AN: Think of this as the "Halloween-inspired" Patrol Log for the year…

Racing down the streets of Kyiv, her companion gliding along silently beside her in the darkness, only visible as a faint outline of slightly-lighter shadow in the momentary flickers of the lights around her, Slava could feel her heart pumping, her lungs straining. The air seemed colder than normal for this time of the year; was that because of her silent companion? The city around her almost felt as though it was closing in on her. Without thinking about it, she slipped the instrument around from its place on her back. Her fingers began moving of their own accord, plucking an ethereal tune on the kobza, one that sounded hauntingly familiar, though she was certain that she had never played it before. As the notes echoed off the small apartment buildings and houses around them, Pryvyd Kyyeva's movements shifted, the ghostly visage turning in her direction and bobbing in time with the music. A hissing babble of singing emanated from Pryvyd Kyyeva, almost harmonizing with her playing. A chill ran down Slava's spine. She forced herself to breathe, to still the fear that the ghost's appearance always instilled in her. But it was no easy task: though she had been a part of Zakhysnyky Kyyeva for several months already, still the strange entity of Pryvyd Kyyeva remained a mystery.

And yet, he seemed to be soothed, the normal expression of rage mixed with agony fading the slightest bit, whenever Slava played. That was how she had first come to be a part of Zakhysnyky Kyyeva: she had been practicing her new kobza on her balcony one evening several months ago, at the same time that Pryvyd Kyyeva had been out searching the city on "patrol." She hadn't noticed her ghostly audience at first – not until she finally finished the song and looked up to find him staring at her, floating only a few meters away from her in the open space beyond the balcony, the moonlight refracting strangely through his incorporeal body. At the sight, she had screamed and fallen over backward before stumbling backward into her apartment. At that the ghost had disappeared… only to reappear almost an hour later with Vovk in tow.

"I apologize for my friend's behavior and lack of manners," Vovk had told her without preamble. "He is… strange, to say the least."

"I wish I could say that men staring at women without their knowledge was strange or unusual," Slava had replied testily, folding her arms. "But that would be a lie."

"He did not mean any offense," Vovk had assured her quickly, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. "As far as I can tell, he has no interest in… that. Tonight, he heard your music and was… intrigued by it." He had glanced over at Pryvyd Kyyeva for confirmation. "Actually, I have not known him to react this way to, well, anything apart from your music." Slava had stared at him silently, her lips pursed. Vovk had finally cleared his throat. "I… Would you… Please," he had finally asked, "would you be willing to join us? I think your influence – or your music at the very least – could be good for my friend."

It had taken Slava several weeks to fully accept her new position in Zakhysnyky Kyyeva – and even still she wasn't completely comfortable with it – but she had reluctantly agreed to join them. School hadn't started yet, and the summer had been especially dull; what else did she have to do?

"Play… again…" Pryvyd Kyyeva pleaded, his voice breathy.

Slava rolled her eyes, suppressing the jolt of fear – though less now than when she had first met her ghostly teammate. "For you, I suppose I can play another song," she agreed, her fingers already sliding up and down the instrument's neck as she added chords to the melody she had composed on the fly earlier. The soothing tones eased her anxiety, calming her nerves; she could almost imagine that the darkened streets had grown lighter, that the chill in the air was starting to disappear in the warmth of her music. Slava found herself relaxing, allowing herself to be swept away by the melody. The ghost floating above her and to the side drifted higher and lower in time with the music, his accustomed expression of wrath easing the slightest bit.

How had her music come to have such an effect on him?

Pryvyd Kyyeva bobbed in time with the music, ascending higher into the air, only to abruptly halt, his head cocking to look forward. A high-pitched shriek – not human or even living – reverberated, seemingly through Slava's mind, from somewhere just up ahead of them. Slava halted in place, her fingers freezing in the middle of a chord, eyes wide, straining to hear it again. But it had faded away. A slight breeze blew down the street past them, and Slava shivered. What had that been? Had it just been the wind, blowing past that house at the end of the next block? A chill ran down her spine, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. Beside her, Pryvyd Kyyeva's head turned, the anger returning to his face. Slava raised a hand, putting a finger to her mouth, and nodded toward the house in question. At once, the ghost faded even further, almost vanishing into the darkness as he drifted in that direction. Her kobza gripped tightly in both hands, Slava followed him more slowly. Ahead of her, the ghost disappeared through the walls and into the house; the light remaining in the street dimmed. Hesitating for a moment, Slava looked around the house nervously. The front yard was overgrown, filled with leaves and dead weeds, a bush near the edge of the property dead. Hesitantly, Slava jogged down the walkway to the front door, craning her neck to peek through the cloudy window. The inside was dark and quiet; the noise had not returned. Was it nothing? But she could hear something else – was that the floorboards creaking inside?

Slava's breathing hitched. Was that a scream? Her grip on the neck of her kobza tightened. Cautiously, she rapped on the door, pausing and cocking her head to one side to listen for any movement inside. No response. A shiver ran down her spine: that had definitely been a floorboard creaking. "Hello?" she called, knocking again, harder this time. The wind picked up down the block, howling around Slava. She knocked a third time, leaning closer and pressing her ear against the door. As she did so, the door creaked open. With a glance down the street behind her, Slava slowly stepped inside, kobza clutched tightly, and looked around in the dim light filtering through the old, tattered curtains from outside. She could make out none of the interior – a few pieces of furniture were outlined in the light, only barely visible as dark masses in the living room. As she moved, into the entryway, her foot bumped against something that clinked and rolled away from her to bump into the wall; a beer bottle. Looking up and down the floor against the wall, she could pick out a dozen more bottles, reflecting the dim light from the still-open front door. The form of something massive and wide loomed out of the corner to her side, just inside what must have been a living room – a floor-length cabinet, one glass panel still intact. In front of her was a darkened hallway.

One foot after the other, Slava made her way down the hallway, kobza held in front of her, her ears attuned for those strange sounds she had heard from outside. On her left, the gaping maw of a doorway opened up to her, the door missing and the room beyond a pool of darkness. Giving the doorway a wide berth, Slava tiptoed past it, scanning what she could of the interior with her meager night vision and the light still filtering down the hall. She couldn't spot a single window in the room – no light to show how far in the room went. Her spine tingled. A door clicked open to her right, just behind her, and her breathing hitched. Slowly, her eyes turned in that direction.

Her weight shifted from one foot to the other. The floorboards creaked.

Suddenly, a wail echoed from someplace further in the house, and Slava let out a yelp of fright, holding up her kobza as if it were a shield. The door swung open, slamming against the wall with a loud crash. A ghostly form glided out of the room in front of her, arms outstretched, and Slava dove for the ground, cradling her kobza as she landed. A few notes sounded a discordant chord, and the ghost paused, looking down at her in confusion. Slava looked up at him, and her eyes widened in surprise, as the ghost's did the same.

"Pryvyd!?" Slava demanded hotly, pushing herself back up to her feet and brushing herself off. "What was that for?"

"S…orry…"