The Devil's Daughter by Clifford Beck - HTML preview

Chapter 3

A few days had passed, and the village slipped back into its usual pace. Planting would have come to an end and while the women tended to their homes, the men organized themselves into hunting parties. Not yet old enough to pick up a rifle, some of the younger boys were given the responsibility of tending the villages' small flock of sheep. Although Gura Haith lay in the isolation of the mountains, a small alpine field was close enough that the herd could be safely led there and back, with minimal risk of attack by wolves and even though the boys who led them were not yet old enough to carry a rifle, they did arm themselves with slings and leather bags of pebbles. With enough practice, they had become expert marksmen in their own right. Although the flinging of a stone would not be enough to kill a predator, it was usually sufficient to scare it off.

With the holiday over, one day seemed to grind into the next. Such was the routine in the village of Gura Haith, and everyone had a job to do. The children who were old enough gathered water from the stream or sticks for the fires. The girls helped with cooking, cleaning, and looking after the younger children. Not only were they given responsibilities, but were also learning how to manage the families they would someday have. Even Father James spent a great deal of time tending to the terraced gardens and chopping firewood. He was not a man unaccustomed to work, and was not only glad to help but felt it was his obligation as a member of the community. It was this that earned him the respect of all the villagers.

But as much as Father James had been made a part of the village and its people, they still held onto the old ways. One day, he stood as witness to what their folklore demanded of them. An unmarried woman had taken ill and over time, she became pale and gaunt. Soon after, she began coughing up blood, and it was determined by the elders that she had been attacked by a vampire. Although she bore no marks, it was deemed that she be closely watched in the event of anything unearthly. Passing several days later, a grave was dug in the shallow, rocky soil.

A traditional six-sided coffin was built and the woman's body gently placed within it. Nailed shut, the coffin was lowered into the ground, and as was one of his responsibilities, Father James performed the service with the usual blessing and sprinkles of holy water. With those grieving around the woman's grave, he began the short walk back to the church when he was startled by the sound of crackling wood. Those in attendance had opened the coffin and following old traditions, conducted their own ceremony. Positioning a long, sharpened pole over the woman's chest, one of the elders hammered it through her heart and pounding further, pierced the floor of the casket, effectively pinning her body to the earth. This, they believed, would keep her from rising as a vampire, ensuring the safety of the village. The body lurched slightly as the pole entered it, while the smell of decomposing fluids, gas, and fecal matter overtook the small crowd of mourners as it purged beneath the force of repeated hammering.

As many times as Father James had witnessed this horrific ritual, he was always overcome by the sight of such barbarism. Perhaps, it was the fluids running out of the mouth, or the corpses' soft belching of gases that made him turn away. Or maybe, it was the expression of anger and vengeance on the faces of those gathered around the grave, committing, what Father James considered a crime against the dead. But the word of God could not stop what had become so deeply ingrained through centuries of folklore and fear. Some in the village were truly faithful people, yet everyone attended services, hoping that God would protect them from all things dark and sinister, providing them with the hope they so desperately needed.