Recent scholarship has shed considerable light on many previously puzzling or mysterious aspects of the life of the Baba Yaga—or, as some would still have it, the Baba Yagas. But one element has remained largely unstudied, and indeed, almost completely ignored: the remarkable candle skulls that typically illuminated her houses and the pathways to them. This oversight is almost inexplicable, given not just the natural scholarly interest in the macabre, but by the inherent magical and economic potential suggested by these skulls—more so than the chicken legs that have proven so fatally attractive to so many researchers.

After all, the chicken legs—remarkable as they are—have but limited commercial potential, given that they can only be attached to small huts activated by at least three drops of the Baba Yaga’s blood, and to no other dwellings or vehicles. And while many of these huts certainly appear charming at first glance—at least, to those with a certain taste for the rustic and the alarming—attaching these dwellings to modern sewage and electrical systems, including those offered at RV parks, has proven difficult to impossible. The legs themselves present additional problems once attached. Though they are, by all appearances, tireless, they are also regrettably slow, difficult to direct, and unceasingly hungry. As scholars, we cannot but mourn the many lives lost in discovering their defects, for so little financial gain—particularly when the costs of no less than twenty-seven destroyed RV parks are factored into those costs.

These defects do not apply to the candle skulls, which offer, we believe, many benefits. By all accounts, the candles provide reliable if flickering light; require no electricity or other power source; can be dimmed or brightened by simple voice command; and can be tailored into a personal alert system. They also appear to function quite well in nearly every environment, from luxury palaces and condos to run-down RV parks.

Why, then, have these skulls not been given the same attention as the chicken legs and other aspects of the Baba Yaga—or Baba Yagas—leaving us ignorant on so many matters regarding their manufacture and maintenance? Who, for instance, were the owners of these skulls, and did they release their skulls willingly or unwillingly? How do the skulls show such little damage from near constant lighting? What is their energy source? How do they sense approaching visitors?

To answer these questions—and the more critical question of why we could not find a single article on this subject—we gathered seven eager young scholars, in their first through fifth years of training, and charged them to study every reference on the subject, interview any and all witnesses to the skulls, and chase the houses of the Baba Yaga that had survived the unfortunate prior RV park incidents. We ourselves remained available for questions during certain phases of the moon, and were able to give our students the most recent contact information available, including cell phone numbers and email addresses, for every living creature who had claimed to see one of the skull candles.

Unfortunately, one of our scholars vanished shortly after entering the Sackler Library of Monstrosities (a consequence, we fear, of not following the library’s instructions as precisely as scholarship and the library’s regulations would require). A second disappeared after choosing to spend the night in an RV park speculated to have been recently visited by the Baba Yaga/Yagas. A third claimed to be bitten by footnotes discussing the Baba Yaga, and while we treated this claim with the dubiousness it deserved, that scholar by necessity needed to be dismissed from the project. A fourth, to our dismay, was found actually chewing on glowing skulls; that these skulls were later found to be elaborately decorated sugar skulls created by mortals by no means mitigated the enormity of the error. This scholar, too, was dismissed.

The remaining three sent irregular messages now and then, mostly on stained oak leaves. We were largely unable to review their progress, but trusted in their ambition and stated prior interest in skulls. Seven years into the progress, one of us received a grey skull, warm to the touch, possibly human in origin; attempts to make it light largely failed until—quite by accident—a young child left a small doll nearby, at which point a light inside the skull flared up for an instant before dimming again. Further dolls left near the skull, by adults or children, had no effect, but we were encouraged enough to send out messages to our remaining scholars urging them to redouble their efforts—or send us more skulls.

Seven years later, we received seven spun sugar skulls that, when touched, left burn marks on our hands.

We recognize that our efforts so far, combined with the apparent loss of seven promising young scholars, may seem discouraging. But despite this, we would ask the Council to continue to fund another seven or nine young scholars for another seven or nine years of research. Think of the advantages. The project so far has already rid us of four scholars—possibly seven—clearly incapable of handling this level of research before they were assigned to projects that might have caused general harm, and identified yet another RV park that might be well to avoid. More importantly, we must stress the importance of discovering why these skulls are so difficult to study, and the benefits of a lighting source that can also work as an alarm system and deter intruders at what we presume is a most reasonable cost.

We are available to answer any questions you may have, and await your positive reply,

The Candled Circle of Witches,

Gainesville, Florida branch.