Not A Bad Trade

When Jessel rejoined the world of the conscious the beldame was by her side. Literally, in bed, by her side, snoring. It was like a chainsaw and boat engine had a baby and the baby hated her. The noise, the smell of the gross room, the pounding headache, it all added up and faster than her legs could carry her to the toilet she found herself on her hands and knees dry heaving in front of the bathroom door.

Madam Kay sprung out of bed with a quickness that Jessel would have thought impossible of such an aged woman. With some effort and a bit of sweat, Jessel was helped to her feet and ushered into the bathroom.

Jessels instinct suggested that she lurch towards the toilet but her lack of strength left her to the will of the older woman who carefully walked her to the bathtub. Violent cramps and pain all over. One foot at a time she made it slowly into the tub. She was naked, had she been naked the whole time? She tried to cover herself with her hands.

She crouched, and shuddered, dry heaved a little and almost fell over, the witch reached out and steadied her with one hand while turning on the bathtub and testing the heat of the water with the other hand. Within a few minutes, a pleasantly hot water had moved up to her ankles and she slowly lowered her butt into the water. She almost shot up out of the hot water when made its way to her groin but she gritted her teeth until her body got used to the heat. It burned but not enough to push her to get up.

The witch left and came back with a plastic ziplock bag filled with what looked like salt or sugar, the old woman poured the substance into the water, mixing it with her wrinkly hand. Jessel made no protests and asked no questions, she had trusted this old woman to help her escape and allowed her to work magic on her, to remove parts of her. If the old woman wanted to bring her harm, Jessel took a trusting leap and guessed that it probably wasn't going to be with magical bath salts.

The old woman caressed her head, "Stronk." She gave a reassuring smile.

"Now, I shup. Ve change hur, cloth and move yew." She waited a beat, "Feed too, no?"

Jessel did not want to be left alone right now and she said so.

"Saff, stronk. I'll be back. I call." The old woman lightly touched the top of her head, stood, turned and exited the bathroom turning out the light as she left. The bathroom door remained open and a blessedly meager amount of light bathed the sink and mirror, not leaving Jessel in complete darkness but also nothing close to bright which helped a lot with the headache. There was movement to be heard in the motel room, the door opened and closed, Jessel was alone. For the first time she could remember she was alone. It felt good.

Magical or just plain old epsom salt, whatever it was that was put into the water was doing it's job. Tension ran from her body, she fully relaxed and let her mind wander. She began to feel drowsy and soon fell asleep.

A tremendous crash came from the other room. She was in the bath and while she couldn't see the door fly off the hinges and wood splinter everywhere, there was no way that wasn't the case from the sound of it.

She heard heavy footsteps thumping across the bedroom and she felt herself completely unable to move. Flea and Lice, the left and right hand of the Count walked into the bathroom. They were gigantic men, she knew that it was impossible for them both to be able to fit into the small bathroom, the room changed slightly, giving them plenty of room. She would have bet her life that they'd entered the room exactly as she had last seen them, Flea in perfect health and wearing that ever present malicious look on his face and Lice, as strong as an ox and just about the same size. Each man wearing the ceremonial robes of evening prayer.

But now they were different. Both were dressed in commoner clothing, Flea's face was a melted mess, she could smell the burning hair could only make out one of his eyes, the other had boiled in its socket and burst, clear liquid ran over the burns on his cheek. Cuts covered Lice on every surface of skin that she could see and his clothes were so bloody that there was no telling what color it had been. There was no change, it was just now how they were. She knew they shouldn't fit in the room, but they did, she knew they had entered in perfect condition and now were absolutely mauled almost beyond recognition. She felt a flutter of confusion, trying to understand what was happening.

"Alright now," said Flea in a low voice.

"Let's get you back to court." Lice finished the sentiment.

Shoulder to shoulder they leaned over her naked body, Lice grabbing her feet and Flea grabbing her by her hair and throat. Immediately her will to live took over and she started thrashing, clawing and biting at the men. They easily hauled her dripping kicking and screaming from the bath out into the main room.

The room was filled with everyone she had ever known, hundreds of people and they all hated her. The crowd screamed her name and wished her the most evil of fates. Angry voices shouted that they should tear her limb from limb. Other voices, angrier still said that she should be put to work in the shed. Hearing that suggestion Jessels resistance amped up, she would rather die than have to work in the depths of the shed. Her struggle was nothing against the impossible strength of Flea and Lice.

She saw the servant Burton who had helped her and Baba, his right arm was a ruined mess of blood, his left eye socket was crumpled and swollen and his throat was torn open. He blamed her and hated her and knew it. She could feel it. He tried to say it, no words could come from someone with their throat cut like that, blood spat from his mouth, spraying and oozing.

Breen was holding her twins, both dead, each with an eye gouged out. She blamed Jessel, screaming curses at her with everything she had.

An old woman that she didn't fully recognize did not yell at her but stared and smiled. From thin air the old woman pulled pruning sheers. The tool plunged into her stomach. Where her belly button had been was now just a bloody mess. She raised her sheers high into the air and some of the onlookers surged towards her, they hugged her and kissed her. They leapt into the air, brushing their fingers against the bloody sheers and then putting their bloody fingers into their mouths. They quaked in ecstasy.

The short walk felt like hours, she did not tire from their kicking and screaming, her wound poured blood, the floor was covered in it. It trailed behind her. She cast her gaze around, there were several inches of her blood on the floor and everyone danced, some stooped low to drink. Her blood was now knee high.

She was suddenly on the bed and she could not move, the crowd was gone. When she thought of them, they were there again in the back, briefly, then they were gone again.

Her wound was gone and her belly button with it. In the room it was now just her and Count Ordog. A tall and grotesquely thin man.

He entered her room, the light behind him in the hallway shadowing him, she could not see his face but he was unmistakable.

Now, here she was as an adult, trapped in a nightmare with him. She was in a nightmare! This didn't make any sense at all, it's all a dream! Her memories were causing this nightmare. She strained, every muscle and thought she could muster, trying to force herself awake.

A slap stung her cheek, it throbbed.

"You're not going anywhere." The words were whispered but heavy.

He straddled her, his knees on either side of her hips, he looked her over and the desire in his eyes was something that she knew too well. He leaned in, his nose touching hers.

"Well, piglet, will you squeal for me or shall I make you squeal for me. You know which I like best." She could smell his breath, the wine he liked and the tobacco he chewed.

She closed her eyes and held her breath. Willing herself to wake.

"No no no my little one," she felt him stroke her eyelids, "You can close your eyes, you can even remove them, but you are still mine. You will always be mine. You. Belong. To me."

He kissed her and she did not kiss back. She felt his tongue push past her lips and push against her teeth. The tongue became a liquid, pushing its way around her clamped teeth into her mouth. Her body spasmed as her mouth and throat and nose filled with his tongue, she felt it pouring all over her, she realized that it was no longer his tongue, she was underwater. The force that held her in place let up but she was tangled, he'd become like a plastic membrane. His smile loomed in her face. She was tangled and drowning. She felt like she was in a box, she trashed, unable to shake him off.

A hand gripped the roots of her hair and jerked her head back. The Count's face disappeared and she could breath again. Short ragged breaths, sputtering and spitting out water. The hand on the back of her head held a fist full of hair did not let go. She heard the drain sucking down water. She felt herself being pulled over the edge of the tub and in short order was looking up at the old woman.

"I am gone fer scerty minoots and yew almost die. Worse than beby." Her head shook in disappointment.

Still thoroughly rattled, Jessel didn't even consider a response. What a horrid dream, she wanted to forget it. She wanted to get up, dry off, crawl into bed and forget. To dream another dream.

It was the shower curtain that she had been entwined with and now that she was awake and not drowning, she uncoiled herself from its murderous embrace with ease.

"Aap, aap, geet aap." The witch pulled on her arm, tugging on it.

Jessel did not move. The old woman pulled several more times and in frustration she snorted. Maybe it was more off a scoff with a snort thrown in. Or a snort with a scoff thrown in. Either way, Jessel rocked herself forward off her ass and onto her feet the next time Kay attempted to pull her up.

Once on her feet she steadied herself. The old woman handed her a towel, looking about, surveying the wet floor and ruined shower curtain.

"Vat a mess. Geet dry and geet drest." She nudged some plastic bags with her foot.

"Ve need leave soon, change hair and," the old woman waved her hand up and down the younger woman, "change, yew must change." She pointed at a pile of plastic bags and nodded at Jessel.

"Ok." Anything more than that was to much for the moment, having a nightmare and almost drowning in a bathtub had left her without much to say for the moment.

The beldame gave the young woman a serious look, "I'll be back." She turned around and left the bathroom closing the door behind her.

Jessel looked over herself, checking for injuries and she realized two things. First, her vision was surprisingly a bit better than it had been. Things were clearer, she had never realized that her sight, her actual normal sight was poor. She wondered what the world outside of this decrepit motel room would look like through her new eyes. The second thing, she didn't have a belly button anymore. She thought of the dream, surely it wasn't… no, the dream was a dream. The witch must have taken it as payment for her new eyes. All in all not a bad trade in her estimation. Her mind pondered for a second on what a witch might do with a belly button. Toss it in a cauldron with some eye of newt and cats tail maybe?

She called out through the door, "What are-," she paused when she realized that she didn't want to know what would be done with her belly button.

"Thank you," she called out instead. She was thankful. There was no response from the other room. Jessel started digging through the bags and set to work, making herself a new woman.