The Devil's Daughter by Clifford Beck - HTML preview

Chapter 9

No one slept that night as Alina ran from her bedroom window to the window overlooking Father James' grave. This went on in spite of being repeatedly told to return to bed. Finally, having given up, Anca spent the rest of the night sleeping on Alina's bed in an attempt to draw her back to the warmth of the blankets. Although exhaustion had taken her over, Anca, driven by maternal instinct, drifted in and out of sleep as she occasionally made certain that Alina was safe. On one of those occasions, when her sleeping mind drifted back into consciousness, Anca's eyes were immediately drawn to the window where Alina still stood, gazing out into the cold dark woods. The light of the full moon illuminated her face as she grinned playfully. Then, Anca heard her speak. It was only a whisper, but she had spoken nonetheless. Alina brought her hands up and laid them flat against the glass.

“Are you hungry?” she whispered. Anca's eyes widened with shock at what she had heard but withheld her reaction as she continued to watch. “It's time to come out now.”

Anca quickly got up, rushed over to her daughter and turning her by the shoulders, stared into her eyes. “You can speak!” she said.

She threw her arms around Alina and held her tightly, but Alina did not respond. She stood stiffly, staring out into nothing, her eyes unblinking. Seeing this, Anca suddenly felt uncomfortable and drawing back from her, quickly saw intense anger on her face.

“Alina,” she began. “What is it? Please.” The quiet of the night can carry the softest sounds with greater ease than the dusty air of daylight, and within the dark, cold silence of Alina's room, the small girl whispered again – this time, to her mother.

“Grozavie.”

Her grin quickly into a playful giggle as she joyfully clapped her hands.

“Grozavie.”

Anca knew the words' meaning. Terror. But it was Alina's use of the word that she did not understand. “Alina,” she began. “What are you talking about?” Alina continued to giggle but falling into silence, did not answer.

“Alina,” Anca said.

Still, there was silence. Anca took her by the shoulders and shook her gently as if trying to rattle out a response.

Finally, Anca surrendered to what she now believed to be a convenient mutism, and sitting on the edge of Alina's bed sternly called her to bed. Seeing no more reason to remain at the window, Alina sprinted around the foot of the bed, jumped in and quickly dropped into a deep sleep. Anca, however, remained wide awake. She had failed to understand what her daughter had been whispering about, and would never be able to imagine the storm of terror that was about to overrun the quiet village of Gura Haith.