Steampunk Diaries – July 15th, 1878

We dressed in thick riding coats, donned heavy boots and gloves. I readied a brace of pistols and Grigore was able to procure some battered but serviceable Russian manufactured Berdans with a great handful of cartridges each. We each found an additional cutting implement, Grigore taking up a rusted scythe, the Pastor a shapely wood axe, and myself borrowing a Calvary Sabre, an instrument I was confident with.

The three of us, led by the good Pastor, moved through underbrush up a small hill. We followed the poor woman’s tracks for an hour, dodging tree branches that tried to waylay us, until coming upon a rough cottage along a small goat path. Although uninhabited for a mere day, a pallor already hung around the poor domicile as if trying to stifle light and life. The door, made of branches roughly lashed together, seemed torn from the opening.

A high peeling cry issued out of the opening, but visibility inside was limited. We stood well back in some trees, spying through the branches and hanging mosses. A whispered conversation commenced as we discussed options. I confess that fear more then options, inclined us towards our positions.

Presently it was decided that Grigor and the Pastor would enter at the door, Grigor’s scythe and it’s longer reach would work to keep them protected. I mean while, would silently move around and towards the back where the Pastor reported a small window. With haste, but great distaste, I immediately set out to do so.

Too soon I found myself approaching the small window in the hut. Inside, a shuffling sound could be heard and occasionally something like a herd of swine at the trough. I didn’t wait long before finding myself face to face with the creature. Madam Munteanu was recognizable, her skin and muscles missing in places, revealing bone beneath.

My saber came up of if’s own will and fended her back through the window. A crash in the darkness, a few grunts and then the Pastor saying “It is done!”

As I entered the dim room, Grigor was already at work discharging the body. The stench was overpowering, but we all leapt to the job with fervor. I found a vial of whale oil which was liberally doused over the pile of offal. Dry thatch from the roof was added, and a wick produced.

The resulting fire cleansed the poor woman of her Earthly sins once again.