Part 1 of all this can be found here https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/vzxear/helena_of_obor_part_1/
Part 2 https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/w0q4xv/helena_of_obor_aka_helena_the_clown_part_2/
For part 3, a deep breath and… Here we go.
I am sorry to kind of breaking the story of what Martha told me. A lot have happened lately and, honestly, I find hard to put things together in clear way. Things need to be clear when I express them, not just pieces of puzzle patched with holes in them. I have started my own research, already found more then I was expecting, but pieces are far from making a clear, unified, picture. But I will do my best to continue.
After the train has passed, Martha continued: ”Just the ghost train, nothing to worry. I never heard someone to be harmed by it. Although never heard someone trying to stand on the tracks or anything like that.” A few second of silence. ”Would you like to meet Helena, if you want. She comes out almost every night.” A few more seconds of silence. ”I think I know where she stays. Where she sleeps, during the day.” Things were getting interesting. ”Where?” I asked.
”On the (street name and number censored), close to here. My late friend Niculina used to live there. I think she woke Helena up.” This was getting interesting, but scarier. Yet, I wanted to continue. ”Niculina was younger then me, about ten years younger. She was born in Tulcea county, at the countryside, not like me, in Bucharest. I worked as an accountant, she worked in a factory. But we were very much alike. Our husbands were long gone, our children left the country, to work in western Europe, for money. They retired there, big pensions, not like ours, and they forgot about us here. There were some guys who helped us a bit, we needed to pay them a bit…
Anyway, Niculina seem to have been fortunate. She needed some renovations, a few months before her passing. She called the guys who helped us. They dug up the basement, I do not remember if it was the basement or the yard, somewhere, to fix the issue, whatever that was. They said they discovered some sort of coffin, sealed with some symbols. One of them wanted to open it, but it was late that day and they postponed it for the next day. That next day Niculina told them their services will no longer be required. They insisted, but they said it was fine.
In the next few days, all the signs of work in the ward were gone. Niculina seemed changed, she looked paler, talked strange, she even refuse to tell me what was going. I felt that she was lying, but I could not get anything else from her. Yet, the yard seemed to look better, like someone was taking good care of it. Niculina was already too old and weak for that. Months passed, Niculina was seen less and less. We do not know if whatever happened caused to pass away earlier, she had some serious diabetes, that she kept untreated. I told her to take care of her health, she refuse to listen….” Martha sobbed a little. Perhaps she remembered her old friend. I think I know how she felt, I know how it is to loose a relative due to lack of self care on health issues.
”In the last days, when the ambulance came to take to the hospital, some of us entered the yard and the house. It looked very good, polished, like someone helped her. But it was something about all, like something that made us feel uneasy. She was gone, in three days after days. The cause of death seemed obvious, her relatives locked away the house and the yard. I guess they argue on inheritance or something, or perhaps they need signatures from those of them who are out of the country for years, I do not know.” Martha smiled a bit: ”I guess this will happen with my home as well, after I will be gone.” A few seconds of silence. ”Anyway, the house and the yard were, mostly, silent. Mostly, but not fully. At night, some strange sounds were heard, some strange shadows were visible. Police was called, nothing seemed wrong, relatives investigated, things seemed mostly ok. Only that the inside seemed clean and taken care of, like before.
At this time the blackouts of the street lights started. And soon, people begin to see Helena in that dark. For a few months, this is how things were. People say the house is haunted, perhaps that Niculina was a witch or things like that. The rest is, I guess, well known to you. Niculina had nothing witchy about her, at least no more then the small things many old ladies had, small, cheap things. Nothing to cause something really serious. I have my own ideas, young people do not know almost anything of the past. No even many of the elders from here know them, they moved in after the period when Helena was well known.”
Martha became quit, probably lost in her thoughts. Things were getting stranger and stranger. A layer of the reality I kinda refused to see revealed itself to me, right inside my everyday, comfortable reality. I did not know if I wanted to go with all this, I felt like returning to my life, alone on my apartment on the Hurmuzaki Square, where I was alone, where nothing supernatural happen (at least I am not aware of it), where undead doll-witches do not exist. To my boring, yet well-paid work. But I realized this was my chance of escape. I was a prisoner and did not knew it. Do I want to be see, to feel what most people refuse to? Was I wiling to give my safety? I decided I was. I shall not risk foolishly, I shall be very cautious on this unexplored territory, but I will enter it.
So I have asked: ”Is there any particular hour when she comes out?” ”I do not know. Pretty late. Perhaps she is cautious as well. Helena may powerful, but I think she can still be brought down, somehow, one way or the other. She is one being, people are many. She does not have all the fame she had back in the day, and police may not get so easily get intimidated by her as it was before World War II, when she had her reign, so to say. Perhaps she is looking for a new place to move out. People who know a thing or two about strigoi and moroi might take a chance and pull a stake through her heart, one night. Or one day. Fortunately for Helena, she does not behave like we know from our forefathers that strigoi or moroi behave. And not many young people know how to deal with them. I admit I was born, raised and lived in the city, not in the countryside, where people knew much more of the traditions.”
One note needs to be made. Western readers probably noticed the reference to strigoi or strigoaica, and to moroi. Some of those terms were used in western literature, movies or TV series. This means that, if heard them before, you have a very distorted view of them, like some sort of Hollywood vampire. Strigoi and moroi, in Romanian folklore, are undead creatures, but pretty different from western vampires. Strigoi are more wraith-like beings, spirits who raise from the grave to feed on the life force, not on the blood of the living. And they raise as wraiths, their un-decayed bodies remain in the grave. They are killed when their bodies are exhumed and a stake is passed in their hearts, or when their hearts are removed and destroyed. Moroi are, sometimes, equivalent of strigoi, sometimes they seem be, in certain areas, a different type of undead creature, perhaps a little less malevolent or a little less dangerous.
The name ”strigoi” is related with the name ”striga” or ”strega”, that meant evil witch in old Mediterranean cultures. The ”striga” of old feed on the living, but it was not clear if she was alive or undead, or if she was sometimes alive, sometimes undead. Romanian ”strigoi” is sometimes considered a living person who is, consciously or unconsciously a future undead ”strigoi”, who already feeds, consciously or unconsciously, on the life force of the living. The verb ”striga” in Romanian comes from those creatures, it means to scream, lately to shout. It seemed, initially, it meant to scream of out fear, due to an evil creature. The origin of the term ”striga” comes from ancient Greek mythology, where an owl-like creature was present named ”stryx”, who fed on the living. There are some recent sigthings in the Balkans to evil, supernatural, owls, but I digress to much. Perhaps, if you want, we shall talk some time on those as well.
For now, I can safely say Helena does not seem to be a strigoi or moroi. She seems more similar to a western type of undead being, yet hard to understand, at least by now. She is definitely undead, one way or the other, I am sure of that, but exactly what she is I do not know. So, I continued to ask Martha different things, like: ”You said something about Helena being famous. And feared.”
”Oh yes. As years passed, she became more well known and feared. Police knew her, even Siguranta (Romanian secret and political police before World War II). Were they afraid? Or there was someone or something keeping her back? Or something of both? I am not clear. Things were covered up pretty well. That man, the Puppeteer, who seemed to have her under his control, was a real strange man. He was alive, he was aging, unlike Helena, that was visible. Yet, in a way, he seemed even stranger then Helena herself. He came to Romania from Manchester, England, in the late XIXth century. Initially he was not a showman, but he presented himself like a healer, a practitioner of ”alternative medicine”. I do not remember his name was Gordon Jameson, if I remember well. He became very well know fast by rich people and nobility, some say that he even reached the royal family. Most considered him a conman, both as healer, then as a showman. But some say they noticed that he was capable of strange things. What things, I do not know. Occult circles welcomed him.
He was not the only English or British expat who lived on the time in Romania. Ever since the 1848 Revolution there were several of them who reached high circles, many of them seemed real friends of Romania, like Maria Rosetti (born Mary Grant) or Effingham Grant. But this man was stranger. I am sure he was a sorcerer of some kind, not just because of what people said he did in his early days, but for all that happen regarding Helena later on. He was protected from high level. What level or by whom, I do not know.
At first, when Helena started to kill, there were only individuals. The murders were brutal, somewhat clumsy. It looked very much like the work of that distasteful man, Laie the Butcher. At first, before Helena appeared, the Puppeteer seemed to have Laie as a friend or they collaborated in a way. They continued for a while after Helena appeared. You see, Laie was, officially, a butcher who was very skilled in making some delicious sausages, who lived and worked in Obor. But people knew he was doing some illegal things, from behind. In time, he became himself more well known and feared, although he did not renounced with work as a butcher. Some say he was responsible for some murders of wealthy people, or people connected to other people, especially in politics. It seems working with the Puppeteer helped me in his gangster work. I do not know how much the Puppeteer payed him or how he did. When he was drunk he slipped something like he was sick of doing the dirty work for the Puppeteer, but that it still payed off and was not willing to gave up of his collaboration with him, whatever it was. Some people connected Laie with the disappearance of children, of beggars, of prostitutes. I do not know whatever he was doing, I do not know if I want to know.
People know now of the two Rimaru serial killers, father and son, who killed women in the 1960ties and 1970ties, but they were really easy, really cheap if we compare them with Laie. At some point, Laie was found dead, somebody electrocuted him on a power grid, the body was severely burned, they managed to identify him using his dental record. Whoever did that to him hated him very much and there were so many people who did hate him to the sky and back again. Most of the people from Obor, and not only, were relieved that that bastard was gone. No other butcher made sausages or kebabs to be so delicious, but it matter little to nothing, if we think of the great benefit of him being gone.”
”Laie the Butcher”, I though. ”Where did I heard that name before?…” Then I remembered. I have a friend, a dealer of antiquities. About a year ago, he had in his hand some documents of the old branches, including the butchers. He said about some mad butcher who left a dairy of ”flights of a fancy psychopath”, that he sold it, but scanned some pages, he said he would gave them to me, he knew I was interested in psychology. Such a hipster… But I digress, I shall continue.
”Very interesting things, you told me.” I replied to Martha. ”Honestly, I would to see Helena with my own eyes. Do you think that is a good idea?” ”I do not know.” Martha replied. ”It is already dark, but Helena would not come yet. You can wait here, although I would like to go to bed, I can try to stay up.” ”That is alright, I drove here, my car is parked close by, I think I call handle it. Thank you so much so everything.”
I left Martha and went to my car. I had to move it, I had to argue with someone, parking is a nightmare in Bucharest. After I finished parking the car in a different spot, I started walking for a while, I was anxious so see where Martha believed Helena resided. It was pretty close to the spot where the incident with Marcel happened. An old house, not intact, with some modern kitschy modifications, the fence looked pretty ugly, but practical. I could knock, although I considered pretty unlikely Helena shall answer. I could have shouted for her, but would have been silly and childish, of course. So, I went to my car, got in and waited. The next day I would be at work, a sleepless night would not help me, especially if I was going to succeed in seeing Helena, I may be shaken by it badly. I could get a day off, I hoped it would not be the case. And I fell asleep.
I woke up suddenly. Outside it was dark, the street lights were out. I checked the phone fast, it was 2.12 am. My heart started beating rapidly. I tried to find a position to be invisible or to look asleep. Every second mattered. It seems I was not that brave to come out and face whatever Helena was directly. So I waited. Will she come? Or she already left? It did not knew. In about one minute, I heard the footsteps. Like a woman walking in medium size heels with a walking defect. As the sound came closer, a feeling of dread came over me. I tried my best to look asleep, but kept a half of eye open. Then I so her. Just as people described her.
Little to nothing of her face was visible, the dress was long and black, belle epoque style. (Probably belle epoque casual style, not official event of ball style, I guess.) She held the purse on her left shoulder, this time. The black hair was kind of coarse, so to say, that type of hair that tends to be curly, but only a little bit, not straight. ( I guess brushing and styling is pretty hard, so glad I have straight hair. Sorry, I digress again. But it is pretty interesting what thoughts can came to your head in situations like this.) I was curious to see her face, but I was too afraid, at least for now. Maybe next time. I did not want to engage with this being I could not comprehend yet. So I waited for her to pass by. She did turned her head towards my car, she sensed something, perhaps. In the dark, some strange, distorted form of clown makeup seemed to be on her face, but I was afraid to stare. Fortunately, she did not stopped and moved on. I have waited in fear for the footsteps to disappear, then the lights went on. I have gathered myself to drive out. When I reached home, I went to bed without undressing and fell asleep. I was late for work, but that is another story. For now, Ruxandra is out.