by Amy Cross
“We have our answer,” Freeman sneers suddenly, leaning closer to me from behind. “God clearly wants me to put you to the ultimate test.”
I let out a faint, pained gasp as he grabs my collar and hauls me back. Even though I'm too weak to struggle, I reach up and try to push his hand away, but a moment later he pulls me through the door and out into the yard behind the building. There's a foul stench of manure, and I can hear pigs nearby; turning my head, I struggle to focus but finally I'm able to see the pigs tearing at some large chunk of meat that I can only assume is the woman I saw being killed earlier. The pigs are cracking her bones as they tear her apart, but in some strange way the sight of those animals feels like the only normal thing I've seen since I got here. I want to reach out to them, to touch them, but instead I'm dragged across the muddy cobbles and then onto a patch of grass, heading away from the building.
“Are you sure this is necessary?” Connaught asks nearby, his voice filled with uncertainty.
“Don't question me,” Freeman replies, setting me down shivering onto the mud for a moment. I immediately turn and try to crawl away, toward the sound of running water, but a couple of seconds later I hear metal clanging against metal and then I'm grabbed once more by the collar and hauled back violently. I briefly see Freeman's grinning face before I'm shoved into another metal cage that lurches violently as it hangs from a single chain connected to a set of wooden posts. Reaching out, I try in vain to stop Freeman slamming the cage's door shut, sealing me inside.
“I'll check on the pigs,” Connaught mutters, turning and trudging back through the mud.
Looking down, I see that this cage is suspended over a fast-running river. The water below is strangely comforting, as if it offers a route to escape down into another world. Maybe that, at least, would wake me up from this nightmare.
“Did you really think you could escape,” Freeman hisses, stepping closer, “witch?”
Turning to him, I see his grinning face watching me.
“I don't know where you came from,” he continues, “and I don't know how many more like you are out there, but I do know that as God and King James are my witnesses, I will hunt you all down.”
Reaching out, I put a trembling, bloodied hand on the bars of the cage, just inches from his face.
“There is no room in modern England,” he adds, “for such perversions of the natural world. This land will be free again, safe from your filthy impurities.”
I want to tell him to go to hell, but even that doesn't feel like it's enough, not anymore. Blood is pouring from my wounds, and there's not a part of my body that isn't throbbing and burning with pain. After a moment, I force my left hand between the bars and reach out to him, and to my surprise he doesn't pull back, instead letting my fingers brush against his leathery cheek.
He smiles.
“One final moment of tenderness, witch?” he asks, his voice lower now and softer.
I press against his flesh, trying to dig my nails deep and scratch him, but he pulls back. Gasping, I realize I don't even have the strength to pull my hand back inside the cage. Instead, I watch as Freeman walks over to a chain that runs from the top of the cage to a metal peg in the ground, and he slowly starts pulling the chain free.
Death.
This feels like death.
“I will be sure,” he explains as he works, “to make a special note about your case in my report.” Once the chain is free, the cage wobbles as Freeman keeps hold of the other end. “Tell me your name, witch, so that I might record your fate with accuracy.”
“L -” I try to say, by my teeth are chattering too much. Focusing, I force my body back under control until finally I'm able to get out one more word: “Laura.”
“A fine name,” he replies. “There is still one more chance for God to save you, Laura. If you are still alive when I pull you up from the depths, I will know that he wants you to be punished more. If he takes you, on the other hand, I will know that he shows you a degree of pity, that in his infinite wisdom and compassion he believes your soul might still be saved.”
I take a couple of short, shallow breaths as I keep my eyes fixed on him.
“It's funny,” he adds finally, “there is almost nobility in your eyes. I shall pray for your soul.”
With that, he lets go of the chain, letting it drop down and then tip back, plunging into the water. I cry out as I'm submerged, and as cold, dirty water floods through the bars. Looking up, I can see clouds of blood swirling through the water as the cage sinks further and further, until finally I come to a rest several feet down on the riverbed. I instinctively gasp for breath, succeeding only in swallowing great mouthfuls of bloody water, and I grab hold of the bars in the vain hope that I might be able to get free. Turning, I can barely see anything down here in the depths, but after a moment I spot two dark spots a few feet away, and I realize with a shudder that it's the dead face of another woman. There are others nearby, too, and as I look around in the murky depths I'm just about able to make out more corpses, some of them just bones but some of them more recent, with bloodied flesh still attached.
I put my hands on the metal bars and try to scream, but all that comes from my mouth is a rush of air. I try again, but it's still no use, and finally I turn and look up. High above, I can just about make out the surface of the river, and I think I can see the shape of a man at the edge, looking down toward me.
As more water floods into my mouth and fills my lungs, I sink back down against the bottom of the cage. I reach my hand up one final time, but I no longer have the energy to move even a single muscle in my body. There's a sense of crushing pain in my chest as more dirty water flows into my body, but somehow the pain no longer seems to matter. Instead, a sense of stillness is settling in my thoughts, dragging my mind into the shadows as all my other senses fade away.
Mum.
Suzie.
Home.
And then finally, just as I'm about to slip away, I lurch forward, filled with one more burst of sheer, panicked fury, grabbing the bars of the cage and trying to scream. I close my eyes and the scream starts to grow, filling the water all around me and becoming more distinct and more real, sharper too, until by some miracle I realize I can actually hear my voice properly. I squeeze my eyes tighter shut, still trying to fight, and after a moment I realize that everything feels different, as if the pain is slipping away, replaced by a sense of exhaustion.
And my scream.
I'm screaming properly now.
Loudly.
And I smell potpourri.
Opening my eyes, I sit up and let out a pained gasp. Everything around me is dark, but after a moment I see a rectangular patch of dark blue light above, and I realize it's the window in my room back at the house. I freeze for a moment, convinced that this has to be some kind of hallucination, but when I put my hands on my neck and chest I realize that there seem to be no wounds anymore. I check my ankles, but there too the injuries are gone, although I can still feel an echo of pain. Turning, I look across the dark room, listening to the silence all around, and then I realize that I can hear a faint beeping sound from nearby.
It takes a moment before I realize that the sound is coming from my laptop.
Struggling to my feet, I feel a wave of weakness and nausea rush through my body. Somehow I manage to get to my bed and tap a button on the keyboard, and after I've entered the password I find that the beeping sound is coming from the messenger app, which I quickly open to find that my own number is trying to call. It takes a moment before I remember giving the phone to Suzie when I left her in the church, so I answer, already sobbing with joy at the thought of hearing her voice again.
“Suzie,” I stammer, “it's me! I'm here!”
“He's coming,” she replies, her voice sounding scared and hushed.
I stare at the screen, unable to see a video feed. “What... What did you say?”
In the distance, over the phone link, I hear a loud banging sound, accompanied by th
e creaking of wood, as if someone is opening a door.
“Laura,” Suzie whispers, quieter than ever, as if she's starting to sob. “He's here!”
Chapter Twenty
Daniel
As soon as I spot the farm up ahead, nestled at the river's turn, I know that I've found the monster. I make my way cautiously past the edge of the forest and then I keep low as I hurry across the barren field, and finally I reach the low stone wall that runs around the edge of the property. I can hear someone nearby, so I duck down for a moment and then peer over the top of the wall.
Harold Connaught.
One of Freeman's closest allies, Connaught is carrying buckets of slop over to a pig sty while muttering to himself under his breath. The sight of him sickens me to my stomach, but I know I have to be careful, even with an oaf of his nature. As soon as his back is toward me, I climb over the wall and make my way toward him, and then I place a hand over his mouth and slide my sword straight through his back, aiming for his heart. His body shudders, and when I look over his shoulder I see the sword's tip poking out through his chest with blood smeared along the metal. Thanks to the noise of the pigs nearby, the idiot in my arms can't make any noise to alert Freeman of my presence.
“Know this,” I whisper in his ear. “While these filthy beasts are tearing you apart, I will be delivering a fatal blow to your master. Nykolas Freeman is not long for this world.”
Without giving him time to respond, I take a dagger from around my waist and then force my hand into Connaught's mouth. Despite his struggles, I'm able to reach around and cut his tongue away. I toss the bloody handful into the pig pen, before dragging Connaught himself over, pulling my sword from his back and then tipping him in with his animals. There are a couple of human bones in the mud already, but the pigs ignore those meager offerings and instead make straight for Connaught. Unable to cry out as blood pours from his mouth, he staggers to his feet only for two of the pigs to bite his thighs and pull him down. Squealing with hunger, the animals start tearing at his body, ripping bone and muscle away even as he uses the last of his strength to try forcing them back.
For a moment, I stare at the horrific scene as blood pours from his body. Finally, one of the pigs takes hold of Connaught's head in its jaws and then bites down, crushing his skull.
Not wishing to stay and watch the feast, I make my way past the side of the pen and then over to the edge of the large farmhouse. I peer inside, only to see various torture devices arranged around a large room. There's blood on the floor, too, and I can hear a series of low, pained moans from the next room along, as if there are still some victims here. Freeman has clearly set up an elaborate set of machines, and for a moment my gaze is drawn to a set of wooden chairs fitted with various straps and screws; over by the fireplace, a set of pokers rests next to a cleaning rag, and when I look toward the doorway on the far side of the room, I can just about make out the shadows of cages against the wall, with dark, almost inhuman shapes inside. It's hard to imagine the state of his victims.
“Where are you?” a voice cries out suddenly from the other side of the farmhouse, accompanied by the sound of someone splashing through water. “Come back to me, witch!”
Making my way along the wall, I lean around the corner and see a man down by the water's edge, pulling open the door to a metal cage and looking inside as if he's shocked to find it empty. From all the descriptions I've heard, I know without a doubt that this man is Nykolas Freeman. The man who tortured and murdered my sister.
With my sword in one hand and my dagger in the other, I step out from behind the wall and start making my way across the muddy yard, watching as Freeman continues to examine the cage. He's muttering to himself almost frantically, as if something has happened that he genuinely can't believe. Only when I'm within a few feet of him does he finally seem to notice that someone is approaching, and he turns to me with a fevered expression of genuine shock.
“She's gone!” he sneers, wide-eyed and panicked, before turning back to the cage. “I locked her in here myself and lowered her down, and now she's gone! She must...” He pauses, before turning to me again. “She must have been an exceptionally powerful witch, one who was willing to use her powers to escape. Her name was Laura, she... She got away from me!” Getting to his feet, he looks around as if he thinks someone is about to appear nearby. “I knew she was strange, but I never thought she could escape! Now I shall have to hunt her down again, along with that cursed priest! I shall get them both eventually, though. I swear to God, I shall not be bested!”
He steps toward me, but he stops when I raise my sword toward his face.
“And what is this?” he asks, his demeanor changing subtly as a faint smile crosses his lips. “The pigs sound as if they're having the greatest meal of their lives,” he says after a moment. “Might I suspect that they have finally managed to get hold of Connaught? I always wondered if they longed to consume their master.”
“You are Nykolas Freeman?” I ask, filled with nausea at the mere sight of him.
“Priest hunter and witch hunter,” he replies, “by the authority of His Majesty, King James. I am a man of God, you will understand, and as such I hope you will show me proper courtesy and bow down.”
“You killed my sister,” I tell him, moving the tip of the sword's blade closer to his face.
“I have killed many sisters,” he replies, “so I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific. But not now -” He pushes my sword out of the way with a gloved hand and steps past me. “Can't you see that I'm busy, man? You must come back another day.”
“Rosemarie Hodges,” I snap, grabbing his arm to keep him from getting away. “She was one of the three innocent women you burned to death about five miles from here.”
He turns to me, and I can see from the look in his eyes that he remembers. “She was a witch,” he sneers. “All three of them were guilty, I did the world a favor by wiping them out. If you're her brother, then either you know deep down that your sister was an ungodly monster or you were too naive to see what was happening right in front of your eyes. Whatever the truth, I will accept your gratitude for my work. Please, feel free to leave a payment to show your appreciation.”
“A payment? Are you -” Suddenly I notice his hand reaching for something at his belt, and in a split second I realize that he's going for his ax. Slashing my sword across his face, I grab his wrist and pull him around, causing him to drop the ax and let out a gasp of pain. He tries to reach for the weapon, but I pick it up and throw it as far as I can, sending it tumbling into the river.
“You think I came to thank you for killing my sister?” I ask incredulously. “Are you so insane that you believe I owe you something?”
“Your sister was a monster,” he hisses, struggling to get free. “She would have brought nothing but shame upon your family.”
“Our parents are dead!”
“By her hand, no doubt!” He laughs, as if he considers me to be no threat at all. “You are starting to annoy me,” he says finally. “Pray, leave so that I might continue my work in peace.”
“Your work is done,” I tell him. “You have claimed your last victim.”
He stares at me for a moment, and after a moment the sense of amusement slips from his eyes. “You would seriously make a move against me?”
“I came to kill you,” I reply, “and by God, that is what I shall do!”
Lunging at me, he tries to grab the sword but I pull it away and then drive it forward, sliding the blade straight into his chest. Grabbing him by the shoulder, I hold him close as I twist the sword around, and I can feel his ribs being snapped as I gouge at his heart. Holding his shoulder firmly, I pull him closer, sliding him along the sword until the hilt bumps against his chest. He lets out a gasp, leaning on me for support, and a moment hot blood dribbles from his mouth, covering the side of my neck.
Turning, I keep the sword in his chest as I start dragging him toward the river.
“May God...” he ga
sps, his mouth filling with blood. “May God... protect me... from...”
“Don't speak to me about God,” I tell him. “What would a man like you know about God? All you care about is bitterness and pain, and using the word of God to support your acts of cruelty.” I can feel him weakening, leaning more heavily on me as I get him over to the side of the river, next to the empty metal chamber. “If ghosts exist,” I continue, “I'm sure all your victims are gathered here now, taking pleasure in your death. All the priests you killed, all the so-called witches you tortured to death, including my sister.”
“Damn your sister,” he whispers, his voice pained and broken. “It was... the last one... the one who vanished from the cage underwater... She was the greatest witch I ever faced, and she got away from me...”
“You're going to rot in hell,” I reply. “I wish I could see your eyes when you find yourself on the other side of death and you see God weeping at the things you have done in his name!”
“Do you really think you can kill me?” he gasps. “God wills me to continue to work!”
“There is no room in a good world for men like you,” I tell him. “When news of your death reaches the towns in this county, people will cheer to the rafters.”
He tries to reply, but all he can manage is a faint gasp, and finally I realize that I've let this go on for long enough. I start pulling my sword out from his chest, and once the tip is clear I turn Freeman's body around and push him into the water. He makes no attempt to fight back, he doesn't even cry out; he simply crashes down into the river and then floats back to the surface as a cloud of blood blossoms all around him. As I watch, I realize that there are dead bodies down there, staring up toward the surface as Freeman floats face-down.
And then, one by one, the bodies start to reach up, their dead hands taking hold of Freeman's corpse and pulling him under and finally there's so much blood in the water, I can see no more.
