This story began with a seemingly banal thing. I got lost in the forest.

Although ... The story did not even begin with this.

Somehow, on an ordinary Friday evening, sitting in the kitchen with a cup of tea, I thought that I had not eaten mushroom soup for a long time. And I love him tenderly and shamelessly, since childhood. And not from store-bought champignons, but real. Such as my grandmother cooked for me when I spent the summer in her village in the summer.

That village has not been on the map for five years. Just as there is no blue old wooden house that kept memories of a happy and carefree childhood. My grandmother died when I was sixteen, her home turned out to be useless to anyone - you won’t run into it, and it’s impossible to sell, because the land in that outback is not worth the price. So it began, previously a warm, cozy house, with a well-groomed yard, gradually dilapidated, covered with mold and overgrown with weeds.

But I still remember well how my old woman woke me up before dark. I, still sleepy and disheveled, with half-open eyes, wandered to the washbasin to wash my face with cold water. Then, together with my grandmother, sitting at a roughly knocked together wooden table, which was invariably covered with a snow-white tablecloth, we drank fragrant herbal tea, eating it with homemade pies. Then they dressed and, armed with large baskets and knives, walked hand in hand into the forest to “hunt”.

I remember the coolness and smell of the morning forest, barely touched by the sun's rays, not yet disturbed by man. In its silence, only our deaf steps were heard, and the rare crackle of trees swaying in the wind and the rustle of leaves. Sometimes one could hear the singing of early birds, the knock of a woodpecker getting food for itself, or the snorting of a hedgehog, dissatisfied with the fact that his peace was disturbed.

Grandmother knew those places very well, she had lived all her life near this forest. She joked that even with the local goblin they were already old friends. Granny spoke to the forest as if to a living being, and he seemed to answer her. She told me amazing and interesting stories about the plants we met on our way, instructive legends and amazing incidents that happened in those places. Thanks to my grandmother, since childhood I have loved nature and believed that the forest can cure or relieve pain, help to cope with mental anguish or fatigue. She also knew some medicinal herbs, although this knowledge was not useful to me in life.

We returned home only for dinner, carrying full baskets of the most selected mushrooms in our hands. After resting, they sat down to clean and wash them. And while I was finishing, granny was already cooking the same soup, the delicate taste of which I still remember. The rich aroma of fresh forest mushrooms that hovered in a village hut, mixing with the aromas of wood, fresh summer air and wild flowers, could awaken the appetite of the most inveterate gourmet. What can we say about an ordinary girl who walked through the forest in the morning.

This is exactly the kind of soup I wanted on a typical Friday night. Outside the window was the end of August, which means it was time to remember the "hunting" skills acquired in childhood.

I haven't been in the forest for ten years. Life in the city turned me on, there was so much work that often, even on weekends, there was not always time to relax. What a forest! And most importantly, that my guide was no longer there, there were no stories told in a quiet, beloved voice. I no longer believed in the magic of the forest, that the forest could heal and help.

I had to surf the Internet for a long time, read reviews and all sorts of forums to find the nearest forest where you can pick mushrooms. It was necessary to go to it by train, then by bus, then a little on foot, but the promised abundance of forest gifts attracted me. Although, it was a little alarming that the forest was very vast and dense, according to rumors, sometimes people disappeared in it. But I was sure of myself. I have been walking in the forest since childhood, I know how to navigate, but I will not go into the forest unprepared.

Having folded a large backpack, where, in addition to a bag for mushrooms and a knife, she also put matches, a flashlight, a ROM for the phone, a raincoat, a snack, a compass and water, went to bed with peace of mind. I was already looking forward to a big catch and the same mushroom soup from my childhood that I could cook from it.

Chapter 2

And now, I am standing in the middle of a forest clearing, looking at the menacingly swaying trees around me, and I don’t understand which way I should move in order to get to the road. And the most annoying thing is that the compass needle, which clearly indicates the direction to the north in the morning, is now spinning like crazy. And the vaunted modern GPS does not work at all in this wilderness.

I randomly choose a side and go forward, continuing to look at the compass in my hand. When does he have to make money? And at the same time I scold myself, and nostalgia for childhood, which covered me at the wrong time. I lived without this soup for the last years, and I would have lived on! No, I remembered my grandmother, the village and the very taste and aroma, I decided to shake, as they say, the old days. I also considered myself smart and prudent, because I took with me both a compass and an additional battery for the phone. And what's the point of them now? If the compass goes crazy, and the maps in the phone refuse to work at all.

Having walked about a kilometer, I wearily lower myself onto a fallen tree and look around, hoping to notice a familiar place. But I feel like I haven't been here before, so I'm going in the wrong direction. We'll have to go back to the clearing, and choose another. I’m thinking that at work, of course, they will miss me on Monday, but they definitely won’t raise a panic. This means that I can count on the rescue team not earlier than in a week. And even that is not a fact. I didn't tell anyone that I was going to go mushroom picking. From which I conclude that you need to try and get out yourself. It’s good that I have matches with me, and it didn’t rain almost all summer. This means that I can make a fire that will warm me at night and drive away predators. Too bad my supply of water is not infinite. I don't know if I can find its source in this forest. Okay, We will address issues as they come up. For now, it's time to get up and move back to the clearing.

Having eaten a couple of pieces of chocolate, to raise morale, I get up and, singing a brave song at the top of my voice, I set off again. When, after twenty minutes, I still don’t go out into the familiar clearing, I understand that I’m lost. Again. Luck is just my middle name. Several times I knock my forehead against a tree, in a fit of self-flagellation. I decide to go somewhere. Again, I randomly choose a direction and slowly move forward. Gradually I notice that the forest thickens more and more, it becomes darker. There is a piercing, ringing silence around, from which goosebumps begin to run on the skin. The air, as if thickening, becoming viscous, each step is given to me more and more difficult. What's happening? Feeling as if even the aroma of the forest has changed, and the air around has become colder by several degrees. I slow down even more, listening.

Suddenly, the silence is broken by a loud female scream, heard nearby. I'm scared, but I rush in that direction. Suddenly someone needs help? I run, looking around, jumping over the roots of trees, but I do not find anyone. Suddenly, from behind a tree, a woman in an unusual dress runs out to meet me, clutching a bundle to her chest. One sleeve of her dress is torn, a lacerated wound is visible under the flaps of fabric, from which blood oozes. Looking at me with eyes widened from horror, he presses the bundle tighter to his chest. I step back, not understanding what is happening.