Sarah England - Baba Lenka - Pure Occult Horror

“That’s right weird, that is.”

“She doesn’t frighten me anymore, either, not since I let her tell me her story…”

She was frowning. I’d said too much. She wouldn’t want to be my friend anymore now, would she? And the thought of that was unbearable. We’d been together at her house every day since we’d met. I’d put on weight. Gran was saying I could go to school again soon – at the one in the next village. And I’d found something I loved to do and could do well – I could dance. For the first time since Bavaria, life was colourful again, and it was all thanks to Nicky.

She stared for a while, then seemed to make up her mind and put her arm around my shoulders. She smelled of spices and soap. “I’ll tell you summat now, but you keep your gob shut about this, Eva, right?”

“Yeah, course.”

“I mean it.”

“I swear.”

“On your mother’s life.”

“Yes, I swear on my mother’s life, and my dad’s.

“And Sooty’s – you said you thought a lot about that cat.”

“Aye, and Sooty’s life, then.”

“Right, well my mum does voodoo. It’s where you get a doll and stick pins in it. And sometimes she dances after drinking this special brew and goes into a trance. She does it with my auntie. I’ve seen them.”

My eyes were out like organ stops. “Bloody ’ell.”

“So I know, like, what you’re saying about ghosts is true. There are spirits, Eva. But you’ve got to be right careful because there are bad ones, really bad evil ones.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, you know how you were saying she scared you, this old woman, when she were coming out o’ t’ wardrobe? Well, the really bad ones mean to scare you and scare you bad. At first, they pretend to be your friend or a dead person you once knew – to get your trust so you let them in. You can send them to other people an’ all and make evil things ’appen to them, but once you work with these evil spirits, you owe them your soul, right? You can’t go back, not ever. So you have to decide. And me, I want to be with Jesus. I’m just saying.”

I looked back into those chestnut eyes for the longest time. How could I tell her? How could I tell her it was not only far too late to decide, but there had never been a choice? That whatever force was behind Lenka was now channelling through me? That with every drip-fed dream, the story lost a little more Lebensfreude – and dipped its quill into a darker pot of ink for the next chapter? Invited… accepted…

She took my hand. “I’ll always be here for you.”

“Thank you.” She seemed older than time, far older than me, anyway. But I wondered if she would be if she had any idea what was coming.

Her eyes searched mine, seeing what others could not. “I see the wolf in there, Eva. And I’m still here for you.”

Good people did exist, people who saw the darkness in others and still loved them. She was one of them. And I think in that moment a tiny part of my spirit was preserved – a locket buried deeply inside an attic chest, safely stored until the time was right.

My eyes, Eva’s eyes, prickled. The only way, the only course ahead, was to live as Eva Hart by day and Lenka by night – the sun and the moon. I could and would keep them separate for as long as possible, at least until the story was told. Then maybe Baba Lenka would leave me alone? I mean, that was what she wanted, right? All she wanted…

But of course, I had no concept of how unspeakable, evil and inconceivably horrific the story would be. If I had, perhaps even at that late stage a different choice might have been made.

The day after Lenka Heller turned sixteen, her mother called her into the kitchen.

“Daughter, there are things you need to know. You are now of age.” Indicating a seat at the opposite side of the table, she poured them both a cup of honey mead.

Lenka looked over her shoulder at the sweet autumnal day she’d planned to spend with Oskar. Apples weighed down the trees, and the air was heady with ripe fruit and warm earth. He lived in a wooden house on the nearby lake. Known as Teufelssee, the expanse of water was still and dark even in summer, with mountain mists shrouding it for much of the year. In her mind she was already running through the forest to meet him on the shore.

“Sit down!” her mother said again.

Lenka sighed. “Can’t it wait? I wanted to—”

“No, it can’t. Come, drink some mead with me.”

She slumped onto a chair and took a sip. Laced with spices and vodka, the liquor shocked her throat, and she gasped. Her mother had never given her alcohol in her life. This must be serious. “I suppose this is about boys?”

“No.”

She took another sip and tried not to cough. “ Mutter , I know about, you know—”

“Lenka, this is not about boys. This is about your family, where you come from and who you really are. It’s time you knew.” Clara took a deep breath before downing her own cup of mead in one.

“Who I am? But—”

“You have asked many times about… about your abilities.”

Lenka frowned. “And you have always refused to answer.”

“Yes, because you were too young to know. I wanted to put it off for as long as possible, to allow you to enjoy your childhood. But now your grandmother is very ill, seriously so, and this cannot be delayed. I’m not sure how much longer she can hold out, and there are things you must be told.”

“This grandmother I have never seen? Where is she? What is she dying of? She cannot be so old—”

“Not so old, no. But she is riddled with the worms of disease and weakens by the day.” Clara dipped her head. “I am sorry you have never seen her, but there were important reasons. It was not easy to be around one such as her.”

“So where is she? How do you know all this if she is not here?”

“So many questions.” She poured herself another cup. “Drink yours, Lenka. You will need it.”

“Why? Why will I need it?”

“Because I am afraid for you. You have to be prepared—”

“Mutter, I don’t understand any of this.”

“Your grandmother lives far away, in Romania. That is where I was born. I left because of what my mother carries and because soon it will be what you carry, too – call it a legacy – and it is this you must be prepared for.”

Lenka drank the mead, beginning to relish the warmth spreading through her veins. Now her dark grey eyes met her mother’s head-on. “Prepared for what?”

“To receive your gift. Some will say gift, others might say curse. But it is an extraordinarily powerful one. A generation, sometimes two, will be skipped depending on the lifespan of the carrier, but it is passed down the female line of our family, and there is nothing that can be done about it. As such, you are to inherit Baba Olga’s gift – soon, possibly within days.”

“And this gift concerns my abilities? But I already have it – I know things about people without being told, I hear whispers and thoughts and—”

Clara Heller shook her head. “No, no, that’s child’s play. So you see ghosts, know what’s about to happen before it happens, hear a voice telling you someone’s inner secrets. So can many a gypsy. Those tricks are easy. Even I—”

“Yet you told me to keep it to myself.”

“Yes, because look, Lenka – see what happens to those who admit such things. There are people who can still remember the massacre of witches. Look how they ripped those women from their homes and tortured them in filthy jails. This was the worst-affected area in the whole of Europe – nine hundred just in this country, more than anywhere else in the world. Churchmen accuse us of worshipping the devil. So, yes, keep it to yourself. But know this: what you think you have is nothing, nothing at all to what will soon be yours. We, you and I, are not German like your father. Your father comes from the Black Forest; his father before him made clocks! You and I are from a caravan of wanderers still looking for their place on earth.”