The townsfolk claimed that Jacob’s daughter was cursed. Her mother birthed her at a late age, having numerous miscarriages afterward. Her father blamed her for the loss of his sons and treated her like an outcast. He was a violent man who would beat her often – his anger, unpredictable like the sky. She grew up to fear the hands of men. Her freedom came when an apprentice’s nail penetrated a hoof incorrectly. The horse screamed, kicked the young smithy off his stool before storming out into the square. Her father was too inebriated to notice that he was in its path.

Although she was pretty, she had no interest in marriage. She saw how depressed her mother was and how despicable men could be. Her mother tried to marry her off to the neighbor’s son, but Jacob’s daughter tightened her lips and said no. The mother would ask the townsfolk for help, but Jacob’s daughter still kept her pledge. She hated being fondled. She would either push the suitors away or kick them in the groin. Those aggressive wet kisses made her feel unclean.

She prayed for security – plenty of food, clothes without holes or rips and a decent bed. She thought about joining the nunnery, but poor women without a dowry couldn’t serve their lord in heaven. Her responsibilities at home were of utmost importance.

The monster knew about Jacob’s daughter. She couldn’t keep up with the payments and her land had to be confiscated by him, the lord of the manor. She lived with an ailing mother, plowing a few acres of soil without a husband or children. She had a few years left to conceive, but he would never sanction a marriage for her. Her dire situation stimulated his baser needs.

He rode up to the wooden hut. He asked to speak with her alone. Although he was dwarflike and deformed, his voice was soft and enchanting.

Desperation bewitched her. She allowed him to press himself against her backside, listening to words about how beautiful she was and how she would be saved from starvation. He said he loved her. She knew that he didn’t, but was afraid to argue. She was even more afraid to say no as his hands tightened around her waist. He was the lord who had the omnipotence next the God. She crossed herself after he left.

Week after week, she succumbed to him. The land thrived. The wheat grew high and golden. The cows were heavy with milk. The chickens had plenty of eggs. She paid off her debts. Her mother’s condition improved.

But the monster demanded more from Jacob’s daughter. He needed to own her mind. He would yell whenever she pleaded to buy her family’s freedom, even for the slightest negative expression during her sinister time. Her behavior had to be in constant check – both pleasant and subservient. She owed him for saving the land.

He wanted her, but never at those banquets held at his manor. She was his filthy courtesan in rags. Her place was the manure-filled streets in the village and the grind of sweat and soil, and he made sure that she would never rise from it.

Like an overbeaten bitch, she eventually resisted. She threatened to kill him with a pitchfork. He called her a witch and warned her that she would be burned for her insolence. She stared at his hands, those same hands that touched her skin. But he escaped before she could strike.

The harvest turned brown overnight. At dawn, the cows became gaunt and no longer lactated. The eggs in the chicken coop turned rotten.

As the sun rose, Jacob’s daughter drew water from the well – just enough for porridge and tea. When she placed the bucket by the hearth, the reflection in the water startled her. She never knew that she was looking more like her mother – haggard from the toils of life. Normally, her mother would rise first, but she heard nothing. She called out to her several times. The silence made her uneasy. She ran to her mother’s bedside. She looked like she was still asleep. She tried hitting the straw-stuffed mattress. Then she shook her mother a few times – each time with greater urgency. Her mouth was still open, but she wasn’t snoring. She checked for her heartbeat, but heard nothing. Her hands and lips were blue. Her mother was dead. The monster was responsible for this. She realized that he placed a curse on her household.

He confiscated the meager field after her mother’s burial. He declared her a witch, but delayed his request for punishment. She became homeless, wandering the countryside like a gypsy, yet had plans for retribution.

That night, she saw the monster on his stallion coming towards her campfire. She wrapped her head in her shawl, remained quiet as he approached. The horse halted. The monster dismounted. She could see his crooked smile, his missing teeth looking like a broken crescent moon. He swaggered in a drunken stupor. His hands were ready for action. His face glowed menacingly in the light.

Jacob’s daughter had a wine satchel. She knew that he loved to drink and became docile under its influence. She also had a tiny flask. It contained a potion prepared by the local midwife guaranteed to bring the devil down by the horns. She took a swig of the wine for courage and quickly poured the potion in before he plopped himself down by the fireside.

She nodded and offered the wine. She watched his hands grope the satchel like it was a woman. He slurped the contents down. The wine stained his face and neck, silk tunic and brocade cloak. His eyes widened as he fell backwards, grasping her raven tresses as her shawl slipped to the ground. He landed on her shawl, losing his grip before she could push him aside.

In the light, the wine stains appeared to be his blood, but she wasn’t sure that he was dead. His bejeweled hands were still shaking. From her burlap sack, she pulled out a sickle. After a few attempts, his hands were put to rest. She tossed his mangled hands into the fire. But then, the flames jumped forward. They grabbed the ragged hem of her skirt, scorching her legs as she cried out for divine intervention. Her skirt glowed like an altar candle as she fell. Her body torched him before the cock crowed seven times.