In 1600, Count Francis was killed in battle against the Turks and it was now that the real period of Elizabeth’s atrocities began. She was now mistress of Csejthe and a formidable power in the locality. Since the death of her husband, she was also under the protection of her kinsman, King Matthias of Hungary, which gave her added status. However, the depravity of her life was beginning to tell on her physically—she appeared to be growing old and haggard much more swiftly than she would have liked. It is here that legend takes over.

  According to one popular tale, a young maidservant was brushing the Countess’s hair when she accidentally pulled it. Angered, Elizabeth struck her across the face, so sharply that she drew blood. Later, looking at the area on which the girl’s blood had fallen, the Countess imagined that the skin seemed younger and fresher than the skin around it. She consulted with the witch Darvula and learned that it was imagined in the countryside that the blood of a virgin, accompanied by certain abominable rites, had youth-giving properties. This set Elizabeth off on a bloody and murderous trail. Together with her accomplices, she began to recruit young local girls from the villages round about, ostensibly to work as servants at Csethje, but in reality to be murdered within the castle walls. Each day, the Countess would bathe in their blood in the belief that it returned at least some of her youthful looks. There were accounts of her actually drinking the blood as a restorative medicine.

  Most of the girls whom Elizabeth and her cohorts murdered came from the Slovak population of Hungary—girls who were often considered of the “lower order” in society. For a while, the authorities did not overly worry about the disappearance of the girls. The official story was that they had contracted illness and died. For a number of years—roughly between 1601 and 1611—the Countess murdered innumerable servant girls with impunity and without any official enquiry. Many people, particularly in the locality, either knew or suspected what was going on within the castle but none dared voice it. Once a Lutheran pastor spoke out against her, claiming that there was a great and horrific evil going on in Csethje, including cannibal feasts and blood-drinking orgies, and although initially his words fell on largely deaf ears, some people started to pay attention. A legend says that one of the girls who the Countess was about to kill managed to escape and raised the alarm in the surrounding countryside, although this is not extremely likely. What is more likely is that the rumours surrounding the Countess continued to grow until they reached the ears of the Hungarian king, Matthias Corvenus, who had no other option but to investigate. Together with the provincial governor, Count Gryorgi Thurzo, the King invaded Csejthe early in 1611, and within the walls the two men discovered evidence of horrors almost beyond imagining.

  In 1611, a series of trials conducted by the King himself were set up and the servants, Darvula and Dorottya Szentes, along with Janos Ujvary, were all found guilty of witchcraft and murder, and were executed. Elizabeth herself was not found guilty of any crime—indeed her noble rank saved her from criminal proceedings—but she was commanded to remain in Csejthe at the pleasure of the Hungarian king. To this end, stonemasons were brought in and Elizabeth was walled up in the apartments where she had committed the majority of her atrocities. Only a small aperture was left through which food could be passed into her. All the windows of that section of the castle were also bricked up, leaving her alone in the darkness. There she was to remain until she died.

  On 31st July 1614, Elizabeth (then reputedly age fifty-four) dictated her last will and testament to two priests from the Estergom bishopric. What remained of her family holdings were to be divided between her children, with her son Paul and his descendants receiving the main portion. Shortly afterwards, two of her guards decided that they would try to look at her through the aperture through which she was fed—she was supposedly still the most beautiful woman in all of Hungary. When they looked through, however, they saw only the body of the Countess, lying face down on the floor. The bloody Countess was dead in her lonely, lightless world.

  The records concerning Elizabeth Bathory were sealed for one hundred years and her name was forbidden to be mentioned throughout Hungary. The name “Csejthe” became a swear word in the Hungarian tongue and the Slovaks within the borders of the country referred to the Countess obliquely as “the Hungarian whore.” The shadow of Elizabeth Bathory fell darkly across her lands for many centuries after her death.

  Although there is no real evidence that Bram Stoker used the idea of the “Countess Dracula” in his vampire novel, there is no reason why he should not have known about her. In fact, she may well have served as the template for another Irish writer’s vampiric tale. This was Carmilla written by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu, originally published in 1871 in the magazine The Dark Blue. In this tale, a vampiric older girl subtly and evilly influences the impressionable mind of her younger companion. There are, of course, undertones of lesbianism and bloodlust in the story that provide a tangible link with the “Blood Countess.” In her own way, Elizabeth Bathory was as influential to the vampire myth as Vlad Tepes.

  The dark and sinister figure of the vampire has proved to be one of the most enduring motifs of horror across the centuries. And this most enduring of monsters looks set to continue its haunting of the minds of men and women for many years to come. Look out into the dark! Is there a shape, shrouded in a black cloak lurking there? The vampire might be closer than you think!

  Werewolves

  ’Tis like the howling of Irish wolves against the moon.

  —William Shakespeare,

  As You Like It

  The wolf is perhaps Man’s oldest enemy, with a history that goes back into the dim and distant past. Our earliest ancestors both feared and admired the creature with which they often competed for food. Man feared the wolf’s ferocity but admired its cunning; they feared its predatory instinct but admired its stealth and swiftness; they feared its strength and tirelessness but admired its hunting prowess. In many respects, the wolf was the ultimate enemy they wished they could emulate. It is hardly surprising that perhaps some of these early hunters wished that they could take on some of its characteristics in order to aid them in their own hunting or to defend themselves from other predators. Almost as an extension of this wish, man and animal began to merge in the early mind as part of an overall longing to be similar to the creatures that so successfully shared their environment. But how could these desired characteristics be acquired? The answer seemed to be by supernatural means.

  Ancient Stories of Transformation

  Animus

  By using powers from another world, humans could perhaps induce in themselves the strength, cunning, and aggressiveness that they themselves seemed to lack, but that creatures (such as the wolf) had in abundance. This type of transformation—from a squeamish human into a predatory animal—may well have been the preserve of Shamanism and ritual amongst our prehistoric ancestors. Perhaps the Shaman, in the course of such a ritual, may have adopted the animus of a wild animal, may have worn its skin, and may even have appeared animal-like.

  Sorcerer of Trois Freres

  These Shamanistic traits seem to be illustrated in the famous figure known as the “Sorcerer of Trois Freres,” a cave drawing from the Palaeolithic period, discovered in a deep cave system beneath the Pyrenees. The wall painting depicts the “Sorcerer” as a curious creature—a hybrid of both human and animal. He appears to be in some sort of dancing posture, moving sideways and upright on human feet but slouched forward as if ready to drop into a four-legged stance, balancing himself on bear-like forepaws. Large antlers adorn his head, above a bearded, human-like face from which intelligent eyes stare owlishly out. But at his hindquarters, a bushy wolf’s tail is clearly visible, swinging back to reveal a lion-like phallus. The cavern in which this peculiar painting has been created can only be approached by crawling almost horizontally through a connecting tunnel of about thirty or forty yards. Cultural historians such as Joseph Campbell have suggested that this awkward positioning of the painting is suggestive of a mystical and religious aspect. It is also suggestive of Palaeolithic suppositions of humans taking on the attributes of either animal hunters or of quarry. It is not hard to imagine the Shaman, pelted in animal skins, dancing in some remote cavern in order to call down the animalistic spirits that would ensure good hunting and plentiful communal larders.

  Romulus and Remus

  Arguably, it was the wolf that attracted much of early man’s attention. Like humans, wolves were communal animals—they lived and hunted in packs, they obeyed strict laws of leadership, and they cared for their young. It was not surprising that, as societies developed, some ancient legends concentrated on linkages between men and wolves rather than on their aggression and adversity. Therefore, stories of children being raised by kindly wolves—children such as Romulus and Remus, the founding fathers of Rome—also became widespread in the ancient world. There seems little doubt that there were occurrences of children being raised by female wolves—who are, in many respects, maternal creatures—and indeed similar instances continue in remote parts of the world today. Tales of feral children, raised by wolves, living in the wild and exhibiting wolf-like behaviour must have strengthened the links between men and wolves, deep in the human mind.

  Gilgamesh

  So the wolf became both a predator and companion within Mankind’s psyche. Elements of this confusion underpins old mythological tales emerging from the early civilizations. Interestingly, all of them involve men turning into (or being turned into) animals. From Greek legend comes the story of Actaeon, the youth who secretly glimpsed the huntress-god Artemis when she was bathing. In anger, she changed him into a stag and he was immediately torn to pieces by his own hounds. Perhaps even older is the Akkadian legend taken from the Epic of Gilgamesh, dated around the second millennium B.C., of a young shepherd who makes continual sacrifices to the goddess Ishtar. Even so, the capricious goddess transforms him into a wolf, and similar to Actaeon, he his torn to shreds by his own dogs. This tale is probably the oldest known tale of such a transformation, from man to wolf.

  Artemis

  The Greek goddess, Artemis, is also an interesting figure. To both the Greeks and the Romans (to whom she was known as Diana), she is a predatory hunting goddess, sometimes described as a “mistress of the animals.” But she also had another personification—that was as Phoebe or Selene (Luna in Latin), the goddess of the moon. She was considered to be a secretive and vicious entity, ruling the earth during the day and the sky at night. This creates a link between the predatory hunters (many of whom were nocturnal) and the moon, which provided them with light. Another of Artemis’s incarnations was as the goddess Hecate, Mistress of the Underworld, and in this incarnation she is sometimes presented with three feral heads—usually those of wolves. This may have given rise to the legend of Cerebus, the monstrous triple-headed dog (or wolf) that guarded the Gates of Hell. This motif, however, gave the goddess sovereignty over the three main elements of the physical world—the air, the earth, and the Underworld. It is possible that in her original incarnation, Artemis may have been either a bear-goddess or a wolf-goddess, giving her a connection to the Palaeolithic period and the skin-swathed Shamans and animalistic rituals of that time.

  Laignech Falead

  As the civilizations of the world began to grow and develop, so their legends grew and developed with them—particularly the legend of the werewolf. Many of these legends, however, sought to connect with the warrior/hunter past. For example, there was a persistent belief in Ireland almost up until the 14th century that a tribe of wolf-men known as the Laignech Faelad dwelt somewhere in County Tipperary. Details of them appear in a very ancient manuscript, the Coir Animann, but are sceptically dismissed by the English historian William Camden in the 16th century. They were reputedly employed as mercenaries by the Celtic kings of Ireland when they made war on each other, and their ferocity and guile was seemingly unsurpassed. They were said to demand payment for their services in the form of flesh from young infants, which they divided and devoured amongst themselves.

  Berserkers

  The Vikings, too, had tales of Berserkers, ferocious warriors who devoured the flesh of their slain victims and smeared themselves in the blood of the slain. It is from these people that the word “berserk,” meaning “uncontrollable,” originates. Certain of these berserkers wore animal skins, to add to their ferocious appearance and to terrify their enemies. An early description of these warriors comes from the Icelandic historian and mythologist Snorri Sturluson (1170–1241). In his Ynglinga Saga—a history of Sweden from extremely early time—she described the followers of the god Odin as those “who went without their mail coats and were mad as hounds or wolves, bit their shields, and were as strong as bears or bulls. They slew men but neither fire nor iron had effect upon them. This is called berserkganger (going berserk).” The word berserk itself comes from two root sources. The first part “ber” from the animal itself—the bear—and serker—shirt—implying that these men probably wore bearskin shirts to imbue themselves with frenzy. Similar groupings of warriors are to be found in Germanic traditions as well, where they were considered to be extremely fearless and vicious in battle. The idea of fierce warrior cults draped in bear or wolf skins probably strengthened the links between man and beast and added considerably to the idea that a man might transform himself into an animal.

  Lykaon

  One other aspect of ancient lore needs to be mentioned—the mysterious ritual on the top of Mount Lykaon, a remote spot in the highlands of Acadia in the Peloponnesus peninsula in ancient Greece. Mention of this place and the clandestine rituals that were held there comes from the Greek writer Pausanius. At the time of his writing, the lower slopes of this high country were enclosed by thick forests that were the natural abode of predatory wolves. The mountains, however, were bare and rocky and it was here that sacrifices were made to the sky god—the Lykaian Zeus. Pausanius refuses to divulge the ritual surrounding the sacrifice, but there is a suggestion that it may well have been human. In fact, the “Lykaian Zeus” may very possibly have been a much older, more feral god than the familiar deities of Classical Greece. Furthermore, it was believed that one of the participants in the ritual would be turned into a wolf for a specified period of nine years, provided he or she avoided eating human flesh during that period. If not, the unfortunate would remain in the wolf shape forever. This transformation was associated with a myth that a legendary king of Arcadia, King Lykaon, had sacrificed a baby to Zeus and was turned into the shape of a wolf for this crime. Another connected story tells of an Arcadian boxer named Damarchus who was a champion of the Olympic Games around 400 B.C., after having been changed into a wolf and then back to human form nine years later. Whilst not doubting Lykaon’s original vile sacrifice, Pausanius doubts the notion of animal transformation. Whilst the Arcadian Olympic team may have had an unnaturally hirsute boxer in its ranks, the writer does not truly believe that he was once a wolf. However, many other Greeks were not so sceptical—Arcadia was an enclosed and mysterious world. The mountains that surrounded it had protected it from battles. Arcadia had retained its own dialect and superstitions—its inhabitants were believed to have a long pedigree and were immersed, or so the surrounding Greeks thought, in primal magic and witchcraft. To such people, the idea of a man becoming a wolf would not have seemed an impossibility.

  Lunatics

  As we have seen, from early times there has been a link between such transformations—particularly those into wolves—with the moon. The goddess Artemis, as the “Mistress of Animals” and sometimes portrayed as having a wolf’s head, was also the goddess of the moon. In a sense, such a connection is understandable. Most of the more vicious predators were nocturnal, hunting by moonlight. Furthermore, animals such as wolves seemed particularly drawn to the moon, frequently howling at it in chorus. And even as late as the early 19th century, the forces of the moon were often associated with frenzied or irrational behaviour in humans. In fact, the description “lunatic” comes from the French lune, meaning the moon. Moonlight, it was held, had a certain influence on the human mind, robbing it of reason and allowing primordial passions and rages to come to the surface. What better connection, then, to ferocious behaviour than a full moon that could transform a seemingly cultured man into a ravening beast? The myth of the beast-man, influenced by the moon, was beginning to take shape.

  Christianity and Lycanthropy

  Christianity added a further complication. Important to this faith was the consumption of blood and flesh through the Mystery of the Sacrament. The Catholic doctrine of transubstantiation, which was widely accepted by the Church around the ninth century and fully adopted by the Council of Lateran in 1215, spelled out at length that the bread and wine consumed at the Mass actually became the literal blood and body of Christ at the moment of ingestion by the communicant. To emphasise this point, the priest muttered “hoc est Corpus Christi” as he placed the Holy Wafer on the tongue of those crouched by the altar rail. The idea of eating flesh and drinking blood was therefore not incompatible with strict church doctrine. What was incompatible was the thought of men supernaturally turning into the beasts of the field.