The Devil's Daughter by Clifford Beck - HTML preview

Chapter 10

Rising the next morning, Anca, working the kinks out of her back, glanced over at Alina who lay asleep with her straight blonde hair draped over her pillow. Remembering the events of her sleepless night she wondered if, perhaps, she had briefly drifted off and dreamt the entire episode. However, what most stood out to her was the word 'grozavie'. It was not so much the meaning of the word, but how her daughter had used it and this gave it a definition that Anca found illusive. Now, Anca needed to go to one of the village elders, believing that maybe, someone among them might have some knowledge of it, either by the villages' history, or its folklore.

Meanwhile, Nelu had gone out for the days' hunt, leaving Anca to finish the mornings' tasks. She carried water up from the stream, restocked their houses' store of firewood and performed any needed cleaning. It was nearly noon when she finished and with Alina in tow, Anca walked to a small house near the road that entered the village. There was a small handful of elders, those who provided leadership to the village. Their advice was not always heeded, but still, they were highly respected for their wisdom and experience, and advice was what Anca was hoping to find.

Stopping in front of the small house, Anca knocked on the door and patiently waited. She expected to hear footsteps, but there were none. She had never sought counsel from any of the elders and standing at the door of the oldest of them, wasn't sure what to expect. Having Alina by the hand, she watched as the door latch opened, and the door, swinging wide, revealed a short gangly woman. Everyone in the village knew her as Ileana, and she was believed to be the oldest of its residents. She typically wore her stark white hair up, but there always seemed to be few wisps of hair drifting across her face.

“Ileana,” Anca began. “I need your advice. Please.”

Ileana could see the pleading expression in her eyes, but looking down at Alina, saw a gaze that left her deeply troubled.

“Of course,” Ileana replied. “Come in.” Walking in, Anca found the small house filled items of days past, collected over a lifetime. But, the one thing Ileana seemed to treasure most was her bible, having been handed down from her mother, and her mother before her. In spite of its age, it was well cared for, and its pages unblemished by time.

“Please, sit down,” she said.

At one time, she had been offered a large house as a gift and an expression of respect. However, she chose instead, to continue living her somewhat monastic life and remained in the small house she had grown up in.

Anca sat at the crude wooden table as Alina investigated the contents of the house.

“Alina, come here,” Anca scolded. “Oh, no,” Ileana interrupted. “It's fine. Children are always curious.”

Having also sat at the table, Ileana moved her oil lamp and bible aside.

“So, Anca,” she continued. “What can I do for you?” Anca was surprised that Ileana already knew her name, but in such a small village, everyone knows everyone else and sometimes, a bit too well. Anca took a few moments to find the right words but Ileana seemed to know, at least, part of the reason for her visit.

“Alina is not like other children, is she?”

“No,” Anca replied.

“And why is it that she does not speak?” Ileana asked. Anca paused to gather her words. “Well,” she began. “That's why I wanted to talk to you.”

She proceeded to describe the events of the previous night, including the whisperings of a child who was supposedly unable to speak.

“So, what did she say?” Ileana asked. Having happened while she was in a state of drowsiness, Anca told her what she thought she heard. “It was only one word,” she answered. “Grozavie.” Ileana's expression turned from kind and wise to fearful and concerned. She knew the word as part of their language but had heard it before as a child when her mother told tales of vampires, werewolves, and other monsters, roaming the mountains, looking to satisfy their hunger for human flesh and blood. Then, it came to her from out of the dark well of memory. From stories told to her as a child, the Grozavie was a creature often blamed whenever a child went missing, or a baby was found dead in its crib, or a grave had been looted and the body consumed. “Did you say 'Grozavie'?” Ileana asked. Seeing the concern on her face, Anca became worried that her daughter may have become part of something sinister, something that had fouled her soul. “Yes,” Anca replied. “What is it?” Ileana paused as she glanced back at Alina, who was quietly entertaining herself with a few trinkets she had discovered.

“The Grozavie is a creature whose only purpose is to consume flesh and blood. It does not care if its meal is dead or alive.”

Ileana continued to describe it as something that could appear as a wolf, or fall into the shadows, going completely unnoticed, even by those who may be looking directly at it. “It has no soul,” she said. “It feels nothing. It cares only for the taste of flesh and blood.”

Anca listened closely but could not understand how Alina could have learned this word.

“I have never heard this story,” she said.

“Oh,” Ileana said. “It is an old story, and not often told. My mother used to tell it to me, no doubt to keep me from wandering off into the woods. But, that was long ago. Since then, we have supposedly become more civilized, and yet, many of the stories persist.”

Suddenly, their conversation was interrupted when Alina, having found a blanket fashioned of wolf hide, crept out on her hands and knees with it draped over her, tipped her face up and began howling. It was only a few moments, but when she stopped, looked at Ileana and giggled, sending her into a silent frenzy of fear. Turning to Anca, she made a panicked request.

“Please take your daughter home.” Anca had gone to her in search of advice on how she might better understand her daughter, but instead, was made to feel like an outcast and hurriedly taking Alina by the hand, made a sincere apology to the elderly woman. Ileana stood near a window and watching them leave, wondered if the story could be true, or perhaps, Alina heard some small mention of it from another child or a few of the villages' older residents, exchanging dark tales from their own past. Either way, a simple request for advice had taken an unpleasant turn, forcing Ileana to wonder if Alina was what she appeared to be, or perhaps, she was just a child, whose mind had become diseased from isolation.