It was freezing outside. In the morning, moms and dads had to defrost the wind shields of their cars, and Kaško and the other ghosts had to... actually, they didn't have to do anything. Because ghosts don't feel the cold or the heat. They only feel it when they accidentally contract a kind of a ghost sickness.
Kaško flew over winter Košice, circled around the tree, which, as every year, was already standing by Statue of Immaculata and waiting to be lit. He repaired one broken bulb in the Christmas decoration on the way and went to see his friends. He was looking forward to seeing them go a little crazy. He landed on the windowsill. Quietly. He wanted to surprise them.
He looked out the frost-stained window and couldn't believe his eyes. Everything was out of place. Where there had been a pile of toys, there was now a red box. Where there had been Lego blocks, there was suddenly a carpet. Where there had been various dresses, disguises, scarves, weapons, masks, there were now two children's bathrobes hanging. One boy's and one girl's.
Where just yesterday there were papers, pencils, markers, glue sticks, scissors, now there was a desk. And where Majka's white skirt and blouse had always been, now Kaško was smiling to himself. The mirror.
The children came into the room, spread out papers on the carpet, two boots each, shoe polish, and set about cleaning them. Kaško opened the window.
"What's the matter with you? What's going on with your room?" Kaško began without greeting.
"We cleaned our shoes and tidied our room." Maxík quickly replied.
"But why? It was so nice here." Kaško wept, not knowing if he could just sit on the bed.
"The children's room is properly cleaned five times a year," Maxík began methodologically, "on Mummy's birthday, on Daddy's birthday, on a sibling's birthday..."
"And, of course, on Christmas and St. Nicholas." Majka added.
"Sometimes we used to clean at Easter, but since the cleaners come to Majka and make a mess in three minutes, we have a break from cleaning then." Maxík added.
"I see, clear now, and the feast of St. Nicholas is approaching. I understand now. So let me help you." Kaško sat down next to the children on the floor and that's when something strangely miraculous happened.
The window opened and a visibly blue wind slowly entered the room. A slow wind. It walked past the children and made its way over to Kaško. Kaško stretched his hollow ears. His mouth slowly opened as he was listening. Suddenly he opened his coat and unbuttoned his pocket with the strange symbol in a circle of flying wind. The wind hid in the pocket and Kaško closed it.
"You can stop cleaning your boots."
The children looked at Kaško uncomprehendingly.
"St. Nicholas is not coming this year!" Kaško lowered his eyes.
"What!?" shouted Maxík and Majka.
"I just got a message from him." Disappointed Kaško pointed to his inside pocket.
"That was... from him?" Maxík couldn't believe.
"What don't you believe me? Listen, I'll tell you a secret. All the ghosts, fairies, and tame werewolves help St. Nicholas to deliver presents and especially to find out where the children are, where they are not and so on," whispered Kaško mysteriously.
"Oh." The children still could not believe.
"Well, I'm a ghost after all. So, I am one of them. But there has to be a spell in the world to help him like that."
"What kind?" Majka whispered.
"Every year a new song must be written about St Nicholas, which will give him the power to open all the windows, shutters, doors, chimneys, so that he can come to you. He or his helpers," Kaško explained.
"Really?" Maxík shook his head and nibbled on his thumb.
"And now that song just isn't. Nobody recorded it, sang it, or sent it."
"How come he did not send it?" Majka didn't understand.
"The lyrics of the song are hidden in secret places around the world. Then someone has to hum it, record it, sing it, and send it through our magic mail." Kaško shook his head.
"Was that the breeze?" Maxík was trying to understand.
"We're using that breeze instead of your cell phones. See, we record words or thoughts into the wind. It'll take it where we want it to go. And when you want to save the message, you do this," and Kaško pointed to a pouch in his coat, "that's the miracle pouch for miracle messages from all the fairy tale characters and mysterious creatures."
"It's nice, though, and I'd really, really like to hear some news from the fairies," Majka said.
"And I from the ancient knights." Maxík had a fantasy.
"But what are we going to do about that song?" Kaško looked pleadingly at Majka.
"I know where the text is. You won't believe this, but in a little church in the country of Haravara."
"Come on!" Majka picked herself up from the ground and was already putting on her boots.
"Lead the way!" shouted Max, already in his boots. When he made it, even Kaško himself was wondering.
"Let's go! Towards Ruská Bystra!" Kaško pointed to the northeast.
"But did you say it was in Haravara?" Majka wondered. "And we're going to Russia?"
"No. We're not going anywhere near here. The village is called Ruská Bystrá. “Let’s go."
They flew over Dargov, around Trebišov, greeted the fish in Zemplinska Šírava and were on the spot. On a hill, around which trees grew. At the top of it stood a wooden church.
"It looks like it's been lifted from a movie," Maxík mused.
"Or from the celebration cake," Majka added.
"This is the church of the Transfer of the Relics of Saint Nicholas. Do you know where Nicholas was born and where he lived?" Kaško began to test his friends as he did at school.
"He was born?" Majka blurted out.
"Sure. In Turkey. And that's where he lived. And to save two children from being sold by their poor father because he had nothing to give them to eat, he traded everything he had for a piece of gold. He left it at their window. That's why they leave presents on the window on St. Nicholas' Day." Kaško explained to the children.
"And why in shoes?"
"Because some ghosts, I mean female ghosts, couldn't look at children's dirty shoes and untidy rooms. So, they made up the idea of putting presents in the shoes. And they talked St. Nicholas into it." Kaško sighed.
" And where is the song?" Majka asked to finish her lecture on the history of St Nicholas.
"I know just such an instruction. Beyond my image, where a new world opens up." Everyone was left a little surprised at these words of Kaško.
"Hello, are you coming over?" asked the nice lady in the doorway of the church.
"Actually, yes."
"Then be my guests." the guide invited them in.
"What are we going to do now?" Max whispered.
"Leave it to me." Kaško replied decisively.
The children and Kaško went inside and found themselves in another world. Everything smelled beautifully of wood. There were paintings and pictures all around.
"These are icons. Pictures that tell great stories of great people. St. Nicholas, for example." She pointed to the pictures that were literally everywhere.
"How do they talk?" Majka asked.
"Icons are not drawn, not painted, but written. Like books. That is why they are read. They tell a story." Auntie led them to the painted door.
"And why do you have these three doors between these icons?" Maxík said, his curiosity uncontained.
"The side ones are for the priest's assistants. And we call the ones in the middle the golden ones. Only a priest or a saint can walk on those. Behind them a new, mysterious world is revealed." Auntie continued.
"New world, did you hear?" whispered Majka.
"They have heard, but where is Nicholas?", Maxík was looking for Nicholas in all the pictures.
"And here is the patron saint of this little church, St. Nicholas," the lady guide pointed to the picture-icon by the golden door.
"It's clear. There it is," Kaško muttered under his ghostly nose.
"Look around calmly, I'll be at the door." The guide made her way out, still turning in the doorway:
"And did you know that our church is one of the most beautiful and valuable monuments in the world, a UNESCO heritage site?" She lifted her head proudly and walked out.
"Hurry up!" Kaško shouted.
They came to the icon and to the golden door.
"Over my picture, over my picture," they all hooted at once.
"Got it. Look at the three stars or flowers here above the picture." Kaško pressed one, nothing. He pressed the other, nothing. He pressed the third one, nothing.
"Well, never mind." Kaško sneered.
"Wait," Majka got the idea, "lift me up!"
Kasko lifted her up and Majka started to turn one flower, which had something in common with the star.
"I know we're not supposed to, but we're saving Nicholas." Majka whispered to herself.
There was a piece of paper behind the flower-star.
"Here it is." She handed the paper to the boys.
They took a piece of paper, put back the flower-star and went out.
"Did you like it?" The guide's voice echoed.
"It's beautiful here." Max quickly replied and ran to the nearest tree.
"We'll definitely come here with our parents." Majka added, running off after him.
"Goodbye!" They both shouted at the same time, already in front of the trees on the hill.
The guide thought it must be those strange, hurried children from the city and went back to the church.
When they were behind the tree, they unrolled the paper and quietly read the wording:
When the old year goes to sleep,
the children will laugh again.
In every window little children
put out the booties.
They run off to bed,
tomorrow is a big day.
The crescent moon is already keeping guard.
Good Nicholas is coming.
"Well, can be." Kaško remarked.
"Okay, we have the text. And where are we going to record the song?" Majka asked.
"I only brought a small drum, tambourine, shaker, and jingle bells." Maxík pointed to his backpack.
"This would want more tools." Majka read the text.
"But not an orchestra, we don't have time for that." Kaško opened his eyes.
"What a good guitar." Maxík looked at Kaško.
"Guitars, of course!", exclaimed Kaško, "let's go!"
The children didn't even have time to make a note and they were already standing in front of a red house. As soon as they opened their eyes, which must have been closed during the flight, they understood. On the gate, there was a sign that said Guitar Museum.
"Well, I'm looking forward to this." Max said enthusiastically.
"You've got something to look forward to," Kaško took them by the hands and continued, "there was a strange man here in Sobrance - Janči Ferko. He said that he would collect the most interesting guitars from all over the world and put them on display in a museum. That way everyone could see how this beautiful instrument has evolved, reminisce about the old days, be inspired. Quite simply, there are over a thousand guitars in this house."
"A thousand?!" Max burst out in surprise.
"A thousand. But only two hundred are exposed." Kaško reassured him.
"Only," said Majka. "I wonder how you will choose the right one."
"Easy," replied Maxík, "leave that on me."
They went in and Maxík almost lost his breath. All around were guitars, guitar straps, posters of famous guitarists, photos, signatures..... simply, a musical paradise.
"So, which one will it be, Maxík?" Kaško whispered in his ear.
"Wait." Maxík replied, a bit nervous.
"We'll wait, but what about all the children in the world?!"
"This one," Maxík pointed to the beautiful electric guitar, "could have been played by John Lennon, Zak Wild, or Fero Griglák or Ľubo Petruška, or Andrej Šeban, or any famous guitarist."
"All right, we've already picked out the guitar," Kaško stated calmly, "now look over there." An electric piano was placed under the suspended guitars.
"Are we going for it?" Maxík asked.
"Welcome," the cheerful fellow who guides people around the museum greets them, "I see you are musicians. It's already winter, so we don't get many visitors. If you want, we can play together."
"That would be great. We have such a text here," Kaško picked out the St. Nicholas paper and sat down at the piano.
The jolly fellow picked up his guitar and plugged it into the combo.
Maxík prepared all the percussion and Majka got the microphone.
He murmured something strange into the wind, and a familiar blue cloud appeared in the room.
"Let's get started."
And the band dropped:
When the old year goes to sleep,
the children will laugh again.
In every window little children
put out the booties.
They run off to bed,
tomorrow is a big day.
The crescent moon is already keeping guard,
Good Nicholas is coming.
When they finished playing, Kaško checked to see if the song was recorded on the Miracle Pebble. It was. He whispered something and the breeze flew out. Nicholas was saved.
"It is saved for everyone, just not for us. We didn't have time to clean our shoes. I mean," Maxík and Majka looked down at their boots, “we got them even dirtier. And we left newspapers and cleaning products and .... on the floor."
"And don't even say it." Maxík said for Majka.
"But you have made several million children happy!" Kaško encouraged them.
"That's right, Maxík." Maxík patted her brother's hand.
"So good. At least let's have a look around this museum a bit longer."
"Come on, I'll show you around." Suddenly, a cheerful guy reappeared from somewhere.
He told them everything about the guitars. What different devices they had on them, how they evolved, why some are round, and some are like lightning. They threw a talk about famous guitarists and went home happily.
The closer they got to the house, the sadder they got. When they flew to the window, something about it didn't seem right. It was full of some things.
"He was here!!!" they both screamed at the same time.
"We really did it." Kaško sighed contentedly.
Maxík found a new guitar in the window and Majka found ten new staples. There were two more packages. In one of them, Kaško found a new winter cap with furry ears from Nicholas.
"And what about here?"
"Let's open it." they all whispered.
They opened the third package. There were two magic pouches that only ghosts and fairy tale characters can carry. And a letter next to them.
"For your not giving up."
And underneath it the heart drawn with a large M inside.
The children opened their bags, a blue breeze began to fly in the room and sang their song in their ears. They fell asleep within five minutes. Kaško put on his new cap and flew home. On the way, he was singing his song and watching the children sleep with smiles on their lips.
