“Fear gripped my stomach, I had forgotten to drink blood. I bit his ear and took a drop, but it was too late, the spell had been broken. I went to the bathroom and looked in the mirrorand already my beauty was fading, lines covered my face. I screamed and Louis ran to my side. “My God, what happened to you?” he asked and left me, running from the room. By that night I looked as I do now, like a hundred and fifty year old woman.

Forever
By Arecee

 

---

“Help me,” the old woman croaked. She reached for my arm with her bony, twisted fingers. Her cracked and ragged nails highlighted by a blue-black accumulation of dirt beneath them.

“Get away,” I said shoving her hand away from my arm. I looked around the small park for someone to protect me. Protect me from an old and obviously feeble woman. I’m not that sick, yet.

“Please help me, mister,” she asked again, the words passed from her leathery lips and cut through me. Her breath tainted the world with the smell of decay.

“Get away crone, take my change and leave,” I said throwing a handful of coins at her feet.

“I don’t want your money, mister; I need your help.” She wheezed, her body greedily consuming huge amounts of oxygen.

I regretted my decision to allow a wretch of a woman to entwine me with her obvious pitiful life, but couldn’t summon the courage to merely walk away. For the last several weeks, since receiving word from my physician that I stood on death’s door, my world view had softened. “That’s all I can give, what else can I do?”

“You can kill me,” she responded. A shiver ran through me as her words chilled my blood.

Kill me! Her ghastly mouth had actually formed words asking me to kill her, which she delivered with as little emotion as she might have shown ordering a loaf of bread: Her back horribly bent, she used a stick to stand. Rags barely covered a body dreadfully eaten by sores. Her frail skull pushed against wrinkled and weathered skin that threaten to split. Eyes glowed with a demonic shine under brows grown long from years of neglect. She struggled to take each breath; surely she had reached her end.

Why would she ask to be killed; and why me?

“You look as though death is near,” I said, as I tried to walk away. “Just wait, your last will find you soon enough.”

“As your last will soon find you,” she wailed.

I spun to confront her. “How do you know about me?”

Her face contorted into a moldy smile. “It is my business to know. I’ve searched for someone like you for years.”

“Woman- you have days left, you should be making your peace. Not tormenting others who are afflicted.” Inoperable is how my doctor had termed my cancer. It’s untreatable because of its location. I was on my way to see an attorney about certain changes in my will- final responsibilities I couldn’t avoid. “You look like you should be in a hospice, surrounded by your loved ones.”

“I’ve looked like I do for over two hundred years. Please, mister, end my life for me,” she pleaded as she reached for my arm again.

I drew back in disgust as her nails grazed my arm. Two hundred years? I didn’t want to be touched by a crazy woman and felt horrified just looking at her. “Why ask me to kill? If you’re determined to end your life why don’t you do it yourself?” I backed away and looked around, hoping to spy someone in authority to take her away from me.

She shook and a puff of dust ascended from her matted hair. “The curse won’t let me kill myself, or I would have long ago.”

“What curse?” I asked, knowing I should get away. As repulsive as she was, I couldn’t turn from her.

“The curse that was cast on me when I escaped from the Russians.” She made an effort to spit on the ground to show her disgust with whomever she thought had cursed her but evidently no longer was able to produce phlegm.

This is going nowhere. She sounds more demented with every word. Curses? Escapes? I have to end this nonsense. Turn your back and walk away, Richard! Nothing good will come from this. Let her wallow in her insanity.

“I’m sorry, lady,” I said as I turned my back to her, “but what you’re saying is crazy. Leave me alone.”

“I can give you eternal life, if you do as I ask,” she called shrilly.

Run, Richard, run. Get away and don’t say another word. But who can ignore such an offer? I couldn’t help but drop the words from my lips. “You can promise me eternal life?”

She smiled like a tent preacher telling his flock how much better he could make their lives as he passed the collection plate. “Only if you kill me.”

Despite my dread she had me hooked. As an aspiring author, my stories came from the unlikeliest sources and I had to follow this one. It might lead to nothing or, there might be a best-seller lurking in the mist. Even though I was dying, I anted to track down one last story.

“You’ve tweaked my curiosity,” I admitted. “Tell me more.”

Obviously seeing her advantage she pressed for more. “We must go somewhere, I’m getting cold. Do you have a place?”

In for a penny… ”I can take you to my apartment.”

“That’s good,” she said with a barely detectable accent I hadn’t noticed before.

I guided her to my car and opened the passenger door. She lowered herself slowly until she sat, and then pulled her legs in. I closed the door and walked around the car lost I thought. We were soon on our way.

Upon arriving I led her to the kitchen, avoiding the bedroom where my secrets had not been hidden before my walk. “Would you like something?”

“Some tea would be fine,” she said with a degree of grace that would have been at home in high society.

I put water on the stove on high, and then moved to the table to see if the crazy woman had anything to offer I could use in a story. “Do you have a name?”

“Nadia.”

“I see.” Ever since the ’76 Olympics all the strange women have been named Nadia. “Nadia, you said you’re two hundred years old?”

“I’m much older than that, three hundred and fifty three to be exact,” she responded without so much as a twitch.

Three hundred fifty three years old; and she expects me to believe that? I sat in silence for several minutes gathering my thoughts. “I’m sorry, Nadia, but people don’t live that long.”

“You’re not the kind to believe only what everyone else believes.”

“What?” I said moving to serve her.

She took a sip of the now ready tea. “People live as long as I have if a spell has been cast on them.”

I nodded, even though I wasn’t buying the whole “spell” thing.

“Look at the way I look; people shun me; would you want to look like this?”

Would I like to be a woman? Of course I would, but not old and dying. “No–I wouldn’t”

“I didn’t always look like this; I was once a very beautiful woman. I had my choice of any man I wanted. It was two hundred years ago that the spell became a curse.”

Beautiful? There’s no way the filthy ancient remains in front of me had ever been anything but hideous. “How did that happen?”

She sighed. “I didn’t fulfill my part of the bargain.”

I rose and poured more tea into Nadia’s cup.

“Nadia, none of this is making any sense to me. I have to know everything that happened.”

“Let me warm myself first,” she said as she sipped her tea. Her eyes gazed faraway. “I was born in Russia during the year of sixteen fifty-four just outside of Saint Petersburg. My family was very poor and when I turned twelve I was expected to become a man to help support our family. Life expectancy at that time was very short andmost children married at fourteen of fifteen. A person was considered old at forty.”

Nadia apparently had used the word man as a description of responsibility rather than gender.

I shifted my weight in my chair.

“Be patient young man. I went to Saint Petersburg to find work. At that time things were very bad and you had to know someone to gain a position. The Czar was very rich as were his trusted friends but the masses starved. I loved in a hovel and worked when I could find a job, which turned out to be seldom. When I was sixteen I stole for the first time. I hadn’t eaten for days so I took a loaf of bread and ran off. It had been easy so I fell into a life of stealing other people’s things. One day before my seventeenth birthday I was caught by a policeman and was being led away. I knew I would be thrown in prison or hanged if I didn’t make my escape. I pushed away from the policeman and hit him in the face. Much to my misfortune he fell and struck his head on the frozen ground and died. I was now wanted for murder and fled.”

“How were you able to overpower a police officer, a woman surely wouldn’t be strong enough?”

She sucked on her teeth in exasperation. “You haven’t been listening. I was a young man.”

A man? I would wash the cup she drank from with strong soap so I wouldn’t catch her dementia. “How could that be; you’re a woman?”

“That came later.” She shook her head and closed her eyes for a few seconds before continuing. “I had to hide but always seemed to be only a half of a step ahead of the police. One day I was on my way back to my hideout when I was spotted and chased. I was lucky enough to steal a horse. After several days of constant pursuit my horse was shot from under me. I fell wounded, but continued my flight on foot into a dark forest. I stumbled upon a gypsy camp, ran to the first wagon I saw, and dove inside. An old woman asked me who I was and I explained truthfully. Horses drew near; and she told me the only thing I could do was to disguise myself and she would help.”

I wanted to take notes, but feared if I took out a pen she might lose her train of thought and her story would be gone forever.

“She poured evil smelling liquids from three bottles and mixed them carefully. ‘Drink this,’ she said to me. It will make you invisible.’ I scoffed. ‘How can it do that?”

“I wouldn’t have believed her either,” I said.

“Shhhhh, be silent so I can finish my tale. ‘Trust me,’ the gypsy said, ‘hurry and drink it,’ I drank the foul liquid and waited for something to happen, ‘Remove your clothes and lay in the bed,’ she said. Cover yourself with a blanket.’ “

The old lady told her story mostly with her eyes closed. I noticed I had left my wig on its form on the counter and wondered if she had noticed it.

She coughed and continued. “I did as instructed and the wagon went silent. I felt my body being pulled this way and that. I felt anxious as it was happening and stirred. ‘Stay still my little one,’ the gypsy hag said, ‘the spell is working; rest and you will be fine.’ The cover to the wagon flew open and the police entered. ‘Where is he?’ a man demanded.

“Who?” the woman replied.

"The murderer! Where is he?” the man asked as he threw the woman aside.

The old woman changed her voice with each character going from obviously gruff policeman to a shrill gypsy.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ the gypsy said in disgust. The man’s eyes fell on me in the bed. He grabbed the covers and ripped them off. And then…..as if by miracle…. He jumped back.

"I’m sorry miss," he said as his gaze continued. "I’m sorry.”

Miss? Her head was addled by her illness. I should call someone.

He threw the covers back on me and continued his search. I was naked and he had apologized for seeing me and called me ‘miss.’ I wondered how that could possibly be. After the man left the wagon I lifted the covers from my body, gasping when I saw what the spell had done. The sorceress had been right I had become ‘invisible’ as a man–for I appeared to be a girl. Inside I remained a man, but outside I was a woman. The police rode away on their horses. I was safe an apparently my wound had been healed.”

I surveyed the room for my cell phone. I would try to get her into the county hospital.

“ What have you done to me?” I asked the woman who obviously was a witch.

“I helped you escape,” she said sweetly.

“But I’m a girl,” I wailed, “change me back.“

Her story was too implausible. No reader would accept it.

“That is impossible my dear,” she said with apparent delight, “this spell cannot be reversed.”

I shuddered.

“What am I supposed to do now?” I asked, unable to comprehend a future as a woman.

“You must continue the spell,” she said plainly. “You’re now a beautiful young woman, one that will be desired by any man you see. You have become immortal; you will never die except by one means alone. You cannot take your own life; your life must be taken from you. To end it a wooden stake must be driven through your heart. To keep your beauty you must continue a ritual everyday you live or your health and beauty will fade. To remain young and comely you must bed a man between sunset and sunrise. He must deposit his seed deep within you; and you must drink a drop of his blood. If you fail to do this your life will become a hell with no return.“

Changed into a woman? She knew about my illness, could she possibly also know about me being transgendered?

“I have to bed a man?” I asked the gypsy out of bewilderment.

“Every day without fail,” she explained.

"But, I’m a man. How am I going to do that?” I asked.

She grinned.

“You’re a woman in everyway but one–your soul–and soon even that will change.”

“When must I start?” I asked, resigned to my fate.

“Today and every day you must do it until you die,” she answered. ‘You must bite your lover’s ear or prick his finger, but you must drink one drop, or you will fail even though you bed your man.”

My blood was throbbing in my temples. There was no denying her story had stirred me.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” I said.

“You must, that is the price you paid to gain freedom from what would have been your death at the gallows,” she said and turned away to end our discussion. I rose from the bed and felt my body. My height had diminished: and my new softness left no doubt as to my sex. I was truly a woman.

She signaled with her hand to bring her more tea. “The witch brought a man I later learned was her son and he was the first to bed me. He cut his finger and I had my first drop of blood. I slept with every man in the camp and had to leave after that because I had to bed a different man each night or the spell would end in disaster. I returned to Saint Petersburg and found that making money was easy because of my beauty. I was soon in high demand. I could sleep with any man as many times as I wished but I always had to bed at least one new man each day.”

A single tear escaped from her eye.

“The years passed and I tired of Saint Petersburg. I moved on and found Paris, where I became a famous courtesan. I dressed in the finest clothes and was waited on hand and foot. My life became a dream for a young boy from Russia except that I had become a girl. The years became decades: and they became a century. My beauty never faded. I grew weary of the nightly ritual but knew if I was to stop my mortality would end. I was in the courts of royalty and traveled to the countries of Europe in the finest luxury. I had learned to enjoy what had become of me, the decadence of what I was doing. Feeling a man deep inside of me and taking a drop of his blood never failed to give me a thrill. Yet---there always seemed to be something lacking though and I could never figure out what it was.”

My mind drifted with envy to the gowns she must have worn. Her life at that time sounded fabulous.

“It was in eighteen six that I met Louis. He was a beautiful man, a bit older than me - remember I still appeared to be a seventeen year old girl - and I fell in love for the first time. I finally discovered what I had missed during those years, the feeling of being a woman. I had been nothing more than a receptacle for a man’s sperm. When he entered me I thought my world would end, I had never had such a wonderful experience. The thrusts and depth he had, made me have my first female orgasm. One hundred fifty years and finally I had my first; I was filled with bliss. He brought me to ecstasy five times that night; and I woke in his arms when the sunlight beamed through the window.”

“Fear gripped my stomach, I had forgotten to drink blood. I bit his ear and took a drop, but it was too late, the spell had been broken. I went to the bathroom and looked in the mirrorand already my beauty was fading, lines covered my face. I screamed and Louis ran to my side. “My God, what happened to you?” he asked and left me, running from the room. By that night I looked as I do now, like a hundred and fifty year old woman.

I listened as the woman talked. I had heard the ramblings of a crazy woman, but yet she had a way of making you believe. Living for more than three hundred and fifty years was impossible–everyone knew that–but…”What did you do after that night?”

“I went from city to city and was always cast out as a pariah. Everywhere I went disaster struck and many people were killed, yet I survived. I was in the death camps of Auschwitz. People called me a Jew; and I was arrested. I went to the ovens and thought I would finally end my horror, I suffered atrociously, but the curse kept me from dying. Now I want you to end this for me. I can live no longer.”

I had seen mindless people walking the streets. It was always the same–space invaders were coming, the earth was going to open up and swallow us, or my favorite, someone was lurking in the shadows–but a three hundred fifty year old woman? What would be next… flying cows?

“Nadia, that was a very interesting story, but it didn’t hold any justification for me to commit murder.”

“You wouldn’t be committing murder, you would be assisting me in choosing when my life will end. And, you would be gaining eternal life.”

“But I would be killing you to have it.”

“You wouldn’t be killing me, you would be putting me out of my misery. Please, Richard. You know you want to experience life as a real woman. I’ve seen you walking the streets in your dresses.”

Blood rushed to my face. She was the kind of person who could live in the shadows. She was the kind of person who saw things; not like all those others who walked with their eyes down.

I needed to think long and hard about what Nadia had said. I would need proof of some sort. The ramblings of a crazy woman didn’t justify murder or a ‘mercy killing’ as she would call it. But, if there was a chance I could have my dream and cheat mortality at the same time, who wouldn’t want that?

I couldn’t believe that I was getting caught up in her tale. I felt as though I was becoming as crazy as her for even listening to what she had said and considering investigating her story. No one lives for as long as she claims to have lived, it isn’t possible.

“Nadia, I’m tired and will have to sleep on what you told me. I can’t turn you out so you may sleep on the sofa tonight. I’ll get some blankets for you and then we can talk more in the morning.”

The woman made herself comfortable and I covered her.

“Goodnight Richard, you’re very kind,” Nadia said and drifted off to sleep.

I brushed my teeth and fell into bed with the hope of a good night’s sleep. It wasn’t to be however as my thoughts returned to what the old woman had asked of me. How can she expect me to kill her? I’m the kind of person that captures flies and releases them outside so as not to harm them, I don’t even own a fly swatter. Why was I even dwelling on her craziness, I had to think of something else or I would never get to sleep.

I tossed and turned all night. My thoughts never drifted far from Nadia’s life or her perception of the fiction she believed. I had to disprove what she had told me or I would be drawn into her fantasy. I would be just as mad as her.

In a way the story makes sense. Nadia gained greatly by avoiding death at the hands of the executioner. A price has to be paid for gain. That’s the way things are. Everything comes with a price.

I awoke the next morning and felt as though I had been on an all night drinking binge. I padded into the living room and saw that yesterday had not been a dream. Nadia slept soundly on the sofa.

I showered and dressed. Since it was Sunday I didn’t have to work until the next day. I would have more questions for Nadia.

Nadia awoke with a start. She groaned as she lifted herself to a sitting position.

“Good morning, would you like something to eat?” I asked.

“Just a cup of tea.”

I had anticipated that and served her. “Nadia, I have to ask you some questions about what you told me yesterday. I’m sure you believe what you said to me, but I need some kind of proof as to the veracity of your story. I look at you and see an old woman but I see old women everywhere so that is no proof as to your age.”

“Then you are interested in helping me?”

I’m dying with no hope of a cure. I’ve wished for as long as I can remember to be magically changed into a female… how can I not be interested? “I’d like to help.”

“Proving what I said would be difficult–the gypsy camps have long vanished. I can give you details of my life but you will have to search to verify them. It would take much time and a bit of money.”

“I’ve quit my job to prepare for… and I have my savings, but your story has me intrigued. I think there might be a story in what you’ve told me.”

“When you’ve finished you might not want anyone to know what you’ve done.”

“I’m not going to do anything that I will be ashamed of. I just want to investigate your story.”

“And if you find it to be true, then what?” Nadia was pushing for me to commit to murdering her.

“I’ll have to make that decision later. I just don’t know what I’ll do.” I didn’t know, that was the truth, there was no way I could ever kill the woman. That was out of the question, but her history was something I could look into. The possibility to have what I had always wanted was too much to simply ignore. “You must have done something to leave a record of yourself. What about a birth certificate?”

“That was at a time when many births went unrecorded, especially in the country side.” She hacked for a moment, making me think of the cancer that soon would destroy my own lungs, “There’s not much. I remember the witch talking about the Cauldron of Cerridwen and the other gypsies called her Madame Awner.”

I jotted down some notes. Did anyone write about you?”

“Silly boy, who would write about a courtesan?”

“There must be something to prove your story,” I said.

“There might be a way. There is still a small colony of gypsies living in Hungary. You must travel there and seek them out. When you do, you will find your answer.”

Travel to Hungary? “Nadia, that’s crazy. I can’t do that.”

“You said you had some money, why not?” Every part of her body was wracked with age, except her eyes. They flashed bright when she asked her question.

“Because this whole thing is crazy. What you’ve told me can’t be true,” I snapped.

“Please Richard, I’m begging you. If you won’t go, then kill me now, end my hell.”

God, this is so messed up. I can’t kill the woman and yet her words haunt me. I have to find an answer to what she has forced upon me. “Alright, Nadia, I’ll go to Hungary and see if I can find something about your spell.”

I knew I would regret the words I had spoken. If I killed her I would be a murderer. And if I didn’t she would be living the hell she claimed she was living. I had placed myself into a no win situation. Either way I would suffer thinking of her. Damn, why had I listened to her in the first place?

I made arrangements to fly to Hungary. My passport was in order so the hardest thing I had to do was purchase my airline tickets for the round trip. I left Nadia with a key to my apartment and told her she was welcome to stay until I returned.

I landed in Budapest and rented a small room near the center of the city that overlooked a small square that looked as though it was the gathering spot for the neighborhood. Mothers walked with their children and met to swing them with others Old men sat at a table and played chess in the warm afternoon sunshine.

I had business to attend to and not much time to linger. I started by asking where I could find gypsies. The responses ranged from humor to indignation. Apparently gypsies weren’t well liked. From the gist of the conversations most were thieves and pickpockets. I was finally guided to a small shop several blocks from where I was staying.

I opened the door and a bell tinkled. A pleasant looking woman in her forties entered from the rear of the store. She said something to me in Hungarian and I looked puzzled.

“I’m sorry, I only speak English.”

“Ah, a tourist. What brings you to my shop?”

“I was told you are an expert on gypsy folklore.”

The woman laughed. Another woman entered from the back of the store and started dusting the displays.

“That’s just a rumor,” the first woman said. “I sell souvenirs with a gypsy theme, but the gypsies are all gone now. Why do you ask?”

I told her about the spell that had been cast on Nadia, leaving out the murder, my chance to cheat cancer and Nadia’s offer to make me the woman of my dreams. I explained only that I needed to know if what Nadia had told me could possibly be true.

The woman started laughing. “There are many tales such as these; and I don’t think any of what she told you is true. I think what you heard was the ramblings of an old woman.”

My stomach turned as the hope I had been feeling left me. “Is there somewhere else I can look?”

“No, there isn’t much interest in gypsies anymore. If you would like, I’ll sell you a spell book. It’s the latest edition.” She laughed cruelly.

My heart sank. My trip had been a waste. I shook my head and headed toward the door.

The other woman had worked her way next to me. “I can help, you,” she whispered. “Meet me at the café around the corner in five minutes.” She turned and walked to the rear of the shop–disappearing behind the curtain covering a doorway.

I steadied my nerves and steeled myself to be sold another pack of lies, but quickly walked to where she had suggested.

The woman approached me at my table. She was in her mid thirties. Her dazzling black hair fell to her waist and framed her rail thin but pleasantly pretty face. Her dark black eyes made me feel as though she looked right through me when she started. “You were asking about gypsy lore?”

“Yes, do you know something about it?” I asked.

“I’ve heard fables, yes. What would you like to know?”

“I met a woman who says she’s immortal; and I want to know if what she says is true.”

“And how old is she?”

“She says she’s three hundred fifty years old,” I replied. This is going to be another dead-end. She’ll ask for money and will try to fleece me.

“Did she say where she was from?”

“Yes, Saint Petersburg.”

“I see. I heard of a powerful sorceress that lived during those times. The legend says that she was able to cast spells such as these, but they died with her. To this day no one knows how she did what she did.” The woman seemed to be losing interest in me.

“But it’s just a legend, isn’t it? There’s no way she could have changed the sex of a person is there?” I asked.

“Don’t doubt the power of the spells. If that woman says that the spell was cast on her, then it probably was. I have to go now, good luck mister.”

“Wait,” I said quickly. “The powerful sorceress, what was her name?”

“Anwar,” she said quietly, “ supposedly she got her power from the Cauldron of Cerridwen.” She left quickly without another word.

She seems to feel as though the spell had actually occurred. I’ll have to search some more.

I went back to the small shop, but the woman was not there. When I asked about her, the shopkeeper claimed to have no idea who she might be. I never saw her again.

I spent two weeks looking for more information and none was as positive as the first day with that woman at the café. Everywhere I went was a tourist trap and nothing more. I had thought a lot about what I had found and there was only one conclusion, the spell actually existed. I flew home.

Nadia was still in my apartment when I returned. “Nadia, I believe you.”

“Will you kill me?” she asked hopefully.

“I don’t know.”

Would I be able to murder the woman? She wanted me to do just that. It wouldn’t be a mercy killing, but murder, plain and simple. But, I’m dying and I don’t want to die, God, I’m only twenty-six years old. This isn’t fair, how can I do what she’s asking of me? Is my life so important that I can kill to keep living? Then there’s the curse, I would become a woman and if I screwed up I would become like Nadia, a disgusting old crone. God, I’m dying and have a chance to live like I always wanted, but at what cost? I’ll be a murderer, but I’ll be alive and a woman. All I have to do is drive a stake through her heart and remember to not break the spell. I can do it. Take the stake in my hand and put the point against her chest. Take a mallet and drive it through her flesh. It’s simple. I’ll have eternal life. I can get over my feelings and kill for once in my life, can’t I?
 

~*~
 
Four hundred years later a woman walked down a dark street. She was dressed nicely. She cursed her luck for having worn such high heels. They made it difficult to walk quickly in such a dark place. She felt a hand on her arm as she passed a dumpster.

“Help me mister,” the repulsive woman groaned. “I have the power to change you into a woman.”

“H-h-h-how do you know my secret?” he asked incredulously.

“I know all about you,” the hag said squinting.

“Then you know I have no money.”

“I don’t want your money, I want your help.”

“How can I help you, I can barely take care of myself.”

“You can kill me.”

“Kill you?” He staggered back from her in fear, but quickly regained his composure. “You look as though you will be dead soon.”

“I’ll never die unless you take my life from me, you see, I’m over seven hundred years old-------!”
 

The End