath curled into mist as she walked.
Then, she heard it—a low, rumbling growl.
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The Creature in the Clearing
In a moonlit clearing, Anya froze. Before her stood a towering figure with eyes as wide as saucers, glowing like embers. Its fur was matted, its teeth jagged, and its claws scraped the frozen ground. The creature let out a roar that shook snow from the pines.
Anya’s heart raced. She wanted to run, but her legs felt rooted to the earth. Then, her grandmother’s words echoed in her mind: Fear has big eyes.
Summoning courage, she stepped closer. “Who are you?” she demanded, her voice trembling only slightly.
The creature tilted its head. Its massive eyes blinked. “I am Fear,” it boomed. “I devour the brave and haunt the weak. Why aren’t you running?”
Anya frowned. “You’re… smaller than I expected.”
The creature huffed. “Smaller? I’m enormous!” It puffed out its chest, but as Anya stepped nearer, she noticed something odd. The monster’s shadow, stretched long by the moonlight, was no bigger than a barn cat.
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The Truth About Fear
Anya pointed at the shadow. “Why is your shadow so tiny?”
Fear shuffled awkwardly. “Quiet, foolish child! Shadows lie!”
But Anya pressed on. “My grandmother says fear grows when we run from it. Maybe you’re not as scary as you pretend.”
With a growl, Fear shrank back. Its glowing eyes dimmed, and its claws retracted like icicles melting in the sun. “You’re supposed to scream,” it muttered. “Or faint. No one ever talks to me.”
Anya sat cross-legged in the snow. “Why do you frighten people?”
Fear sighed, its voice softening. “I don’t mean to. But when humans see my eyes, they imagine the worst. They forget to look at my shadow—the truth hiding beneath.”
—
A Pact With the Moon
Anya thought for a moment. “What if I help you? No one should be alone in the woods, not even Fear.”
Together, they devised a plan. The next night, Anya led the village children to the clearing. Fear loomed as before, roaring and clawing—but this time, Anya held up a lantern.
“Look at its shadow!” she shouted.
The children gasped. In the golden light, Fear’s shadow was small and round, like a sleepy hedgehog. The creature itself seemed to shrink, its glowing eyes now twinkling like stars.
“You’re… kind of cute,” said a boy named Piotr.
Fear blushed (or at least, its fur turned pinkish). “Well. I suppose I could be… less growly.”
—
The Lesson of the Woods
From that night on, Fear became the children’s peculiar friend. It still lurked in the woods, but instead of haunting villagers, it learned to nibble berries and tell jokes (terrible ones, but the children laughed anyway).
When Anya’s grandmother heard the tale, she smiled. “You’ve learned the oldest lesson, solnyshko,” she said, stroking Anya’s hair. “Fear shouts loudest when we don’t look it in the eye. But courage is a lantern—it shows things as they truly are.”
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A Bedtime Story for Brave Hearts
This Russian folk tale, passed down through generations, reminds us that fear often wears a disguise. Its “big eyes” are illusions, magnified by darkness and uncertainty. Yet, when met with curiosity and kindness, even the fiercest fears can shrink to reveal their harmless shadows.
So tonight, as you tuck under your blankets, remember Anya’s adventure. If your closet creaks or the wind howls like a wolf, think of the Whispering Woods. What seems large and looming might just be waiting for someone brave enough to say, “Who are you?”
After all, every fear has a story—and every story becomes lighter when shared by firelight.
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