Here is how you fight back, and I will tell you plainly that it is disgusting.
Take a bottle. Fill it with every bent nail and crooked pin in the house, a hank of thread to snarl the thing up, a scrap of red cloth cut in the shape of a heart. Then top it off yourself. You know how.
Cork it. Bury it under the hearthstone, deep, where nobody digs.
Now, somewhere out past the hedgerow, whoever wished this on your family stops sleeping. Cannot pass water. Cannot pass a night. The bottle has hold of her and it will not let go for three hundred years.
Just so long as nobody ever, ever pulls it up out of the ground and opens it.
