The Noon Visitor - Poludnitsa

The sun hung high, an unrelenting orb casting waves of heat across the wheat fields of the small village. The air shimmered, almost alive, as if the world itself were breathing in labored gasps. Petar wiped the sweat from his brow, his hands gritty from dust and stalks. It was harvest time, and every able hand was needed, even in the punishing heat.

His father had warned him not to work during the hottest part of the day. “Beware the Poludnitsa, the Lady of Noon,” he had said. “She prowls the fields when the sun is merciless. If she finds you, only wit or luck will save you.”

Petar scoffed at the superstition. Monsters were for children. The village needed grain, and he needed the respect that came with hard work.

As the sun reached its zenith, a strange stillness settled over the field. Even the crickets were silent. A breeze picked up, swirling the dust into intricate, dancing shapes. Petar paused, his scythe halfway through a bundle of stalks. He squinted into the haze. The swirling dust seemed to coalesce, forming the shape of a figure.

Out of the shimmering air, a woman appeared.

She was dressed in a gown the color of the midday sky, her hair the shade of ripe wheat. In one hand, she held a pair of ancient shears, their iron blades dull but ominous. Her eyes were cold and curious, gleaming like polished amber.

“Working hard, are we?” she asked, her voice smooth but edged with something sharp. The air seemed to tighten around Petar, making it hard to breathe.

Petar swallowed hard. “Yes, ma’am. The harvest waits for no one.”

She smiled, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “A diligent worker. Tell me, boy, do you know why the sun blazes hottest at noon?”

Petar’s heart thudded. He had no answer for that. He glanced around, hoping for an escape, but the fields stretched endlessly under the white-hot sky. The woman’s fingers tightened around the shears.

“I... I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice barely a whisper.

The woman’s eyes darkened. “You work in the fields, yet you know nothing of the sun that feeds your crops? Ignorance must be cut away.”

She stepped closer, the shears glinting. Panic surged in Petar’s veins. He couldn’t run. The air felt thick as molasses. His mind raced.

“Wait!” he blurted out. “Is it because... because at noon, the sun watches us most closely?”

The woman paused. Her eyes narrowed, considering his words. Silence stretched, broken only by the sound of Petar’s pounding heart. Then, slowly, her smile returned — colder than before.

“Perhaps you are not so foolish after all,” she said. “But remember, boy, the sun does not forgive carelessness. Rest when it burns its fiercest, lest you feel my blades more keenly.”

With that, she stepped back. The wind rose again, swirling dust around her figure. In an instant, she was gone — a cloud of dust fading into the air.

Petar’s legs gave out, and he sank to his knees. His hands shook as he gripped the dry earth. The sun still blazed overhead, but now its heat felt like a warning. He gathered his tools and stumbled toward the shade, his father’s words echoing in his mind.

“Beware the Lady of Noon.”

And from that day forward, Petar always did.