The Widow’s Curse

by Lucas Flores

  As they walked toward the old basement, Marie thought about telling Josephine what had happened back in the West Wing, but decided against it. Instead, she described the memories that just played out in her mind and recounted how warm and inviting the palace used to be before the Blackhearts moved in.

  Once they approached the sealed entrance of the basement, Marie asked, “Why did you come?”

  Josephine lowered her head. “Because you are right. I had a talk with Therese after you left. I feel as if I died when my brother disappeared, but .. . . ” She walked to the corner of the room. “Here, Therese said it would be under this floor covering.”

  “But what?” Marie asked.

  Josephine pulled back the thick cloth and opened the hatch. “But, my friend, this is where we part ways.”

  “What do you mean?” Marie asked. “You’re not coming?”

  “No,” Josephine replied. “You of all people know my place is here. The palace is my home. A small part of me hopes that somehow, some way, things will get better and wrongs will be righted. And, I know this sounds silly, but if my brother ever comes back .. . . ” Josephine cleared her throat to keep her voice from cracking. “If he ever comes back, I think this will be the first place he comes.”

  “Oh Josephine, I understand.”

  “Besides, I’ve got to stick around here and keep an eye on my crown.”

  The two laughed.

  Marie reached out and grabbed Josephine’s arm. “You have to come,” she said. “You know you’re not safe here.”

  “Just get in the shaft, before someone catches us,” Josephine replied. “If anything, I’ll distract Elzana long enough to buy you some time. She’ll be up early inspecting everyone’s rooms. I can’t wait to see the look on her face.”

  Marie hugged Josephine. She knew she would probably never see her again.

  Josephine took the little baby bundle from Marie. “Now get down in there while I take a look at this little thing.” She cooed and clicked her tongue at the baby.

  Marie couldn’t help but smile as tears ran down her face.

  “Are you ready?” Josephine asked. “Do you have enough food?”

  “Yes, hand her down to me.”

  Josephine lowered the baby into Marie’s hands. “Here Marie, you’ll also need a lamp.” She gave the lamp to Marie and added, “You two be careful.”

  Once Marie was settled with the baby in one arm and the lamp in the other, she looked up one last time.

  “You have nothing to worry about,” Josephine said. “Therese and I will be all right. Now then, are you ready?”

  Marie gave Josephine a resounding nod to shut the hatch.

  “Just a few more steps, little one,” Marie whispered in a reassuring voice. Though she had never been in this tunnel before, she knew by its placement and proximity to the basement entrance that it would be short. Within moments she emerged into a room so large that her lamp faintly lit the area.

  Years ago, the basement had been used as a stable for livestock during freezing winters. It consisted of several small, fully enclosed rooms, for individual animals and supplies, and a very large room with a high ceiling. At the far end of the room, a portion of the wall was permanently removed so that livestock could be herded into the basement.

  Now, two rows of thick rusted bars separated the large room from the outside field. Though this area was exposed to the elements, no amount of wind or rain seemed to have removed the unmistakable odor of manure.

  Marie walked across the basement. She blew out the lamp and squirmed through the bars and surrounding overgrowth of plants, shielding the baby. The cool night air glided across her skin. Stars speckled the cloudless sky. No turning back. She hurried around the dilapidated fences, through the manicured gardens, and out of the palace grounds.

  The city streets were quiet and empty. Marie passed by all the familiar places she once knew. Everything was now completely different from the way she remembered it. She felt alienated, as if a visitor in her own town. The buildings and store fronts had once been vibrantly colored personalities that matched either the store or the store owner, with images of the goods or services offered within. Now, all of the store fronts were painted white. Even the street lamps, once ornately decorated wrought iron, were now featureless poles painted white. Every street corner mirrored the one before it. As Marie walked down the narrow, cobblestone streets, she had only her shadow to keep her and the baby company.

  The tiny houses in Marie’s old borough stood quiet. She, much like her neighbors, was by no means well off when she lived there, but she and the rest of the families took pride in their homes and in keeping everything neat and in place. In the darkness, the houses were faint silhouettes of some pale color that Marie could not identify. Were they all white as well? Or perhaps a light blue or grey.

  Years ago, the houses, much like the store fronts, sprang to life with color. No two houses near one another were alike. If one was yellow with red trim, then the neighboring house would be painted in shades of blue or green or would be red with yellow trim. Now, however, even in the darkness, Marie could see no distinguishing color differences among the houses. Even the moonlight seemed to paint the roofs of all the houses a pale blue.

  Marie walked to the end of the street, where her home once stood. The charred skeletal frame had not been cleared away. It stood in stark contrast to the rest of the houses on her block and was a reminder of the madness of the queen and Blackheart.

  Marie closed her eyes and shook her head. Memories of her son playing outside on the street vividly unfolded before her. Determined not to be swept away by the memories, she hurried around the structure. She stumbled across a wooden toy under the rubble. In nearly perfect condition, the toy reminded Marie of how she used to get after her son for not picking up after himself. Those days were gone. She would give anything to get them back. Despite her best efforts, her eyes filled with tears.

  It took some time for Marie to find the old drainage tunnel her family had used in their escape. She cleared the brush that concealed the tunnel’s opening and crawled in with the baby. She didn’t stop to think about what might be lurking in the darkness. This was the only way out of the city that she knew of without passing through the guarded city walls.

  Sitting on her knees inside the tunnel, Marie laid the baby down for a moment and lit a lamp she found inside the tunnel’s entrance. The dim light stretched a few feet ahead of her. The passageway was damp but mostly clear.

  The baby was wide awake.

  “You don’t want to miss a moment, do you?” Marie whispered. She set the lamp down a few feet in front of her, picked up the baby, and inched forward. She repeated this over and over again. It was a slow and difficult process that took the rest of the night.

  When dawn broke, Marie found herself at the other end of the tunnel outside the city. She stood and stretched her aching body. She turned to look back at the city. The taller buildings reached up and stood out against the blue and purple sky. She took in a breath of relief and danced with the baby for a moment before pressing onward into the forest.

  Wind blew through the trees. The leaves rustled loudly, as if applauding her return. Marie patted the bundle in her arms and whispered, “We’re free.”

  CHAPTER 3

  The queen was awakened by the sun as it crept over the horizon and spilled into her room. Why had the curtains been left open? She pulled the bed covers over her head and lay hidden for a few seconds before the morning bells forced her up. Her room was quiet and still. The usual flurry of women who helped her out of bed and prepared her bath was not there.

  “Uuuugh, that’s right. They’re not coming.”

  She crawled out of bed and shivered. Some warm tea would be nice. She reached over and pulled on the service bell. “There,” she said. “Someone will be here soon.”

  The queen walked into her dressing room and looked through the wall-mounted dressers and wardrobes for something to wear. Like her
bedroom, the closet was enormous and lined with windows. Beautifully appointed gold moldings and mirrors adorned the walls. Ornate, handcrafted furniture filled the room. It was her sanctuary, but too much for her to handle by herself.

  She opened every drawer and rifled through every piece of clothing she could find. She paused in front of one of the mirrors and took a deep breath. Her hair usually stuck out in all directions before being brushed and tamed, but now it lay flat and limp against her scalp.

  The queen slid her fingers along the side of her head. A handful of dry hair slipped through her fingertips. Her stomach churned.

  Knock, knock, knock.

  “Good morning, Ya’ Majesty,” a soft voice said from inside the bedroom. The queen turned, dusted the hair off her hands, and stepped out of the dressing room.

  The servant bowed. “Is there something I can do for ya’?” she asked.

  “Oh, yes,” the queen said. She gathered her thoughts. “Tea .. . . hot .. . . please.”

  “Yes, right away,” the servant said, rushing out of the room.

  The queen returned to the mirror. What is happening to me?

  * * *

  Sharp and piercing whistles echoed through the West Wing. A swarm of uniformed guards filled the hallways. Blackheart followed behind them. As they went down the hall, the men banged on doors and removed the servants.

  Blackheart, wearing a soft blue dress with white stitched flowers, was a bright and shimmery beacon who elicited fear in those around her. She knew no one in the palace felt comfortable in her presence. She liked it that way.

  A large masked man burst into Josephine’s room. He pulled her out by her hair and ordered her to wait for inspection.

  Blackheart smiled at Josephine’s disheveled appearance.

  The former princess, in a tattered nightgown and bare feet, looked to her left and right. Servants stood outside their rooms while guards ransacked their belongings.

  One by one, Blackheart interrogated the women. Her assistant and most trusted guardsman, Zane, remained close by her side and searched for anything that might pique her interest enough to order an execution.

  “You there,” Blackheart called.

  An older, unsteady woman leaning against the wall looked up.

  “What’s your name?” Blackheart asked. Wearing white gloves, she grabbed the servant’s face and looked for any signs of illness. “Can you squat? How much can you lift?” She gave the servant only a few seconds to respond before asking her to demonstrate her ability to bend and lift weight.

  The servant squinted and struggled to lift a weighted bag. Her arms trembled. Beads of sweat sprouted on her forehead.

  “How old are you?” Blackheart continued.

  “I’m forty-two years old, Your Grace,” the servant replied.

  The wrong answer to any of Blackheart’s questions was a death sentence. Blackheart stared down into the servant’s watery eyes. The meek and the powerful, face to face. She leaned in closer, until her nose almost touched the servant’s face. She knew what the servant was thinking and knew what she feared. No one wanted this much attention from Blackheart. “Off with her head!”

  The servant fell to the floor. “No!” she pleaded. Her face contorted as she reached up and grabbed at Blackheart’s hand. “Please, Your Grace.”

  Blackheart jerked her hand away. Without second guessing her decision, she moved on to the next servant.

  Guards swooped in and dragged the first woman away.

  In the middle of the next examination, loud screams erupted from one of the rooms down the hall. It sounded frail and hoarse, like an old screech owl. What in the world was that? Blackheart lost her concentration and pushed the servant back against the wall. “I’m not done with you, so don’t move.” She left her post and marched down the hall. “What’s going on in here?” she barked from the doorway.

  “Your Grace,” a guard replied. He struggled to keep his grip around the palace’s oldest servant.

  Therese screamed and pounded her frail fists against the large guard.

  “I thought I told you to skip this room!” Blackheart shouted.

  The guard’s eyes swelled and his jaw dropped. He let go of Therese and stood at attention. “My apologies, I wasn't informed."

  “Your apologies? Your apologies won’t get your work done on time, you stupid pig.” She pulled him out of the room and pushed him down the hall. “Now get back to work,” she ordered. “I won’t tell you again.”

  Blackheart stood in the hallway and admired the chaos that had unfolded. Guards were everywhere, moving in and out of the rooms, pulling out old dressers, boxes, and anything that could be used to hide something.

  Two of the guards drug a servant toward Blackheart. “This one was hiding food in her mattress,” the taller guard said. “She probably stole it from the kitchen.”

  The teary-eyed woman shook her head. “It’s my food, my dinner from last night. I wasn’t hungry so I saved it .. . . to eat later.”

  “Not hungry?” Blackheart smiled. “Lock her in the tower. Let’s see how hungry she gets after a week in there.”

  Blackheart looked around for her next victim. “Well, if it isn’t my little milkweed,” she said to Josephine with a large ghoulish grin. “You’re next.”

  Zane dropped a weighted bag in front of Josephine.

  “First I need to see you lift this bag,” Blackheart said.

  Josephine looked down at the bag and back at Blackheart.

  “Well?” Blackheart asked. “Don’t keep me waiting. Can you lift this bag or not?”

  “The question is,” Josephine retorted, “what gives you the right to storm in here and do all this?”

  Blackheart grabbed Josephine and pushed her back up against the wall. “I have every right. Like you, these people are no more than garbage and aren’t worth my spit. They have one purpose and one purpose only. And when they are no longer capable, it is my job to see that the garbage gets taken out. Now then, can you lift this bag or not?”

  Josephine reluctantly lifted the bag.

  “That’s a good girl.” Blackheart grinned. “Now let me see you lift the bag over your head.”

  A guard ran down the hallway and stopped in front of Blackheart and Josephine. “Your Grace! Your Grace!”

  “What is it?” Blackheart asked.

  “It’s Marie. She’s missing.”

  “What do you mean she’s missing?” Blackheart said. “Go and ask the foreman to make sure she doesn’t have her doing something else. Let me know what she says.”

  Blackheart turned back to Josephine. “Where was I? Oh, yes. Lift this bag over your head.”

  A quick smile flashed across Josephine’s face. She lifted the bag high into the air and dropped it.

  Blackheart smirked. “Just imagine it, dear. A line of these dirty sympathizers will be kneeled over and tied to barrels. You’ll be right up there with me when I give the order.”

  “You wouldn’t dare,” Josephine said.

  Blackheart laughed. “Or what, Josephine? Just be ready for tomorrow. I’ll send for you in the morning. Oh, and not to worry, I’ll have you looking your old self for a nice public appearance. It will be delightful.”

  Blackheart turned to Zane. “We’re done with this one. Let’s move on.”

  One of the queen’s ladies ran down the hall. Rattled and out of breath, she called out, “Your Grace? Lady Blackheart?”

  “Not again.” Blackheart groaned. “I’m over here. What can possibly be so important?”

  “It’s the queen,” the girl said. “Something terrible has happened. You’re required immediately.”

  “What’s wrong?” Blackheart asked.

  “I don’t know, Your Grace,” the girl replied. “I was sent to take you back to the queen’s bedroom.”

  Blackheart instructed Zane to supervise the sweep as she and the girl rushed out of the West Wing. Outside the queen’s bedroom, Blackheart opened the large doors.

  The
queen was in bed, sobbing. She used the edge of her night gown to pat her tearless eyes.

  Blackheart’s gaze was immediately drawn from the queen to a body lying on the floor in front of the bed. Who was it? The body was drained of life and color and appeared to be as dry as bone.

  Not again. The familiar scene sent chills down Blackheart’s spine.

  “I don’t understand. When she came in, she was alive and well,” the queen said. “But now .. . . now she is that! It happened right in front of me! One moment she was serving me tea and the next she was gasping for air. Then she fell and turned into that!”

  Blackheart kicked the corpse. It was stiff.

  “What happened to her?” the queen cried out.

  Blackheart ordered the girl to leave and to keep what she had seen to herself. She locked the door behind her.

  “Oh, my dear baby cousin,” Blackheart said. She walked to the bed to hug the queen. “Don’t worry. I’m sure once the doctor looks at the body, he’ll have an answer.”

  “I’ll tell you what happened to her,” the queen said. “She died because of me.”

  “Nonsense.”

  “It’s true. I have the Widow’s Curse,” the queen said.

  Blackheart scoffed. “The Widow’s Curse? Please. That’s nothing more .. . . that’s just an old .. . . an old story,” she said, taking in deep breaths.

  “Oh it’s very real, Elzana,” the queen said, “The curse has finally come for me after everything that we’ve. . .”

  Blackheart gasped for air. She pushed herself away from the queen and fell to the floor.

  The queen cried out for help. Guards outside the room were unable to open the locked doors.

  Breathless, Blackheart instinctively crawled toward the nearest window and opened it. Air came flowing into the room. She took in a few deep breaths and leaned against the window frame with her eyes closed. She could barely stand.

  “Do you see? It’s me," the queen cried. “I’m cursed.”

  “Shut up!” Blackheart shouted. “Give me a minute to breathe.” The wind never felt sweeter. Like cold water on a hot, dry day, it was refreshing.