The Song Beneath the River (A Slavic folklore)

Young Ivan was known in his village for his adventurous spirit and a touch of recklessness. One warm summer night, when the full moon cast a silvery glow upon the winding river near his home, Ivan couldn't resist the urge for a solitary walk. The air was still, save for the gentle murmur of the water flowing over smooth stones.

As he strolled along the riverbank, lost in his thoughts, a melody drifted to his ears. It was unlike any song he had ever heard – hauntingly beautiful, filled with a sorrowful sweetness that tugged at his heart. The voice was ethereal, weaving through the night air like the moonbeams dancing on the water's surface.

Intrigued, Ivan moved closer to the river's edge, his senses captivated by the enchanting sound. He peered through the willow branches that dipped into the dark water and saw her.

She sat on a moss-covered rock that jutted out into the river, bathed in the pale moonlight. Her hair, long and the color of dark seaweed, cascaded down her back, some strands trailing in the cool water. Her skin seemed to glow with an inner luminescence, and her eyes, when she occasionally lifted her gaze towards the moon, held a captivating sadness. She was the most beautiful woman Ivan had ever seen.

As she sang, her voice seemed to call to him, not with words he could understand, but with an emotion that resonated deep within his soul – a longing, a loneliness that mirrored some unspoken part of his own heart. He felt an irresistible pull to get closer, to offer her comfort, to understand the source of her sorrowful song.

He stepped onto the muddy bank, intending to approach her, but something held him back – a primal instinct, a whisper of the old tales his grandmother used to tell about the spirits of the water. He remembered her warnings about the Rusalki, beautiful women who lured men to their deaths with their enchanting songs.

Yet, the allure was strong. The Rusalka turned her gaze towards him, and her eyes, even from a distance, seemed to lock onto his. A faint smile touched her lips, a smile that promised solace and understanding. She beckoned him closer with a delicate wave of her hand, her movements fluid and graceful like the water itself.

Ivan felt his feet moving almost against his will. The warnings faded in the face of such beauty and such apparent sorrow. He waded into the cool water, the mud sucking at his boots. The Rusalka's song grew louder, wrapping around him like an invisible embrace.

Just as he was within arm's reach, her expression changed. The sadness vanished, replaced by a strange, almost predatory gleam in her eyes. Her smile widened, revealing teeth that seemed a little too sharp. Her hand shot out, her grip surprisingly strong and cold as ice, and she latched onto his arm.

"You have come to join me, little mortal," her voice was no longer the ethereal melody he had heard from afar. It was now a chilling whisper, laced with the coldness of the deep water.

Panic surged through Ivan. He tried to pull away, but her grip was like iron. He looked into her eyes and saw not beauty, but a bottomless sorrow and a chilling emptiness. He realized the truth of the old tales – the Rusalka's beauty was a mask, her song a deadly trap.

The water around him grew colder, pulling him down. He struggled, but the Rusalka was stronger in her element. Her long hair wrapped around his legs, entangling him like a net. The last thing Ivan saw was the Rusalka's face, serene and almost triumphant, as the dark water closed over his head, silencing his desperate cries.

The next morning, the villagers found Ivan's hat floating near the riverbank. They knew then that the Rusalka had claimed another victim, lured by her beauty and the irresistible sorrow in her song. The river flowed on, its surface once again serene, hiding the tragic end of the young man who had succumbed to the water spirit's deadly enticement.