A Witch's Trial

A Story by JB Henderson

Wrote this for fun, edited it for a contest. I hope you like it?

Most disappearances that are recorded, especially in regards to whole towns of disappearing, have been an interest that has been piqued by most readers and other people alike. Typically, when a town disappears, the clothes are still on their pins, the dogs are still barking, the bowls and silverware are still laid out on the table, the dinner is still cooking, and the toys are still strewn on the floor.

Many people have hypothesized that these occurances happen because of UFO's or other supernatural means, such as magic or spirits. Though they theorize it, the people still relatively don't believe it, believing it to be too easy of an explanation. Yet, if those same people who had created those theories in the first place had realised how correct they were in their thinking, they would pale and shudder, thinking that what they have heard must have been a lie, or insist that their theories were actually much different than what was actually proven, or by calling the wretched newsbringer a delusional fool for believing in such nonsense.

In this society, even those who believe in the supernatural still attempt to find a rational explanation for what has happened, so that they can maintain their sense of control and their false belief in a rational world.

The most rumoured case would be the disappearance of Jamestown, which happened in England roughly six hundred years ago, where the disappearance was even more frightening than that of a normal disappearance. Not only were there still dogs barking and clothes still pinned, but the forest that was once there for the villagers to come and go as they pleased, and that contained bird that had gone extinct in the wild roughly two hundred years ago had also disappeared.

Disregarding their achievements in mathematics and science, and the fact that they executed their 'witches' more than the average town in England during that time period, one would not know about this town without looking at some documentations of this disappearance. The advancements in technology that have been lost was almost as tragic as the disappearance itself. And as dead men tell no tales, one has to speak this tale from a journal entry that I have found while staying at River Street Inn while visiting Savannah, Georgia. I have found a diary that appeared to be written in feminine handwriting that used archaic speech up until the latest entry, which was yesterday morning, when she had to depart to go to another city because 'a boy was getting into things he shouldn't.' The meaning of it makes me shudder, and I fear that revealing this information may cause a great hindrance to my life.

Here is the tale, summarized, of the disappearance of Jamestown.

The whole village, abandoning the town of whence they came, was following the priest, judge, executioner, and six policemen. Of course, the former three titles belonged to one man alone, named John, originating in a forgotten city in Sweden, of which he was chased from, though nobody asked why. Of course, along with this frightening band of men was a brown-haired girl, looking to be no older than twenty, and no younger than fourteen. Her clothes were in tatters, exposing dirty skin to supposed holy, purified eyes. And at one point, her dress was white, but since she was imprisoned for roughly forty-days, it had turned into a horrid green-grey colour, similar to that of mold.

Their supposed holy hands were gripped tight around her bound arms, though she had no means of escape or running, for both her hands and feet were in shackles. The atmosphere, disregarding the circumstances, was actually upbeat. The children were playing and fussing, the women were chatting happily about knitting and their children, the teens expressing their angst through mild violence and gossip, and the men talking about Jesus Christ and whispering about the conquests they made behind their wives backs. (Strangely enough, all the women aged above twenty-two were married in this town.)

The only ones who wore dismal expressions were the band, and even the mayor, who was far behind the rest of the group due to his massive size. Within a few minutes, they all arrived at their destination. Naturally, of course, it was a stake, with a scaffold right next to it, making it easier to tie the girl. Everyone's mouths were suddenly clamped shut, and their eyes began to harden to a marble-like state. The stake appeared menacing, moreso by the meaning than the actual appearance. It was roughly fourteen feet tall, tall enough to need a small ladder so that they can tie the culprit properly. And the wood sitting by the stake looked awfully eager, almost as if it was ready to catch aflame, and devour the burning flesh of the victim while drinking their blood.

Without hesitation, the policemen brought the girl to the scaffold, forcing her to rest against the stake while they tied her. The priest walked towards the girl, bible in hand, though left unopened. After he had cleared his throat and brushed himself, he began to speak.

"Let it be known, people of Jamestown, that this girl is not a criminal, but rather a victim. She has been seduced by the devil's trickery and magic when she was at her weakest, and now she has to suffer for that sin. At this point, she is passed rehabilitation and treatment, and has caused too much harm to this town for us to forgive her sin. She hath poisoned our crops and wrought pestilence upon our women and children, causing five unfortunate deaths. We shall hope that God will have mercy upon this wicked soul." Said the priest, bowing his head along with everybody else from the village. A townsperson walked towards the priest after their silent prayer, and handed him a torch. The priest smiled, then turned towards the girl. Whether the smile was that of sadism or that of justice being served was left for the observer.

He walked to the stake, then threw the torch into the wood. It didn't take long for the stake and the witch to catch a flame, for the stake was soaked in petroleum before this execution. Everyone watched the girl burn, their eyes reflecting the flame, their mouths still closed, their lungs begging for the precious air that has been prevented from entering due to the tension. The sight was almost magical, the fire that was large enough to light the whole area didn't appear to be menacing at all, but rather as warm as it truly was, for the warmth and belief in justice was strong in all of their hearts.

Everyone watched for a very long time, determined to view this show until the fire has died, and the girl was absolutely dead. The usual scent of burning pigs flesh wasn't present, though nobody had noticed. When the sun was beginning to peak over the mountains, the fire had died, the wood was as black as the night they were attending, and the girl?

She was completely unscathed.

Everyone, including the priest, paled upon this realisation. She's not dead. Everyone thought at once. Her eyes, however, were closed, giving hope to some of the less intelligent townsfolk that she may have still died, since the smoke must've entered her lungs, but used magic to protect her skin.

The witch opened her eyes, and everyone gasped. We have made a mistake, everyone was thinking. Fear was present amonst all of them, yet nobody turned to run. They still wanted to believe that this was a trick, somehow, that her eyes had opened because of the wind, that her skin had turned that white, because the fire had burned her differently. She was, after all, a witch, right? Witch's don't burn the same way as humans do, their skin turns white, their eyes open, the breath escapes their lips, but they can no longer fuction, right? So their death is absolutely certain in this case, for they must absolutely be a witch, and witch's die by the fire! There is no way that this woman isn't dead! She made our children sick! She destroyed our crops! She-

No matter how hard they tried, nobody could come to a solution. The witches they had burned in the past had burnt properly, their turning black and shrinking, their clothes all but completely burned to non-existence, their hair appearing like wire, their eye-sockets emptied, their tongues shriveled. A witch burning only occured once a year, yet those details had remained burned into the cornea, scenes that would be nightmares, if only they hadn't thought that a good cause had been achieved after treating a humanoid such a way. Though they thought they knew that the witches were not human, they still felt uneasy, for even though they knew that all sorcerers were servants of Satan, demons wearing the flesh of a human, they still resembled them to the exact detail.

"I am sorry to disappoint," a voice, sounding elegant yet terrible, was coming from the witches mouth, making the villagers shiver and their legs nearly buckling, "but unlike those other witches that you have burned in the past, I am legitimate." Closing her eyes once again, the ropes, thick enough to still remain after the fire, were untied, and she fell from the stake.

At this point, someone had thought to run, yet he had noticed that his legs were unable to move. Whether it was caused by the magic that she was using, or his own fear mattered not to him, but his shallow breathing had ceased completely, making him more anxious, of which he thought impossible.

She landed slowly and graciously on the ground, her dainty feet landing on the soil similar to a cat landing after falling from the tree. Nobody had blinked, and roughly ten women had thought of running, grabbing their children and leaving their husbands to fend for themselves, and perhaps even defeat this monster. Yet, similar to the one man who was cowardly (or intelligent) enough to flee first, their feet had remained rooted to the spots. A mother's courage is superior to that of a soldier, so they knew for an absolute fact that it wasn't fear that was preventing them from fleeing.

She looked down and said nothing for what seemed to be an eternity, her skin going from a pale yet beautiful white colour to a deathly ill colour, appearing like an anemic who was dehydrated and starving, or a poor woman who was suffering from the Pneumonic plague. And her hair was strangely turning, as well. It went from a chestnut brown colour to a golden-blonde colour, appearing less like the menacing seductress that the villagers had feared and persecuted her for in the first place, and more like a wretched victim that would've prevented her from this situation in the first place. One man had thought of screaming, yet not a sigh had escaped his lips.

She raised her head, and her lips appeared blue as if she had suffered a winter night without shelter or even a blanket, her eyes appeared to blacken as if she had remained awake for a whole week without the bags to accompany the fatigued look. And she gave a crooked smile that appeared ghastly by itself, but the ill-looking face added to the affect. One man, whose mouth had finally broken through the spell, finally shouted with a trembling voice, "you fiend! Thou vile w***e of satan! Thou liest with beasts and demons of which thy powers hath whenced!"

A small giggle, sounding similar to that of a small girl, echoing through the forest and was soft enough to feel as if the laughter belonged to that of a ghost, was heard by all the villagers. Her mouth, however, hadn't yet opened. The villagers were finally able to shudder and breath, though they hadn't noticed; though the magic that prevented them from screaming had faded, the fear had paralyzed them.

Finally, her mouth opened, and a laugh was heard. It sounded terrible, like one would expect from a witch. However, it wasn't a cackle of mockery nor an old lady laugh like they had expected. It was a laugh that sounded dry yet full, and it sounded like she was screaming at the same time, yet not a scream of pain or pleasure; it sounded more like a scream that had the intention of penetrating the ear to enter the mind, then shatter the sanity that these villagers were still desperately attempting to grasp. After her laughter had calmed, the villagers were convinced that Satan had possessed this girl.

"That was a splendid joke! W***e of satan? My power originating from the demons of hell? One-thousand and four hundred years, yet the people still believe in that religion! Let me enlighten thee! Satan does not exist, and hath never existed. The devil was an idea that thou hast created to prevent guilt and served the purpose of escaping responsibility! Let me enlighten thee some more! The magic that thou hath seen me use came from my abilities alone. Only the weak witches without talent find powers from supernatural means, yet they are not the demons thou hath speaketh of!

"And those rituals that hath been performed to ridden the witches that ye hath believed in was no more realistic than those pagan rituals that thou hath saith to have been outgrown, nothing more than a ritual to give thee a false sense of security over thy health!

"I was just passing by, not making any noise, yet it was only when the beasts mistakenly called men had attempted to seduce me, and the envious maidens that hath witnessed those attempts that 'twas decided that I was evil. In other words, 'twasn't my actions that were deemed evil, but 'twas my beauty and difference from the townsfolk that 'twas deemed evil. Such are the despicable traits of humans; thou feel the need to exterminate those of which are different, even something as small as skin colour or difference in religion can be deemed evil in thine eyes. I cannot reveal thy evils, so I shalt shew the evils of which thou art familiar with."

With a sound of an orange being crushed between two fingers, the men and women were struck completely silent-as in, their breath that was scarce already has ceased completely. The sight of their children bleeding from their little noses and eye-sockets that contained eyeballs still inside, albeit crushed and leaking out, had caused the unhappy parents to gawk at the scene. All of them, including the infants and the teens, had the inside of their skulls crushed, the brain and veins crushed. Their mouths opened once the blood had gathered to an overwhelming level, and had leaked out. The colour of the blood wasn't what the unhappy villagers were used to, meaning that it wasn't a bright red colour that was seen from a shallow wound. It was a blackish red, thick as oil and slow to drip from their chins. All of them, without making a sound, had fell face-forward onto the dirt.

Had the witch enjoyed their screams, they would be doing so now, yet since their animal-like voices sounded similar to her like nails against a chalkboard, they mouths were clamped shut. However, she enjoyed the sight of tears, so those had flowed plentiful onto the grass.

The scene was terrible for all that had witnessed, with the exception of the witch. The grass that was once green now had appeared to be painted red, resembling a canvas that the artist had decided to dye red before drawing mountains and a yellow sun. The women were weeping voicelessly while the men appeared angry, making feeble attempts at the last moment to be braver than they actually were. The witch continued to smile that hideous, crooked smile.

The priest had fallen to his knees, the only exception to the spell appeared to be him, though he still couldn't move. The details should be spared of what the priest had witnessed next, the women and men having the same fate befall them that their unfortunate children had suffered through, and yet the priest had remained alive.

Whether it was due to the cold air that was suddenly present, or if the witch wanted to continue with the torture of the priest, the scarlet grass had become icy.

"Why....are you doing this?" Asked the priest, his eyes watering.

"Why am I doing what?" Asked the witch. She didn't seem to understand the question, or felt the need to torture the wretched priest even further.

"You...murdered....so...many." Answered he.

"Ah," started the witch, "so I have. What difference does this make for you? You're used to death; are you not also the executioner?" She had a mocking air about her, though the priest hadn't noticed. The shock of his precious townspeople suddenly getting their life ending in such a way had numbed his senses.

"But....they hadn't deserved it. They.....were all good people. All of them! They went to church! We laughed....and.....cried together. We were....like a family." The priest muttered.

"Until the next year, right? When thou feel the need to execute yet another innocent girl for crimes imagined by both ye and those who thou hast considered 'good people.' What changes?" Asked the witch.

The priest cackled, realising his situation. Here he was, chatting to a witch, not like a victim at the mercy of his attacker, or of a criminal to the executioner, but of a man who was curious as to the actions of a child who had hit her younger brother. Not to mention, this particular witch hadn't once begged for her life, probably realising either that she was going to die, or get out of the situation. How funny it was that it should turn out to be the latter! Thinking about it now, she also never confessed to the crimes, or named off the other witches in her clan.

"Can't think of an answer?" Asked the witch, her face becoming expressionless.

"Because....all of those girls we hath executed hath accomplished deeds we deemed unnecessary or cruel. Killing rabbits? Lighting candles as they gather 'round? What else am I besides witchcraft!" He nearly shouts. The witch had never gave him a good look, but she noticed something; he was young, roughly a year or two older than she, and handsome. If only he had been a merchant or a soldier would he be popular with the women. Actually, from her observations, he nearly was, but they all heaved a sigh, obviously wishing for some other fate to befall him, or wishing for something that could've been. Handsome or not, he was still a fool.

"Have you considered the possibility of them just hunting, or just praying?" The priest heaved a sigh; she just didn't get it. Gripping his hair hard enough to seem angry, yet her face still appearing as cold as it was, she raised him.

"How odd is it that the priest hath sinned more than the criminal who's about to be hung for murder and high-treason. Now thou shalt feel the worst of it! Thou art not gonna die like thy townspeople, but art gonna become immortal and suffering for eternity! Wasn't the hell that thou hast spoken of similar to that? Rejoice, priest! Thou art gonna be the first person in existence to experience what thou hath preached to thy people and hath executed for refusing what thou hast called 'truth!'" She let go of his hair, then gripped onto his throat. Wishing he hadn't dropped the bible in fear, or that he had been able to speak, he struggled. Anything that she said was a delusion she had created for herself to make herself feel powerful, thought he. He was really wishing he hadn't dropped the bible. That must be why God isn't helping him! God is angry at him for not only the sins that she had imagined, but also of which he had performed in Sweden. He let out a groan, realising his fate was grim.

Then a sight was seen with his eyes, of which he wished afterwards that he had been blind, so that he could deceive himself into thinking that the sounds were just simple hallucinations. Blood that was once frozen on the ground began to move towards them, and the skin of the witch seemed to be drinking the blood that was once on the ground. The sound resembled that of a child slurping his dried noodles, or of a foot getting stuck in the mud.

"Vampire!" After shouting that, his sanity began to crumble, and he made a scream that sounded like an animal making a desperate cry to gather (or warn) his fellow clan of the beast that was attacking him. She laughed the same laugh she did when she was accused of getting her powers from demons, of which he paid no heed, for though her laugh could be sounded throughout the area, his scream reached to inhuman levels and was sounded within a four mile radius. The only ones who heard this cry was he, the witch, and the neighboring animals.

"Something thou shalt know about witches." She began once he stopped his wails. After a silent minute, she continued, "In order for a witch to reach her full potential, she needs three things and to go through four trials. The three things are a small amount of magic circuits, of which most humans have, yet art uneducated of, patience, for the teaching goes on for roughly ten years before she can even practice, and a strong mind. The four steps for ultimate powers of which is our goal includes teaching, practice, spell-binding, and for our half, blood drinking. As you should know, the ground that was once bloodied has been absorbed by my body. The reason I do this is not only for the highest amount of power that I yearn, but also for immortality." She raised him from the ground without her hands, watching with amusement as he floated.

"With a sacrifice of at least six-hundred, I can do things such as this without effort. At this point, I'm not as powerful as a God, but I hath reached the level of the demi-gods that thou hath thought to have abandoned with your supposed 'new beliefs.'" Said the witch.

".....Whatever do you mean?" Said he, all the fight and energy that was once possessed extinguished once he had believed that God had abandoned him, and that the end of the world was neigh.

"Take it to mean however thou pleases. Now then, live in eternity with the hell-fire that thou art so afraid of." Without even snapping her fingers, smoke emerged. Not from his skin or hair, like he had expected and has witnessed, but from the pit of his stomach, coming out of his nostrils and mouth. He wasn't going to burn from the outside like he had assumed.

He was burning from the inside.

If she were merciful, he would have a voice box to allow him to scream, yet since that was singed too, he couldn't do even that. To prevent him from trying, she had sewn his mouth shut, so that even attempting to open his mouth would cause him greater pain. Not that he could imagine that actually happening, of course. Leaving the bodies as they were, and the priest as high in the air as he was, the witch had left the forest, of which she was supposed to be executed.

The sun had finally risen completely, which would typically disturb her, had actually meant something dear now. Though it would be hard to convince anybody, the witch hadn't enjoyed what she had did. She considered it a tedious chore, something that only served the purpose of punishment and an accomplished goal. Not that she felt guilt, however. The sun that was shining on her told her that her life has began anew.