The Tale of Big-Eyed Fear: A Russian Bedtime Story
Once upon a time, in a small village nestled deep within the Russian forests, there lived an old woman and her curious granddaughter, Anya. Every evening, as the fire crackled in the hearth and shadows danced on the wooden walls, Anya would beg her grandmother for a story. One chilly autumn night, the old woman leaned in close and whispered, “Tonight, I’ll tell you the tale of The Fear Has Big Eyes—a story passed down through generations to remind us that not all terrors are as they seem.”
Anya tucked her knees beneath her chin, her eyes wide with anticipation.
—
Long ago, in the same forest that surrounded their village, there was a timid hare named Ruslan. Ruslan spent his days nibbling clover and darting at the slightest rustle of leaves. One evening, as he hopped home beneath a twilight sky, he encountered his friend Masha the mouse.
“Ruslan!” Masha squeaked, her whiskers trembling. “Have you heard? There’s a terrible beast lurking in the woods! They say its eyes glow like moons, and its claws could shred an oak tree!”
Ruslan’s heart raced. “What kind of monster is this?”
“No one knows,” Masha replied, “but everyone’s whispering about it. Even the wolves avoid the western thicket now!”
Determined to uncover the truth, Ruslan enlisted the help of Masha and their wise friend, Olga the owl. Together, they vowed to confront the creature. “Fear grows in the dark,” Olga hooted sagely. “But courage thrives in company.”
—
The trio set out at dawn, their small forms dwarfed by towering pines. As they ventured deeper, the forest grew eerily quiet. No birds sang; no squirrels scampered. Then, through a tangle of branches, they glimpsed it—a hulking shape with glowing eyes the size of apples!
Masha froze. “Th-those eyes! It’s real!”
Ruslan’s legs trembled, but he stepped forward. “We must be brave!”
Just then, a breeze stirred the leaves. The “monster” swayed… and let out a creak.
Olga tilted her head. “Wait a moment. That’s no beast—it’s an old willow tree!”
The friends crept closer. Indeed, the “glowing eyes” were fireflies nesting in the hollow trunk, and the “claws” were nothing but gnarled roots. The wind whistling through the branches had created the eerie growls.
Ruslan burst into laughter, equal parts relief and embarrassment. “We let our fear paint a silly story!”
—
When the trio returned to the village, they shared their discovery. The wolves howled with amusement, the bears chuckled into their honey pots, and even the stern fox admitted, “Fear does have big eyes—it magnifies every shadow!”
From that day on, Ruslan still startled at sudden noises—old habits die hard—but he remembered the lesson of the willow tree. When whispers of new “monsters” spread, he’d smile and say, “Let’s look closer before we decide to panic.”
—
Back in the cozy cottage, Anya giggled. “So the monster wasn’t real at all?”
Her grandmother stirred the embers in the fireplace. “Oh, the fear was real, my dear. But the danger? That was just a story we tell ourselves. You see, fear loves to dress up in costumes—to hiss and roar and make itself seem bigger. But when you shine a light on it…” She winked. “…you often find it’s just a tree and some fireflies.”
Anya yawned, snuggling into her quilt. “I like that ending.”
“And so do I,” the old woman murmured, smoothing her granddaughter’s hair. “For it’s not the absence of fear that makes us brave, but the choice to walk toward it—even when our knees shake.”
—
This Russian folk tale, with its roots in oral tradition, has lulled countless children to sleep while quietly imparting a timeless truth: Fear is a shapeshifter, but curiosity and camaraderie can shrink it back to size. So the next time shadows loom large, remember Ruslan, Masha, and Olga—and ask yourself, What if the monster is just a tree? After all, as the villagers say, “The fear has big eyes, but the truth wears a gentle face.”
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