Кикимора поселилась возле деревни в 1928 году и стучала в окна до рассвета

The year, they said, was 1928. I didn't check the papers; it's not the kind of story to dig through the archives. But the old folks mentioned that year. The new government had already taken root in the village, and a red corner had been opened in the former church gatehouse, and people had gotten used to saying one thing at the village meeting, another at home, and a third at night when the stove crackled and the children slept. It was a time like that: everything seemed to be changing, but the fears didn't go away. They simply grew quieter, hid under benches, in chests, in women's scarves, in old words they didn't utter in front of strangers.