The Bathory Curse

by Renee Lake

  “I think maybe I should even though it does. It’s ok, Mariska,” Jenica put the spoon down, wiped her hand on a towel and came back to sit with her daughter.

  “I figured out young that women in our family had problems, it scared me to death; I had two sisters that my father killed before my mother begged him for my life. She didn’t understand, she wasn’t a Bathory. I knew my father loved me, but I also knew he was dreading the day I would turn bad and he would have to kill me. I decided I had to do something about it.” She leaned back and closed her eyes.

  The room began to swim and change, Nea realized her mother was performing some sort of magic. Nea felt her eye lids force themselves closed, instead of fighting, she sank into her mother’s memories.

  She saw a hazy vision of her mother, young, maybe 11 years old crouched down listening to her father and uncles talking. Then she was her mother, she could hear her thoughts, feel her emotions, see everything through her mother’s point of view.

  “Those girls were evil; saw it with my own eyes,” her favorite uncle Nicolaus said in hushed tones. He had a huge beard that tickled when he kissed her cheek.

  “Good thing they took themselves out, feel sorry for the men that married them,” her father, Thomas added.

  “I heard the four of them had a twisted love relationship, maybe a better thing they are all dead,” her other uncle, Peter, spouted; he always stank like beer, she didn’t like him.

  “Should have killed them when they found them,” Nicolaus snorted.

  “They were only ten; you know he couldn’t, not since they were all he had left of his favorite son.” Her father was speaking of one of their cousins. Jenica had only met him and his family once, but he was really old, much older than her father. She knew his daughter had died a long time ago and his granddaughters had died recently, girls only 15 years older than Jenica was.

  “Makes you a bit worried about Jenica, doesn’t it,” Peter put in.

  “Jenica is a good girl; you have nothing to worry about.” Jenica breathed a sigh of relief at her favorite uncle’s words. Maybe she wasn’t destined to wind up like other women in her family. She listened; she knew that after the first female cycle something went wrong in the heads of women in her family.

  “Her mother told me she entered her womanhood last month.” her father sounded so sad.

  “Take care of her now, before she winds up a blight on our family like the others.” Jenica wanted to scream and throw Peter’s drink in his face. She wouldn’t wind up like the rest!

  She slipped away, unseen. She had to do something, she couldn’t let herself become like all the others. Jenica knew she was fighting a losing battle though, she could feel something dark in her chest already, something that wanted her to hurt her mother on purpose and see what the inside of the family dog looked like. She knew if she gave in she would be just another warning tale to other Bathory women.

  The memories changed again, this time she saw her mother about 13 years old, crouched over an animal, a dead dog, wanting to gag at the smell. As before, one minute she was watching and the next she WAS her mother.

  She had found their beloved pet dead, from old age, she imagined. The thing had been ancient when she was a born, she was only surprised the dog hadn’t died much sooner. She brought out a sharp knife, a book and a writing utensil. Nea wanted to gag at the pleased sensations coming from the memory, wished she could distance herself as her mother cut open the animal and began to examine it’s organs. She drew elaborate pictures and labeled everything. It took over an hour, fear of getting caught trickling down her back, but pleased that she was finally getting a glimpse at the insides of something other than a cooking animal. After she was done she took a needle and thread and sewed the animal up and buried him in the hole she had dug. Her parents had told her she could bury the mutt herself and she didn’t want to lie to them.

  When the memories moved again Nea was better prepared. This time Nea saw her mother about 14 years old, half naked astride a man who was not Nea’s father. She tried to look away a bit disturbed at seeing and feeling her mother’s pleasure as she rode the young man, sticks digging into her knees from the forest floor, but it was no use, it was like she was her mother.

  “I feel a bit strange about this, Jenica,” he grunted from beneath her, face sweating as she rotated above him.

  “You shouldn’t. I am doing what I like.” She panted, increasing her pace.

  “I am supposed to be taking your virginity not the other way around,” he gasped, eyes rolling back in his head as he thrust up into her.

  “I took my own virginity, I told you that.” She leaned forward breasts brushing against his chest.

  “I know, thought it would be weird, but this is… oh God…” And the man, who had to be at least three years older than Jenica came, bucking wildly into her. Jenica just smiled, pleased with herself and rolled off him.

  “Won’t the man you marry be disappointed?” He asked a few minutes later, “I mean you could marry me I guess.”

  “I don’t intend to have sex again for a few years, by then I can fake it.” Jenica said, breathing heavily from exertion, “and I am leaving here as soon as possible.”

  “Your parents will be sad,” he said, putting away his flaccid penis.

  “Don’t put it away I intend to use it again,” Jenica barked.

  “I’m not sure…” he stuttered.

  “You’re fine…and I know they will be. It’s the worst thing I can think of to do.” Then she leaned over and took him into her mouth…”

  They came out of Jenica’s memories too late for Nea’s liking, she really hadn’t needed to see or feel that last recollection.

  “You see Nea, I faked being a virgin for your father and left my beloved parents with no word or thought to where I had gone; they never saw me again. I didn’t break the curse, it took hold of me, and I beat it the only way I could, at its own game. My wedding night with you father was the last purposely malicious thing I’ve done and it worked.”

  There were no words for a few moments. She hadn’t realized she and her mother had so much in common. Nea had similar dark thoughts before she became a Strega, but she had used her husband’s cruelty towards those he battled and her faith to fight them off. Would she have eventually given in? Nea decided it was enough darkness for one day. She didn’t know how long she would have with her mother, so she accepted a cup of tea and found herself smiling as they began mundane conversation.

  Shortly after that Bendis took Nea home. It was already dark and she found her family sitting around the dinner table, eating, laughing and talking. The silence that filled the room upon her approach was tangible. Stasi was the only one who did not notice it was awkward.

  Nea sat down next to her daughter. She had decided after spending time in the hell that could possibly become her little girl’s afterlife, she had better tell her the truth.

  “Stasi, sweetheart, I have to tell you something.”

  “Serious?” The girl asked, a little frightened by what she saw on her mom’s face.

  “Yes, very serious.”

  “Remember how much we all love and care about you,” Sabine added, realizing what her best friend was about to do.

  “And no matter what, nothing changes,” Mihail assured her.

  “I have had you in my keeping since you were only a few hours old, but you are not from my womb as you know,” Nea began slowly, Stasi nodded, they had this conversation before.

  “Your mother lives in Hungary, her name is Elizabeth and I am her Godmother.” Nea explained, putting a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. The girl frowned, a crease in her forehead.

  “You know her? You still talk to her, see her?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Does she know I am with you? Why hasn’t she come see me?”

  “She doesn’t know you are alive.”

  “What? Why doesn’t she? Did she just throw me away and never look back? Can we tell her?�
�� Stasi’s voice became higher pitched with each sentence.

  “Stasi, calm. She doesn’t know because your grandmother was a mean woman and told her you died. Your grandmother killed your father and would have killed you had Nea not interceded.” Sabine took the reins on the story seeing the anxiety in her friend’s face.

  “My grandmother was bad…she didn’t want me?” Stasi’s shoulder’s slumped, tears trickling from her eyes.

  “Your mother wanted you, she loved you, she was heartbroken to hear her baby was dead…she named you herself. She cannot know you live, she has a family and a life…it would be traumatizing.” Nea tried to make the words kind, but this sort of news is almost anything but.

  “So, I have sisters or brothers and I can never know any of them?” Stasi crossed her arms over her chest, tears flowing down her cheeks, sobs racking her tiny body.

  “I am so sorry dear heart, but I love you, you are my daughter.” Nea hugged her, saddened that Stasi was stiff in her embrace.

  “You lied,” Stasi whispered.

  “She didn’t, I have heard her tell you your real mother loved you and didn’t want to let you go. This is all true,” Mihail smiled.

  “Your family line is mine Stasi, we are related by blood, but that blood is cursed.” Nea gave the final piece of bad information.

  “Cursed? How? When? What does that mean?” Stasi wept into her mother’s chest.

  “It was so long ago, long before you or me.”

  “Your mother is trying to fix the curse, make it go away.” Sabine stood and came over, kissing the little girl’s head, “But that is why there are so many bad people in your family.” Sabine stroked her hair and caught Nea’s eyes. She saw the horror within them from her trip to Limbo and mouthed “LATER.”

  “Like the portrait gallery, those women are all bad, accept Grandma Jenica,I can tell.” Stasi looked up at Nea, who could only nod in agreement.

  “I don’t want to end up like them.”

  “You won’t baby girl, I promise.”

  Chapter 8

  1598- Hungary

  Nea stood in the great hall of Cachtice Castle and smelled blood. She didn’t want to be there, eight years ago she had helped bury Gryzelda and mop up a scandal that reinforced the need to break the curse. By the time Gryzelda was 21 she and her husband had made a profit by robbing coaches, inns and churches all over Hungary. They had both been caught by vigilantes and before her family could pay for her release she had been tied up in the forest and left for dead. Nea had found her, but was too late.

  So she didn’t want to deal with issues that had risen at Cachtice Castle and her beloved goddaughter Elizabeth. Not only did it stir up trouble at home, Stasi now insisted on knowing everything about her biological mother, but it made Nea’s heart ache to think Elizabeth was falling down the same path as the rest.

  Nea had come to the castle because after years of hearing nothing but rumors of prosperity from Elizabeth’s people she could no longer ignore the dark tales being passed along in whispers. Nor could she ignore the ringing in her soul telling her a Bathory girl’s curse had been triggered.

  Murmurs of unexplained deaths in the castle, of mothers dressing their daughters like boys when the Countess rode through towns and refusing to allow them to find work in her household, even though the money was much better than anywhere else. Tales that were getting darker with each passing year.

  In 1590 when she had attended Orsolya’s blessing she had noticed one servant in particular that seemed to derive joy from playing on Elizabeth’s fears of growing old and ugly. She had tried then to remind Elizabeth about her mother and what happened to women in their family. Elizabeth had just turned 30 and had seemed to listen, but Nea could see the strain around her eyes whenever she looked in a mirror.

  In 1594 she had come for the birth of Katalin and seen bruising and signs of beatings and rape among some of the female staff. Elizabeth had blamed her husband, who Nea never cared for and deemed cruel. But Ferencz was never home so Nea had tried to push past it. She had given Elizabeth instructions to treat her staff with more care and forbid her husband from such actions. Everyone knew he bowed down to Elizabeth’s formidable temper. She had praised her goddaughter’s beauty, in truth she was one of the most beautiful women in all of Hungary, and hoped that would soothe things.

  Then in 1596 she received message of Andras’ birth, but was never invited to the castle to bless the babe. Worried he had not survived she had made a hurried trip, only to find a healthy baby boy and Elizabeth furious with her showing up unannounced. While alarmed at a growing temper and fondness for indulgence, Nea was happy to see both Lizzy’s sisters were in attendance for the blessing of the first male heir.

  She had not expected an invitation to Paul’s blessing and had been relieved to receive it, though against Elizabeth bearing any more children. She was even more alarmed at the fear in the villages she passed through and gossip about Elizabeth and her husband becoming tyrannical and whispers of torture at the castle. Convinced it must be jealous blather, she brushed it off. She blamed her over fondness for Elizabeth, she had never before ignored her instincts.

  Now, however, standing in the stone arch way of the beautiful castle she could smell the blood and the death. A normal human wouldn’t have been able to, but she could. Castles usually had a hidden death smell tinted with old fear, but this was fresh and quite a lot of it. Dread leaked through the walls and it was quiet. Servant skittered past as she made her way farther into the main chambers.

  She paused and spinning around quickly went through the darker hallways and down the murky passageways that led to the dungeon. Something was drawing her to the catacombs of the castle. She descended into the gloom and the smell of blood and gore became thicker and caught in her throat. There was a large steel door that hadn’t been there five years ago when she had chased a laughing Orsoyla down here. Nea remembered scooping the child up before she could see any of the old torture devices and they had quickly left.

  Using her magic she undid the locks and opened the door. The dungeon was lit by oil lamps, but even so a mortal would have had a hard time seeing in the gloom. She walked over dirty stone and straw on the floor and peered into the iron cells. The first few were empty but towards the back where the smell was the worse she found large blood stains and new implements of torture had replaced the old.

  Nea felt nauseated as she recognized several she hadn’t seen used in polite society in years: a Pear of Anguish, a Scold’s Bridle, a set of stocks and several hanging cages. All which had been recently used. She didn’t need to see any more. Nea fled the horror with knowledge her Lizzy or someone close to her was a monster.

  She went up the stairs her deep blue trumpeted sleeved velvet gown making a soft noise on the stone. She had chosen this dress to help with the age magic and make her look a little fuller than she was to not aggravate Elizabeth’s vain streak. She had made her hair grayer than the last time they had seen each other, tonight she wore a French hood trimmed in pearls, her hair braided and pinned back under a net.

  As she came to the hall with the family’s rooms she heard more life sounds. A door slammed open and a young girl about 13, dressed in frumpy clothing came out holding the hand of another girl, much younger, about 8. They didn’t look happy, just in a hurry.

  “Aunt Nea, oh it’s you. I thought mother had left her rooms. She hasn’t been out much since Paul was born,” Anna said, a spitting image of her mother.

  “Where are you going?” Nea asked.

  “To the stables to see the horses.” Orsolya grinned a gap where her two front teeth should be.

  “I thought we were blessing Paul?” Nea glanced down the hall to the ornate door that marked Elizabeth’s private chambers.

  “Not us, I don’t want to be anywhere near Mother right now, she’s in a mood.” Anna’s eyes widened.

  “Why not?”

  “Anna started her menses this week,” Orsolya piped up.

 
; “Lya!” Anna scolded, flushing red.

  “And?”

  “Mother is angry now, she thinks I am going to sleep around and get pregnant.” Anna huffed.

  “She’s just worried, you two have fun.” Nea dismissed them, a coldness in her belly. She watched the girls run off. “Not again.” She whispered to herself and sped up her pace.

  She was about to knock when the door swung open and a woman barreled out, clutching two other children to her, she was terrified and there was a red mark across one cheek. In one arm, she was balancing Elizabeth’s two year old son, Andras, on her hip, and the other held onto four year old Katalin’s hand.

  “Oh Nea, it’s only you. Be warned Katalin got away from me and now the Countess is in a terrible mood, not even the baby is cheering her up.” The governess darted away. Nea was surprised; she was on good terms with the staff, most recognized her and stopped to chat.

  She knocked and heard a brisk, “come in!” Nea entered and it looked the way it always had. Elizabeth preferred jewel tones in her decorations, and dark wood, elegance without gaudiness, which was, at least, different from her mother. Elizabeth was standing next to a crib in a violet colored gown with gold lattice work; her bosom almost fell from the gown, almost unfashionably low. Her blonde hair curled and piled on top of her head.

  “Lizzy.” Nea called, using her pet name, her goddaughter turned, cheeks pale, but stained with rouge, lips deep red, her blue eyes sparked with anger.

  “I hate that name. I’ve asked you to call me Elizabeth countless times.” She motioned to the food set out at a little table and sat down. Nea joined her, but not because she was hungry.

  “I am sorry, I forgot. You didn’t care until only a few years ago,” she gently reminded her.

  “I am 38 years old, practically an old woman, too old for that name,” Elizabeth bit out.

  “Again, I apologize. How is the new baby?” Nea changed the subject, Elizabeth leaned over to grab a cookie and Nea was appalled to smell blood on her, not her own and mixed with something floral, like she had rubbed it right into her skin.