by Billy Young
Helen whimpered in the corner, pulling herself into a ball once the three had finished their unpleasant business. They left her in the room to pull on some clothing to cover her shame. The three fine women were not happy as this could mean they may not get paid.
“Well,” the impatient sheriff demanded as the women appeared from the room.
“We could find nothing but that does not mean she is not consorting with dark forces,” the thin pointy nosed woman said primly.
“Yes if she is a witch though she must be a very powerful one and should be put on trial as soon as possible in our experience,” the large woman said hearing the clink of money as the man reached inside his long coat.
“I see,” the sheriff said as he held out a bag full of coin to one of the examiners. “I will see to it as quickly as is possible.”
“Then we shall be on our way as soon as we have signed the writ to say of our findings,” the pointy nosed woman said, pleased at being paid so easily.
Helen was taken from the room to the cells beneath the tolbooth as the three signed their names to the main evidence against her. For Helen the time dragged as the word spread about her arrest and the charges brought against her.
The laird hadn’t gone with the sheriff to the tollbooth but set off to his manor house still known as the castle by the locals. He had to make sure the case was solid against the deceased fey-wife’s daughter. He needed to make sure the witnesses he had were ready for the trial that was sure to take place soon and knew what they had to say.
He shouldn’t have worried as his many plans over the past few weeks had seen to all the things needed to regain the wood and cottage his father had given to the old fey-wife when she had still been living. Surely that alone was proof of witchcraft and then there was the sudden birth of her daughter fourteen years earlier, with no man to provide the seed, surely a sign of evil doings as well as loose living.
Whilst the fey-wife was alive he had known he could not make his move for she was far too well liked but now who would come to the aid of this waif. Though he still worried about the old Minister he was sure the old man’s illness would stop him from interfering in his business. After all he had done well in stirring up talk of strange goings on at night near her house.
Helen spent a long miserable night on the straw covered floor of the windowless room that served as the gaol from the small town. The only light came from a small barred opening at eye level in the heavy oak door, used to keep an eye on those unfortunate enough to spend a night or two inside.
Hunger gnawing at her as she hadn’t eaten since that morning, thirst making her lips dry and cracked as no-one was there to offer her something to drink. She felt naked for they hadn’t given her the chance to dress fully; she had only managed to get her under gown, which acted as a nightgown, on before being dragged down to the cellar to be locked away like some common thief.
The next day the torture began; at first it was just lots of questions from the sheriff and his inquisitor, taking turns to try to confuse her.
“Name the others in you’re coven, who are they?” Demanded the sheriff.
“What coven?” Confused with hunger she didn’t understand why they were asking these terrible things.
“Where in the woods do you meet your master?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Are there any men in the coven?”
“I don’t have a coven,” she said falling into the trick question designed to trap her.
“Ah, so now you admit you’re guilt,” the sheriff looked eagerly into her eyes as he spat the words in her face.
“Tell us what is you familiar?”
“I don’t know what you mean, please I haven’t done anything,” she pleaded.
“Now she lies!” Exclaimed the indignant court official, his fat face showing the sweat from the exertion he felt in trying to condemn the young girl by her own words to make the case against her all the more air tight.
All morning the questioning, twisting of words and promises of being allowed home continued but still Helen wouldn’t confess. As the morning became midday the sheriff began to think of his empty belly at that he brought the war of words to an end.
“Well, if you will not tell us the truth of your evil deeds then we have no other option left but to extract it from you with force. We shall leave you to think it over but when we come back you must confess or we will make you, do you understand?” The sheriff said firmly.
“But I have told you I haven’t done anything. I go to church every Sabbath ask Reverend Adams he will tell you,” she hoped at least her old Minister would speak out for her.
“We would but it seems he is deathly ill, you wouldn’t know why that is, would you?” The question was meant to hurt which it did. At that he left with the other man, as he did Helen asked for some water, she was ignored; left to cry dry tears.
They returned after they had eaten their midday snack, something few but the better off could indulge in. Lunch had not been as pleasant as the sheriff would have liked, for news arrived that the old Minister was on the mend. The sheriff’s mind whirled as he knew that if the clergyman recovered before they could send this waif to her death the laird’s plan to retrieve the land his father had gifted to the girl’s mother would be undone or at least made a little harder.
As he re-entered the cell containing Helen he knew that he needed to step things up, he need this young woman to give him his confession. To get it he was prepared to leave her in the hands of his hired henchman who was well versed, as well as, highly recommended in how to obtain such information from the guilty.
“Now, are you ready to tell us the truth and admit to the fact that you are a witch?” The large bulbous sheriff asked hoping Helen would be ready to give him what he desired.
“I have been telling the truth.”
“Well you leave me no other options since you continue with these falsehoods. I will leave you in the capable hands of my learned friend here,” at this he turned leaving the large muscular inquisitor with Helen for he didn’t wish to watch as the man did his unpleasant work. He didn’t escape her screams as she was beaten, raped, and sodomized through the afternoon then into the evening by the man and his two helpers that joined him as the fine gentleman left the cell.
Finally, feeling tired, the man left Helen, bloodied naked form to seek out the sheriff. As he left he promised to return if she still refused to tell the sheriff what he wanted to hear. Helen just lay where they had left her, empty in her nakedness no longer caring about what they might do next.
The inquisitor felt little for what he had done, it didn’t even bother him when he found that she was a virgin. It had merely added to the effect that it had on the girl and to his enjoyment in the pain he had inflicted; he looked forward to further testing how much it would take to breaking this wench for he was sure she still had some inner strength left inside so looked forward to the joy of taking it from her.
“Has she confessed yet?” The sheriff hoped the news would be what he wanted.
“I am sure after tonight she shall yield and give you the confession you wish.”
“I see,” the sheriff was unhappy with this news, “well if she doesn’t then we shall have to proceed to trial without it.”
“I shall do my best your honour,” the man bowed low then made off to get some sustenance for himself and his companions that he had hired locally to help him in his godly business.
Helen was continually woken, though she in truth was far from asleep. She was even thankful when at one stage she was dragged from her cell and her head pushed into a bucket of water for at least she was able to get a sip to ease her thirst. She didn’t fight when those hired by the inquisitor to keep her awake whilst he caught forty wink, forced themselves on her again knowing that to fight as she had earlier would only lead to more of a beating.
“Well, are you ready to confess witch?” The fat sheriff asked not really caring any longer if she
did, just wanting the whole business over with as speedily as he could. When she refused to answer he turned to his hired thug, “clean her up and put some clothes on her; we shall allow fifteen good men of the parish to judge for themselves her guilt.”
At that she found herself doused in water then she found her gown being forced over her head to hide her bared flesh and dried blood down her legs. As she pulled the clothing down to cover her naked battered body she felt her inner strength renew as she thought maybe now she might find justice and be allowed to return home.
She soon found out how wrong she was as she wasn’t allowed to speak in her own defence as the evidence was presented to the court. The sheriff egged the witnesses to say more damning things about Helen and her mother with little regard for truth or justice.
Many had gathering in the small room used for the court proceedings making it overly hot for the young tired woman standing in the makeshift dock. She understood little of the things being said but knew that it was not good. When she tried once too often for the sheriff to refute the things she did understand, he ordered her gagged. The two hired hands at her side happily complied with more force than was needed tearing the corners of her bruised swollen lips in the process, her broken jagged teeth hurting all the more.
She didn’t understand why everyone was so ready to say such wrongs against her; after all they had known her all of her life. She was one of them, wasn’t she? They had respected her mother, who had always shown kindness to everyone; ready to help anyone in needed of it.
When the last of those called to give evidence against her had testified to how questionable her ways were, the sheriff began summing up before sending the jury of fifteen men to deliberate on the verdict.
“Gentlemen,” he began, “you have known this woman for all of her life as you knew her mother but I must ask that you put this to one side so you shall come to a fair and impartial decision.” He let them consider this for a moment before continuing, “You have heard much to my mind that would suggest to me that this woman has consorted with the devil and cast spells to the detriment of many of those here present. Then there is the fact that we have no knowledge of who her father was, is it possible we have a seed of the dark lord in our very midst or that her mother was a loose woman of the lowest demeanour, to my mind this is indeed most likely. After all you have heard for yourselves that men had been seen on numerous occasions going to the witches dwelling. To add to this we have the statement given by the three women hired to examine the accused for marks commonly known to be of the devil, used to feed the imps and demons who plague the common folk of the parish with pains as well as many other ills of the flesh. I say to you good men of the jury remember these things as you discuss how you should find this retched excuse of a woman. Now you may retire to the upper floor to come to you’re verdict.”
The court broke up for the jury to come to their decision. After they had left Helen was taken through the mob, hissing spitting their hatred towards her to the cells below. The time past slowly as she sat in the corner, awaiting her fate.
The jury was in no rush to come to their decision as the laird had made sure food had been laid on for all who had come to see the trial, as well as the jury. Everyone knew that the laird himself had been wronged by this witch and her mother casting spells on his father to obtain money and land they had no right to. But the laird in all his kindness had not wished to come forward to testify about how his poor family had suffered in fear of this witch.
It was mid afternoon before the court reconvened, Helen knew from the gloating glances that things were not as she hoped. The smell of alcohol seemed to be on all those near and as she looked around she could see it was not just those nearby but all present who had been enjoying a jug or two of claret.
“Order, order,” the sheriff thumped his big clammy hand down on to the table before him bringing a hush to the room, “bring in the jury.”
The jury staggered their way through the crowd to the seats kept empty for them. Helen’s heart sank even more at the sight of their ruddy cheeks and the way they refused to look in her direction.
“Have you come to a decision on the guilt of the witch,” the sheriff wanted to get this over with as soon as he could so as he could get back to the free food and drink.
A man nearest the over weight official shakily pushed himself too his feet, “We have.”
“And how say you.”
“We find her guilty your honour sir,” the man happily sat back down, job done.
The sheriff turned solemnly to Helen, “You have been found guilty of witchcraft which leaves me with no option but to sentence you to death. You shall be held till the morning then taken to the crossroads where you shall be strangled at the stake then burnt and your bones buried at the place of you execution and may god have mercy on your evil soul.”
The crowd cheered, whilst Helen felt as if she’d be slammed from a great height. She found it hard to breathe as she was dragged through the baying crowd, blows reigning down on her from all sides. The world spun around her as she was tossed back into the cell to await the new morning.
As the night past she was left alone but only found snatches of sleep as thoughts raced through her mind. She had been sure the Minister would have come to her defence or one of the many people she had known all her life. Tears did not flow from her instead a twisting anger grew within. Bitter words were barely held from spilling out. As the night moved towards the dawn her thoughts turned darker consuming her every fibre.
When they came for her she no longer was the young naive girl they had brutalised. She was the witch they had feared, full of evil intent, revenge foremost in her mind; her hatred burning all reason away.
She was taken, on the cart that had been used to take her to captivity, to the crossroads outside of the small township. A post had been erected at the other side of the road furthest from the town. Fire wood was piled nearby; the crowd had already gathered to watch the death of this evil doer, happy for the distraction to their otherwise gruelling lives.
As the cart came to a halt three men came forth to manhandle Helen through those gathered citizens, taking her to the stake that awaited her. A gag was forced into her mouth, her hands tied behind the wooden stake so her arms wrapped backwards around it holding her, as more rope was coiled around he torso to hold her firm to the post.
“People,” the fat form of the sheriff called the baying crowd to some sort of order, “people, we are here for the purpose of ending the evil that has dwelt for too long amongst us. Bringing fear, pain and torment upon us whilst pretending to be of a kindly heart but her,” the odorous man wagged his finger in the direction of Helen, “evil deeds have been uncovered for us all to see and now we shall have our justice.”
The crowd yelled their approval, chanting as one, “Kill the witch.” Rotted turnips and other vegetable matter rained towards the unfortunate girl.
Her hatred clearly visible in her eyes, burning as the man chosen to carry out the terrible deed moved up to her rear. He held a rope in his hand ready to garrotte the condemned prisoner but as he prepared himself for the task a figure, newly arrived pushed his way through the throng feebly, yet those close to him made way.
“Wait! Wait!” the old clergyman cried as loudly as he could as he reached the reason for the gathering.
“Ah the good Minister,” the sheriff looked contemptuously at the ill looking old man, “what can we do for you.”
“This is wrong and you know it,” the aging minister said with conviction.
“She was found guilty by her peers of casting of spell to the detriment of others and so sentenced accordingly as is the policy of the church whom you represent,” the fat man said with a flourish as the crowd nodded their approval.
“You have no need to tell me of the church’s standing on these matters but it is for the church and not you to judge in these matters as well you know,” the elderly man drew on his limited strength hoping he could at lea
st do something to ease the poor girls suffering. “You sir, would send this so called witch to her death without first allowing her to confess her sins before the Lord.”
“We gave her more than enough chances to confess but she refused though if you so wish to try again then be my guest,” he moved to one side to let the other man approach the figure bound to the wooden post, gloating at him as he passed.
“Oh, my dear child I should have known, I should have protected you better,” Reverend Adams said apologetically as he undid the gag to let the girl find peace before death claimed her.
“You have nothing to fear my mother’s friend,” croaked Helen once her mouth was free of the obstruction, “but for all of you others who have falsely sentenced me to death I call a curse upon you, may the screaming of the banshee tear your very souls to ever lasting torment.”
The old man regaled backwards horror plain for all to see at the curse uttered by the now self confessed witch, as they now saw it. The sheriff gave a nod to the executioner who quickly prevented the witch from saying anything further, choking her till life appeared to desert her.
“Burn her!” A cry went up from the crowd; the fire wood was quickly piled around the lifeless girl as the crowd applauded.
The old clergyman left the scene his heart breaking as he went at hearing the girl he had baptized all those years ago, the girl he had tried to look out for, calling down such wrongs on the towns people no matter the reason for it he could not condone such a thing. By her very words she had justified the barbarity of the crowd and now he could not hope to defend her memory or hope to obtain at least a Christian burial for her.
As the fire took hold of the wood Helen roused from unconsciousness. Pain seared into her mind, her screams shaking everyone present and chased after the old man headed back to his church; a scream that would haunt his memory till his death as it would for so many. As the fire consumed her life it bore a new form in the scream that could bring fear to the hardest of souls.
