Wiggle Rooms: A Tale of a Fallen Achorite

By D.A. Winstead

Have you ever visited a hidden away place so beautiful that it made you nervous, scared almost? Have you ever seen a place that sat peacefully amidst an ancient forest so full of intrigue that only the most restless of minds would dare approach? Well, D.A. Winstead saw it and knew he’d write about it one day.

Darkness comes fast and early in such places–and tends to stay longer than it should. Even the old churches, quaint hotels, shops, pubs and cafes, schools, playgrounds, and the stately old beach homes seem old and dark, as if something creepy lurks behind every wall. And it gets much darker after sunset, as shadowy figures from the forests stalk the night.
D. A. Winstead walked these streets on a cold October night and wondered how many restless souls resided in this ancient Latvian town they call Jūrmala. He picked the most haunted-looking of all the homes and that first night started writing Wiggle Rooms.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Mar 22, 2013
• ISBN: 9781938686474

D.A. Winstead

Award-winning conservative author D.A. (Dennis) Winstead was born and raised in Franklin County, North Carolina. Graduating with an Economics degree from North Carolina State University and a Masters in Public Policy from George Washington University, he began working for the United States Department of State soon after. As a senior government official for over twenty-three years, Dennis focused n economic and security development policy and traveled extensively during his years of civil service–mostly in post-conflict countries in Asia, Eastern Europe, and Africa. Currently enjoying a slower life in Atlanta, Georgia, he writes historical/literary fiction based on his travels and embellished by his experiences and cultures, old world folklore, superstitions, religious fervor and politics.In 2013 Dennis launched Color Him Father Foundation, a non-profit that seeks ways to inspire and motivate working fathers in Africa to create a nurturing home environment for their children.

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ground.

Chapter One

Saint Petersburg, Russia

Monday, June 14, 2010

The Black Sea Surveillance Command is located at the lower western part of Saint Petersburg, the piece of cheap land that juts out adjacent to the Baltic shoreline. Stretching far west of the city, the land can only be reached by taking the M18 highway for about twenty miles. A few miles further, the highway intersects with the M11, the other major highway on the city’s west side. Just past this intersection, the M18 crosses the island called Kronshtadtskiy. There, just past another major intersection is the large working town of Peniki. Here is where much of Russia’s western intelligence is gathered, analyzed, and disseminated.

Anyone who haphazardly wandered into Peniki would think it was just another fishing village, full of wooden homes and rundown brick buildings where fishermen bring their fresh catch for the rest of Russia. Fish processed there is distributed throughout Russia and much of the Baltic and Nordic regions. This poverty-ridden town is far from Saint Petersburg’s Alexandrovky Park, the Peter and Paul Fortress, the Winter Palace, and the Palace Square.

By the time you arrive at Peniki, the stench of the sea is strong enough to make even the toughest fisherman’s stomach turn. It is the smell of a fish trade on an industrial scale and one major reason why few travelers venture off the main highways.

There is no need for directions in this part of town; locals rule the streets and everyone knows everyone. Those who venture in and aren’t immediately recognized quickly face nosey Russians…intelligence, spy types who read into your every word. There are no accidents in Peniki.

Deep inside, on Peniki’s lower west side, just two blocks from the waterfront, five satellite towers stand on two rambling three-story buildings. The buildings are unmarked and show no sign of life other than random Russian soldiers and well-dressed men and women walking in and out during all hours.

June 14, 2010 was a quiet Tuesday night, but a horrible sea storm was on the horizon. How did we miss this? It is heading directly to the Riga seaside, the Russian senior officer, a general lieutenant, bellowed at the senior sergeant. The sergeant’s underlings stood around him. The officer said more, the whole time using unfamiliar Russian to put proper fear out there. It was what locals called hoBbii, full of the uppity words privileged Russians learned from studying and traveling abroad. In a show of strength for the masses, such talk was never used by the poor young soldiers brought in from all the Russia motherland.

The sergeant tried to reply in the same vernacular, having obviously forgotten his own peasant roots. We don’t know, sir. It just came out of nowhere, like it formed out in the middle of the sea somehow, he said. He used Russian slang as little as possible…knowing much of the translation would be lost anyway. But for those at his level, when communicating with those much higher, it’s always the effort that matters.

With that answer, the sergeant turned the conversation to his underlings. Storms don’t somehow form in the middle of the sea like this. Damn it! Damn it! How was this missed?

When those around him remained silent, the general lieutenant asked the next question. Do we know if the FMI has picked this up?

A quick No came back from the sergeant, who knew they rarely heard from the Finnish Meteorological Institute directly anymore. NATO had taken responsibility for storm preparedness coordination efforts, and no one was willing to overstep its boundaries. The storm will clear the Gulf of Finland, but it is close enough to cause some damage along the Latvian coast. I am surprised, sir, that no one sent us a warning, but nothing yet.

They have to see this on their radar. At least Stockholm has seen it. This will hit Latvia head-on, and no warning signs yet? So much for new allies…just as we expected, the general lieutenant said as he continued to gaze at the radar monitor. Where the hell did you come from? He continued to speak quietly, as if he were stalking a wild animal, scary and not welcome, but still coming their way.

We don’t know, sir, one of the privates answered back, an out-of-line remark from such a low-ranking seaman.

I wasn’t talking to you. But just to be clear: I know you don’t know. Otherwise, you would have already told me. That’s how it works, right? I ask a question and you tell me everything you know, yes? So, unless you know more than the obvious, don’t speak. Is that understood?

Yes sir, the private answered. But he continued his rambling, knowing he would be punished by the sergeant for this serious error in protocol. But none of us have seen this happen before, sir. We don’t see storms like this so far south, from the Gulf of Bothnia and Finnish shore. We see these storms cross the Atlantic, Great Britain, and then hit the Sea of Bothnia from the southeast. This one is moving west to east, and it looks like it came up right in the middle of the Baltic Sea. That’s probably the reason it wasn’t picked up earlier by satellite. We don’t check for storms this far south, and there have been no Atlantic storms crossing over Europe.

"Well, apparently we do have storms like this, this far south…because we have one here. Obviously, we just failed to track it. After a brief period of silence, the general lieutenant spoke again. Will this interrupt any of our shipping lanes?" he asked the sergeant, this time eye-to-eye to eliminate any misunderstanding of who was to answer.

No, sir, the sergeant answered quickly. The upper routes are quiet and so is the low Baltic route. This storm will strengthen in the warmer southern waters off the Latvian coast, but it’s taking a narrow and straight trajectory toward Latvia.

What is the current location?

The storm is centered about eight-hundred nautical miles from the Gulf of Latvia.

And how fast is it moving?

It’s very difficult to estimate without a proper look at the storm, but the satellite shows it’s moving about sixty to seventy miles per hour. The sergeant paused before adding more, unsure how much to stick his neck out. Then he continued. When this thing hits the Gulf waters, it will become stronger. It will be a quick storm, but it will cause damage…a lot of damage.

Everyone knew how to gauge the numbers. A storm moving this fast at its current location would be a Category Two. A storm like this could very likely move up to a Category Three or even Four by the time it hit the coastline. A deep Baltic storm is a wily thing in itself, easily tracked and categorized, but unpredictable once it nears the shoreline.

Yes, the sergeant said. There will be a lot of damage.

The general lieutenant was on the phone, listening to a voice on the other end of a conference call–a person of higher rank. He then gave quick instructions. We must keep a close eye on this storm. I want hourly reports to Moscow. Do we have our satellites fixed on its center?

Yes, the satellites are fixed, the sergeant answered. Should we get Air Command out there to get better data?

No. No need right now. We know where it is heading and roughly how fast. That will do. Just keep the satellite fixed on the storm and let me know if it strengthens. When it hits Riga, we’ll need to know everything. We have some time.

Should we give the Latvian army a warning? the sergeant asked, almost as an afterthought.

No, the firm answer came back from the general lieutenant. Since NATO cares about the Baltic people so much, let NATO give them the warning. Let the Swedes and Finns do it…or the Poles. There is enough security support to go around, so no worries for Moscow. This may be Riga’s first tough lesson on its new national security direction…misguided fools. Maybe this will scare them back into using common sense again.

Chapter Two

The Latvian Seashore

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

For those who do not know where Latvia is, Finland is to the north and across the Baltic Sea is Sweden. In the east is the great Russia motherland, and down below, toward Northern Europe’s lower center, are the three Baltic nations: Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania. Latvia lies in between the other two.

For those who may want to underrate Latvia’s old and wise pagan ways, don’t do it. The summer and winter solstices still reign in this part of the world, which claims Europe’s oldest Indo-European descendants. Historians date its history to the second millennium, B.C. And, for this reason, the region is known for strong pagan forces that fought off Christianity’s advances with fierce solidarity.

The Crusades that occurred between 1096 and 1221 were armed pilgrimages named and blessed by Pope Urban II. The enemies in these Crusades were the non-Christians, primarily followers of Islam, but also the Jews and remaining pagan Europeans. As noted by most religious historians, success for the Crusades was measured by conversion. All agree success was negligible in the East, but high in northern Europe, where paganism was strongest. It was a must win and by most accounts the Crusades did.

By the end of the thirteenth century, Estonia and Latvia were converted to Christianity and Lithuania’s conversion followed in the fourteenth century. And the history books agree: the further north the Christians went, the fiercer the fight. Yes, in the end, Christianity prevailed; but still today the pagan celebration of Midsummer is as big an event as Christmas and Easter in some parts.

Latvia’s Midsummer’s Eve celebration, known to Christians as Saint John’s Eve, is called Jani, the Latvian term for John. By seven o’clock in the evening, bonfires line the Latvian coastline and are lit just as the sun sets. One after another, fires dot the beautiful white sands and dark waters of the Baltic Sea.

In medieval days, these fires were the only warning system people had…for different defenses. For everyone, the lighting of large torches meant an approaching army had been spotted. For a small number of locals, especially in many of the smaller shore towns, fires also warded off evil spirits that roamed the countryside as the sun’s direction turned southward again. Solstice fires have always been the most beautiful sight to behold, a bright reminder of ancient midsummer eves–bright blazing fires, folk songs and dances, hillside revelry, and old agrarian chants, children dressed in customary attire, men and women wearing oak wreaths, food including cheeses and cured meats, and a lot of beer mixed in with the song and dance. The night had magic in itself and brought people together on dark nights as they waited for the daylight to mark the summer solstice.

People said the old hag brought the coming storm to life that night. She was dressed in dirty, tattered clothes; her long, gray hair was a tangled mess; and her skin was darkened from both bad genes and wear and tear. Some called her a dirty gypsy, but most just called her a witch.

She could be seen and heard on the streets of old Riga and around Town Hall Square. With rings of dead flowers around her neck, one hand holding a book of ancient pagan teachings and the other holding a torch, the frightening hag kept mostly everyone a good ten feet away. Others, mainly drunk teenagers, tempted her for more soothsaying.

Tell us, witch: where is your broomstick tonight? Where is your book of spells?

When the first questions didn’t bring forth answers, other questions came her way. Why do you roam so far from your cohorts? I thought you stayed in packs on nights like this. Are they too scared to come out and play? Why don’t you dread the night like they do? Are you seeking your demise, or are you just crazy?

Tonight… the hag said, somewhat menacingly. Tonight, a great sea spirit is blowing in the black night. See how the flame from my torch dances up toward the sky. We are all in danger. You must leave this place now. She showed no fear of the revelers even though the night, summer solstice, is also a time dedicated to finding and ridding the land of witches.

Oh yeah, a drunken reveler yelled back as they looked up and gazed at a clear sky. Tell us more crazy lies. Can you see the future? Will we be dead by sunrise? A dirty sea witch is on her way to get us? Who? Why? Is it because she’s a crazy witch like you?

The storm is coming. Go home and get prepared. The hag stayed still and repeated her warning to anyone who would listen. But there were few; the rest were acting like drunken fools–no concept, if any of it was true, of the consequences if the worst were true.

Get away from me. Get out of my sight, the drunk yelled and kicked at the old hag just to give one final insult.

As an older man pushed the main troublemaker away from the hag, others stepped up and pressed for civility. Even during a raucous party, the bullying was soon over. Come on; let’s just leave her alone, the drunk said as he walked away with his cohorts. She’s just old and crazy. She’ll ruin your drink if you get too close. She’s a birdie. Her mind is gone. Can’t you tell? She’s not worth it.

But the hag spoke again. I am not crazy. I speak the truth. I can see it coming. You will not die tonight, but a storm is coming and she will wash the darkness from this place forever. Mark my words…she is tired of our pagan ways and her servant will wait no more. The darkness is almost upon us; we must be ready for it.

You are the darkness, you crazy old birdie. Our pagan ways? Huh? What about yours? You think you’re in the light? Your talk is backward and evil. You’re the pagan, not us, the drunk yelled at her as his friends pushed him further into the reveling crowd.

I am neither light nor dark. I am who I am, and I see what I see. That is all I can do and talk about.

Oooooh. Oooooh. When taunting sounds echoed from the crowd, she spoke the same warnings. You have all been warned. She will wait no more. Her servant is coming.

The old hag then wandered back into the crowd, still yelling at anyone who would listen. The storm is coming! Go get ready! The storm will be here soon! A black storm is coming! Go get ready! The black storm will be here soon! A storm is coming! Go get ready! The black storm will be here soon!

The dark of the night and the festive bonfires that glowed from point to point of Riga’s old district kept everyone from seeing the darkening sky blow in from the west. Within the hour, the Latvian night turned pitch black. People in their homes gazed out their windows to see the wind, a strange dry storm, they called it. Most windows quickly closed and wooden shutters were pulled tight and latched. But it was too late for some. The storm had arrived and there would be hell to pay.

Chapter Three

The American Embassy, Riga

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

Early in the morning, even before the army of rescue and recovery teams had made it into key parts of the city, a group of eight Americans had gathered at the embassy. Intel was gathered the night before, but not early enough. The storm had been spotted just as it began to batter the shoreline. Emergency radio calls went out to all American employees and a handful of local staff. They were told to stay inside and not come out until the storm passed. Only essential staff was told to be at the embassy at seven sharp for a post-storm meeting with the ambassador, regardless of any difficulty in getting there.

The embassy’s Deputy Chief of Mission (DCM) and seven senior officers were seated in the front office conference room as U.S. Ambassador Ann Smith walked in. They rose, but did not speak, and she began her spiel even before she reached her chair.

"I want to thank you for coming in on such a short notice, but we don’t have a choice in the matter. The government will likely be asking us for fiscal assistance. We need to be quick and consistent in our response. Now, I have some questions. First, how bad is it? Why didn’t we know it was coming? That’s what satellites are for, right? Are there no meteorologists in this country with working equipment and technology? Doesn’t anything work in this damn country?"

Questions like this–around big conference tables, crowded with many important people–are staples in the diplomatic world. What happened is asked first. How did it happen? Why did it happen. And why didn’t we know about this? As expected, these are asked last and no one around the table ever has answers.

The ambassador continued, slowly and meticulously working the conference room table, eyeing each of her underlings. "What do we need to do now? How bad was it really? And what is the Foreign Ministry saying?"

The political officer was the first to answer. I was at the beach, in Olaime, when the winds started blowing in out of nowhere. It just roared in and landed right there on the beach. It was terrifying, the way the whole thing happened; the holiday bonfires were glowing up and down the beach. The sunset was clear and the winds were calm. All you could hear were the festival songs in the distance and children’s laughter. Then all hell broke loose. It got dark and a fierce wind started to blow violently, and colossal waves killed all the fires built close to the shoreline. I heard trees buckle as everyone ran for the nearest cover. He paused for a second and looked at the embassy’s security officer before finishing. "I didn’t hear the warning on my mobile until I was almost back in Riga. And, being a local holiday, I don’t suspect many people were home waiting for their emergency radios to come on."

We’re glad you made it back safely, the ambassador replied, trying to show some motherly care and concern, however little. And, as you can see, Riga didn’t fare much better than the coastal towns. The warning sirens didn’t begin until eight-twenty, giving little time for Riga to prepare. A lot of weaker structures, mainly wooden frame buildings, were destroyed, large trees were uprooted, and many power lines splintered. They say the brunt of the storm missed the city; it was a direct hit west of Riga, and it appears Jūrmala and surrounding beach towns sustained most of the damage.

Surge damage? the same political officer asked.

Yes, a lot of flood damage nearer the shore, the ambassador answered quickly. But there was no surge damage further in around Riga. All we had here was wind damage. There was no rain.

The ambassador looked around and saw confusion on the faces of her staff. She then looked at the head of Consular and American Services to pose her next question. Can we confirm later today that all registered American expats are accounted for?

Yes, Madam Ambassador, the chief answered. "Warning messages went out just before the storm hit Riga, but we believe all registered Americans were able to take cover. As for anyone near the beaches, well that’s a different story. Last night was a holiday festival, so we just don’t know right now."

Have you begun contacting those on the register?

Yes. We have the warden alert system already running so all registered Americans should be contacted over the next several hours. If anyone is in trouble, we’ll know about it by noon.

And you have enough help?

I believe so. We have three Americans and seven locals already calling. We may have to do some checks in person, but not many. Most Americans live inside of Riga proper. We should get through the list by noon.

Very good, and please tell them thanks for coming in today. If your office needs more help, let me know. We have others who can help.

The ambassador worked the table again, eyeing everyone around her, before finishing her point. And then she continued. "If there are any American casualties from this storm, I want to know first. I don’t want the Department, or someone on CNN, telling me."

She then turned her attention to the economic counselor. We’ll need to send everything we know back to Washington–including a body count, any major damage to infrastructure, and messaging from the Foreign Ministry–in the afternoon reporting cable. As soon as the Foreign Ministry makes a formal announcement, we need to report it back to Washington. The Latvians will be looking for foreign aid, so let’s squash all expectations immediately. The United States can assist with relief and maybe recovery efforts, but that’s it. We have no money to offer. If the Latvians ask for money, we’ll need to tell them to go to the EU for assistance.

Yes, Madam Ambassador, the economic counselor replied and then asked his own questions. How is all this going to affect the Ministerial Summit? Is everything still on schedule for next week?

That’s a very important point. We need to find out how the next several days will take shape. We need to know if the meetings are still on schedule and who’s coming. And we need to do it quietly.

Yes, Madam Ambassador. I’ll get right on it. A chorus of promises came from around the table.

Just as the political counselor was preparing to give his two cents on the Russians-are-coming dilemma, the door to the conference room opened. The ambassador’s personal secretary walked in and gave her boss a note, speaking only a few words so everyone would hear. This is urgent, Madam Ambassador.

The ambassador immediately read the note.

Foreign Minister Zikree requests that you go to the home in Jūrmala at Atra Iela-98 at four o’clock this afternoon. Storm recovery officials found something at the Sukulov house that the Americans have been looking for. The roads will be clear by early afternoon, so your driver should have no trouble getting there. You will be provided a government escort out and back into the city. You are highly encouraged to come in person. Sending your deputy on your behalf will not be sufficient.

Her head was spinning. In her mind, she pictured the historic old homes on the shoreline‒battered, some ripped apart, and others probably washed away. Why do storms always hit the cultural jewels hardest? she mused, as she calculated an early price tag in her head. Those homes are national treasures. They cannot be valued like everything else in this country. That place has too much history–good history except for one or two of the homes. And how dare he tell me not to send someone else! Who does he think he