Baba Lenka

by S E England

  “All right, well, the good news is I don’t think there’s much to worry about. She’s having withdrawal symptoms – hallucinations, by the sound of it – so I’ll prescribe a mild sedative to help her come off the amitriptyline and suggest she stays home from school a while longer. Meantime, she’ll need some tests to check out her cardiac function, dot the i’s and cross the t’s, as it were. Let’s give her a full MOT.”

  The days blurred. And later, from the back seat of the car, petrol stations and streetlamps whizzed by in the indigo of November dusk. Our footsteps echoed along fluorescent hospital corridors, and the smell of fear and disinfectant tainted the air. My heart was okay, they told Mum and Dad while I stared up at the ceiling at cartoons of Mickey and Minnie Mouse. The whole thing was due to a panic attack caused by hallucinations, just as the family doctor had said. All was perfectly normal, and there was no need to worry. Meanwhile, it would be wise to ease the withdrawal from amitriptyline by continuing with the mild sedative prescribed. Just for a while.

  It made sense. Everyone was nodding and agreeing.

  Mum stayed home, clacking knitting needles at the end of my bed while I drifted in and out of a sedated sleep. I’d get over this. It would pass, all come out in the wash…

  And while she was there, Baba Lenka didn’t come.

  The minute she left, however, as soon as dusk fell and the soft hoot of the owls blew like panpipes in the woods, that wardrobe key turned, the door groaned on its hinges, and the spirit of Baba Lenka blew over on the cold, cold wind.

  Sedated now, I could no longer call out. Instead, fear washed over me in dull expectation. Paralysed, my eyes looked into pupils reflecting my upside-down face, and like pins to a magnet, the draw to look into them was unstoppable.

  You must take the gift, Eva… Accept this or it will kill you!

  ***

  Chapter Six

  A heated exchange drifted up from the lounge.

  My eyes flicked open. The conversation was yet again about me. You could tell by all the heavy sighing.

  Had a day passed since we’d got back from the hospital? Or two, maybe three? Curious, I pushed back the covers and crept to the top of the stairs to listen. The afternoon had set to a foggy drizzle, and every few seconds, car headlights lit the oak-panelled stairway in a ghostly sheen. The bloodstains on these floorboards were no longer a puzzle. The scene had played out a few times now: an elderly lady had been dragged up the stairs by her hair, having been hit hard on the side of her neck with a rolling pin. Blood drooled from the side of her mouth and out of her nose, every step jolting the bones of her spine. I saw, too, the tall man who had done it, the thin strands of greying hair that barely covered his pasty scalp. Grim-lipped, he had the gleam of self-righteousness, of entitlement, in pale eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. ‘Mother’, he called her – never ‘Mum’, always ‘Mother’.

  “Well, we can’t go on like this, can we? It’s been the best part of a year, and nothing’s worked. She’s just not right, is she? And we’re broke, Pete – I have to get some work. That plastic sheet covering the wall isn’t safe, and come winter it’ll be bloody freezing. I can’t sit home all day every day doing bloody nothing.”

  “I agree. It’d be better if you could work, then I’d ’ave time to try and brick it up meself. As it is, I’m on double shifts.”

  “Chicken and the bloody egg, though, isn’t it? I can’t get out for interviews and leave her, can I?”

  “Well, do you think she’s well enough to go to school, then?”

  “You know she isn’t. Anyway, the doctors all say she’s perfectly normal. No, I think what we need here is a priest.”

  “You what? You mean a bloody vicar? Are you joking? It’s mental illness—”

  Silence hissed.

  “This isn’t something a doctor can fix, though, is it? All they’ve done is zonk her out with drugs that’ve given her hallucinations and made it so she can barely get herself to the bathroom. Listen to me, there’s something unnatural about this. There’s an energy here even you can’t deny. You must have noticed how many lightbulbs keep blowing? That one in Eva’s room won’t work at all. Replace it and it sparks out instantly. And how when I come down in the morning, the television’s on? We switch it off at night, yet there it is – buzzing with static the next day! And then there are drawers left open when I know I shut them. I’ve had glasses leap out of the kitchen cupboards and smash on the floor. Even the cat won’t come inside anymore.”

  “What are you saying? That we’ve got a poltergeist?”

  “I don’t know—”

  “Well, I don’t think we can blame all that on Eva.”

  “Children pick up these things, though, don’t they? I mean, she had that horrible experience, followed by strong medication. Then we bring her to an old house that’s fed her imagination. It’s no wonder she’s disturbed. She told me the house is haunted, by the way – by the old lady who died here, apparently – and that Baba Lenka lives in the wardrobe. I think there’s something really wrong, and I think it’s supernatural—”

  “You’re a superstitious lot, where you come from—”

  “What do you mean, ‘a superstitious lot’? I was brought up in the same country as you.”

  I could feel my dad squirming. “I just meant your history. You knew all that stuff when we were in Bavaria about Slavic customs—”

  “Well, of course I did. My mother told me things when I was a child, before she died. And I’ve read about the place; I wanted to know where my family came from. It’s natural!”

  “Don’t take on, love. I didn’t mean anything by it, only that we don’t believe in all that mumbo-jumbo in our family, that’s all.”

  Whoa! He was on dangerous territory there. My mother’s eyes must have been flashing a storm. He’d stopped short of calling her a Russian harpy like he’d done before, which was something I’d never understood. She was hardly Russian. Although she did have high cheekbones, as I did, along with flame hair. And she sure as hell had a temper.

  “Right, well thanks for that. So ’ave you got a better suggestion, then, fucking Einstein? Isn’t it at least worth trying? I take it you do agree there’s a problem?”

  “Of course I do. We both want what’s best for Eva.”

  She sighed heavily. “Right. Good. Well then, that’s something.”

  There was another long pause.

  Then she said, “Okay, well, can we at least get the house blessed? Let’s say Eva’s right and the house is haunted? I mean, when push comes to shove, you’ve got to admit she’s not getting any better, is she? She used to be a lively little girl, and now she walks around in a trance. Her eyes are unfocused, and she’s hearing and seeing things that no one else can. So I vote we ask someone at the church for help, at least get someone to come and talk to her.”

  The church…

  I slammed a hand to my mouth. They were going to bring someone from the church to sprinkle holy water around. Didn’t they know it was far too late for that?

  ***

  When the vicar arrived, a rotund man of around forty, with a mass of thick chestnut-coloured hair and a matching beard, he sat in the lounge drinking tea with my mother. For a while they exchanged pleasantries and a few lies, while I sat on the stairs with my ears pressed against the bannisters.

  First, Mum told him exactly the same story she’d told all the doctors – that I’d been upset at a funeral, had unfortunately looked into the coffin, seen a dead body and had nightmares ever since. I’d been picked on at my last school, and there had been a fight. Following that, we’d come here to what I was convinced was a haunted house. She told him about the smashed glasses, the television coming on in the middle of the night, and my screaming conviction that the wardrobe door was opening. I was a frightened little girl, she told him. Terrified. And, as such, was now under sedation and unable to go to school. She was half out of her mind with worry, couldn’t leave me to go to work, and, well…look, she told hi
m, we needed to fix up the house and were broke. “We really are at our wits’ end, Father.”

  “I’m Church of England, Mrs Hart,” he corrected her. “And please, call me Colin.”

  There was an awkward silence. My parents had never been to his church.

  After a moment, during which he let that mutual knowledge sit uncomfortably between them, he said, “All right, let’s start at the beginning, shall we? So when exactly did the disturbances begin – the wardrobe door opening, television set coming on of its own accord and so on?”

  Quickly she brought him up to speed, her voice somewhat sharper following the rebuke. “Any road,” she finished. “We were wondering if you’d bless the house? My husband thinks it’s a poltergeist we’ve got.”

  Their voices murmured on, with him assuring her there was no such thing. Then, finally, a cup clattered onto a saucer, and the big man’s shadow filled the gap in the lounge doorway. “However, I will of course bless the house, Mrs Hart. I did actually know the old lady who lived here very well, you know. Marlene was a regular attendee, never missed a service and often did the flowers. If ever you feel you would like to be on our roster, we’d be delighted to welcome you. And your husband and daughter.”

  “Thank you, Vicar. I’ll bear it in mind. I’ve a bit on at the minute, though, like I said.”

  “Of course, well, whenever you’re ready. God’s house is always open.”

  “Right.” She pushed open the lounge door. “Have you brought the holy water? To do the blessing with?”

  “Of course.”

  They stepped into the hallway, and I shrank back, scrambled back into bed and pulled up the covers.

  He did my room last, murmuring words he did not believe. He might as well have been sprinkling vodka onto concrete for all the good it was doing. Then, when he’d completed the task, he sat on the edge of my bed, his weight causing the mattress to seesaw alarmingly. He slid almost to the floor.

  Adopting a cheery ‘let’s talk to a child’ voice, he said, “Hello, Eva? I’m Colin. How are you feeling today?”

  Everything about him was repulsive, from the wiry black hairs poking out of his cheeks to the speckles of grease on the lens of his glasses.

  “All right.”

  “Your mummy’s been telling me you’ve had some nightmares?”

  I closed my eyes. Maybe he would just go away?

  “But there’s nothing to worry about, you know. There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

  What a twit! Hadn’t he just been uttering the words ‘In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost’?

  “And I can assure you that the lady who died here has gone to heaven. I knew her very well. She used to come to my church and arrange flowers. I know it’s hard to understand the concept of death, but—”

  “She isn’t in heaven. She was murdered, and her blood’s on the landing floorboards. Her son did it, and she’s mad as all hell. You should dig up the grave and find all the bones he broke—”

  He reeled back as if he’d been slapped. “Pardon? Oh dear, no. I think someone’s imagination is running away with her.”

  “He hit her in the neck with a rolling pin, then dragged her up the stairs by the hair while she was still alive—”

  “Eva, stop it!” My mother’s voice. “I’m so sorry, Father—”

  Colin the Vicar’s voice was harder now, too. And louder. “You are a very disturbed little girl indeed, aren’t you? I knew the old lady who lived here, and I also knew her son. He’s a church-going man, a doctor. Well, not exactly a doctor, a radiographer, I think – but a caring, good man. His mother fell in the kitchen. Bernard lifted her upstairs and put her into bed, where she passed peacefully in her sleep. He lived here, too, and doted on her, took care of her. So you can’t say things like that, Eva. It’s wrong – very, very wrong.”

  While he was full monologue, my body began to twitch and then jerk alarmingly. Flour was all over my hands, and a blinding pain shot down the side of my neck… Strong hands grabbed my hair and began to drag me along the floor. The roots were being yanked out of my head. I tried to reach up, but my skull cracked against the foot of the stairs, then, oh God, the pain…bump, bump, bump…every metal ridge of those stairs slammed into each vertebra. My leg twisted, and screams rent the air. Blood was pouring down my nose…the back of my head pounding…

  “What’s she doing?” Colin stood up and began to back towards the door. “It looks like a fit!”

  “Oh, bloody ’ell. Call the doctors, tell them it’s an emergency – hurry up!” My mother ran over and slapped my face repeatedly. “Eva! Eva! Can you hear me?”

  I think she must have held me down until the doctor came, the same one who’d prescribed mild sedatives. He wacked up the dose and injected a syringe full of something for good measure. “Well, she’s calm enough now, but I think we might need to consider epilepsy. That could be it.”

  “Epilepsy? Oh, bleedin’ Nora. What’s that when it’s at home?”

  After that incident, the days grew shorter. The beech trees in the woods shone silvery in the moonlight, and fog crept in at dawn, muffling the smoky air with damp, grey mizzle. Sooty took to watching me until the light faded and the moon rose, his yellow eyes steady, purr hypnotic. Sometimes he sat on my chest, creeping in as close as he could, as if drawing fear itself from my breath.

  And then one day, my mother must have felt secure, or desperate, enough to leave the house. Why not? I slept soundly all day and all night. It was just after lunch. She said she had an interview for a waitressing job in a local steakhouse. It would mean Dad wouldn’t have to do double shifts and could mend the hole in the wall. She wanted to surprise him with the good news.

  “Just carry on sleeping, princess. I won’t be long.”

  Her words floated on the air.

  She was gone for two hours.

  And when she came back, her screams ricocheted around the whole street. During that short period of time, someone had slashed through the plastic sheeting at the side of the house and burgled us. We didn’t have much, but they’d taken the television set and Dad’s whisky. Most of the glassware had gone and my mother’s pearls and engagement ring. The only room that hadn’t been touched was mine.

  She bounded upstairs. “Eva! Wake up! Eva – oh, thank God.”

  “What?”

  “Well, didn’t you hear anything?”

  “What? No, nothing apart from you screaming just now.”

  “Eva, we’ve been burgled. The bloody television’s gone. My jewellery… Are you telling me you didn’t hear a thing?”

  “No, I swear. I’m sorry, Mum.”

  She sat on the edge of my bed then and cried, just put her head in her hands and howled. “I can’t take any more of this, I just can’t.”

  I reached out through a misty haze to touch her. “I’m sorry, Mum.”

  “I’m at the end of my tether, Eva.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “So you keep bloody saying!”

  The harshness of her tone was a painful jar. My face screwed up, and tears burst out.

  “Oh, don’t start, Eva. Just don’t.”

  I cried harder.

  Her anger was a rabid dog unleashed. Pacing the room, she stomped back and forth, the skin taut across those glass cheekbones, every sinew tight in her face. She wanted to hit someone very badly indeed. The flame red of her hair glinted like fire in the low winter sun, and then she swung around to face me.

  “I’ve tried not to dwell on this Eva, I really have. But I can’t help thinking this is all down to you. Ever since the funeral, you changed. The day before, you were perfectly all right – a nice, normal child – but something happened, didn’t it? I can almost see the moment. It’s on the edge of my mind…”

  I stared at her.

  To you…

  “We took such a bloody risk even going, but I were told she’d left us the ’ouse, and even that were a bloody lie…” Her eyes, so like mine – dark grey
, slanted upwards – sparked with a sudden flash of understanding. “You didn’t take owt, did you? Remember when I told you how important it was not to take anything away? Either from the house or the coffin?”

  I shook my head.

  “But you took something, didn’t you? You must ’ave.”

  “No.”

  “It’s there on the edge of my mind, something. What am I missing?”

  “I didn’t take anything, Mum. The only thing—”

  “What? What only thing?”

  “Well, there was something on the lane…” I so badly didn’t want her to take the poppet away. It was a good thing, not a bad thing, and had nothing to do with Baba Lenka or her coffin. I started to cry again. “It was just a toy on the lane. I found it. I didn’t take it from the house or the coffin, and it wasn’t Baba Lenka’s. It was just a doll.”

  All her colour washed away. She lunged over and gripped my shoulders “What doll?”

  I turned my face to one side.

  She shook me. “What doll, Eva?”

  Tearfully I reached inside the pillowcase for the little thing that had brought me comfort night after night, and took out the crow poppet.

  “Flamin’ ’ell!” She whipped it off me. “So that’s it! I knew there were summat! Right, well, this little fucker’s gonna get burned to high hell.”

  “No, please! It’s just a doll.”

  “It is not just a doll, Eva, it’s a witch’s poppet, and don’t you dare tell your dad about this. It’s what’s called an alraun. And because of this, you’ve brought a curse home with you. I expressly told you not to an’ all. I said, did I not, ‘do not take anything away’? And now look – see how ill you are, and look what’s ’appened to us all! Think about it if you don’t believe me. And think hard an’ all. You either invite this stuff in or you accept it…either way, it comes through you!”

  I was bawling my eyes out by then, afraid of my mother’s anger yet more afraid still of the consequences of burning the alraun. It was part of me.