BABA YAGA

When Jakub Nowak returns to Poland to settle his father's affairs, he expects paperwork, memories, and the slow ache of watching dementia steal a man he once knew. He doesn't expect the old woman on the mountain road. She appears in the rain with a smile that feels too familiar. She knows his name. She knows his father. She knows things she shouldn't. And when she vanishes into the night, Jakub tries to convince himself it was nothing more than a strange encounter. Until she appears again. And again. As stories surface of a hiker who returned after three lost years in the woods—changed, polite, wrong—Jakub begins to realise the mountains around Zakopane hold older secrets than anyone admits. Villagers whisper about people who come back different. About things that walk between the trees. About a woman who has been seen for generations, unchanged. The deeper Jakub digs, the more the past begins to shift beneath him… and the more he suspects that what followed him out of the rain isn't finished yet. A slow-burn folklore horror steeped in atmosphere, unease, and the ancient shadows of the Tatra Mountains, Baba Yaga asks one question: when an old woman offers you directions, do you really want to know where she's leading you?