Children are honest.

We went somehow into the woods with my little daughter, Stasey, to smash the cherry.
And in those days, she was reading books at night about the leech and other intelligentsia living around us.

Here we walk through the woods, I choose the shepherds, and Staska is trying to find the worst, but he is not. We found a young martyr, I am dealing with the business, and the daughter in the large hole of the lamb is whispering and spells all sorts of whispers. Here, suddenly, a crack is spread and to us, right where the daughter witchcrafted, from the bushes and bushel slowly comes out a man. All dark, grown, bearded and with a tail. I see, and this is one of my acquaintances, Leonidich, his dacha nearby. The daughter looks at him with curiosity and calmly asks, "You are a liar, right?" The neighbor hangs, and I make signs from her back, say, yes, agree. “Well, yes,” says Leonidich, “we’re lying, I’m following the order in the forest.”

My daughter is just happy. She hosted the lion with lambs, and he told her all kinds of forest secrets.
The child is enthusiastic. He asks, “Ley, where is your kimmorah?” Leonidich on a full machine replies, saying at home she, Kikhimora, in the garden everything is digging.
They talked and separated.

And after a week we walked and passed by his dacha. Leonidich saw us and called for a cup of drink. We walk through the area. In the garden of Leonidich's wife. She saw us, bloomed and began, “Oh, what a cute girl! What is your name, sweetheart? How old are we?” But Stasi did not rush to answer. She stared quietly and very carefully at the aunt from all sides. Then she turned to Leonidich and, with her head at his wife, asked loudly, "So what, is this your kimmorah?“”

I still don’t know what to do in such situations.