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raintherainywriter · 6 years ago

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"Let her burn"

Year 1692, Salem (Boston)

Church had sentenced sentence to more than 200 people accused of witchcraft. But, still, the witch hunt wasn't finished yet.

A group of three teenagers was walking, into the night, in the forest, laughing and talking. Elizabeth, Mark and Hannah had gone for a walk during the execution of the three first witches in the square.

–Mark, are you sure we aren't lost? –Asked Hannah, rubbing her arms against herself, trying to conserve the body heat. The only light which illuminated their path was the moon's white cloak, which strangely shone alone in the sky.

–Hannah, I know this forest like the palm of my hand. Also, don't look at me! It was Elizabeth's idea to come here! –He said, moving away some branches so the girls could pass without any problem.

All the attention fell on Elizabeth, who smiled sideways, shrugging.

–I guess I just wanted to... –She started to explain, interrupted by a torn weeping of real pain that set her paralyzed there, completely rigid.

The weeping resonated through all the forest, like the echo of a soul in pain walking through the mortal plane during eternity.

–Another witch to the bonfire, I guess. –He mumbled, contributing to the awkward silence that suddenly reigned in the dark forest. Nobody moved during a few minutes.

–Which are the sentences? –Hannah asked, with a weak voice, joining them. The small branches crunched under their feet, next to the leaves that left the tree.

–They say there are four: one for each element. –Elizabeth mumbled, with an inexpressive voice. –The bonfire symbolizes fire, the river one for water, the fallow for wind... –She kept in silence for a moment. –And stoned for earth.

Beyond, they could see the end of the forest. People could be heard there where a coppery smoke was shinning.

–Why is there a punishment in the river? –Asked Mark, confused.

Elizabeth laughed, rude and shortly.

–They tie them to a chair and throw them to the river to let them drown. If they find their way out or they survive, they're witches; so they'll burn them or hang them. But if they die, they're normal people. –Mark and Hannah turned back and looked at her.

Only then, Elizabeth noticed they were looking at her, standing there.

–What is it?–She asked. –What's wrong?

Mark and Hannah shared a quick look between them.

–Elizabeth... Why would you want to go on a walk tonight, at the forest? It's cold out here, it's late... –Hannah started to say, with a scared voice.

–And it's witch night. –Mark interrupted her, with a strong and cold voice.

Elizabeth felt how her pulse was accelerating little by little; the sudden feeling of dizziness. The fear running through her veins.

–Guys... –Elizabeth mumbled trying to keep calmed.–Guys, come on... Don't you think I'm a...?

–Witch.

–What...?

–Witch! –He repeated. The hate growing in Elizabeth's friends young hearts while hers was breaking into thousand pieces. –Hurry! Here there's a witch!–He shouted, calling a group of men's attention.

Elizabeth, with tears in her eyes, ran back into the forest. Hearing steps running after her. Multiple voices exclamed "witch" with hate all the time. Meanwhile, she was running, not knowing where, through the forest's darkness.

She ran during almost an hour, avoiding rocks people were throwing at her. Her legs were tired and hurt, and she was feeling dizzy. Starting to feel lost.

She arrived a clear where the moon was shining more. She knew she shouldn't stop running, but, on the other hand... She was too tired.

Done, she got on her knees; grass scratching her legs. She closed her eyes and took a breathe.

Steps and voices were more clear each time. She started to pray:

–Father and mother, who gave me the gift of being able to practice nature's power. –Some villagers were arriving. –Who guided my steps in the darkness and gave me peace when fear was waiting for me in the shadows...

A circle surrounded her, who was crying in silence while she mumbled her prayer.

–Let her burn! –Someone exclaimed.

–To the river, send the witch to the river! –Others shouted with anger.

Mark took a step forward and looked with hate to Elizabeth. She looked up at him, her cheeks riddled with tears.

–To the gallows. –He said, with the coldest and most cruel voice Elizabeth ever heard. There wasn't a whit of care, empath or mere reminder of the friendship there was between them hours before.

Elizabeth shaked her head, scared, clinging to Mark's legs while she begged him to remember all those years lf friendship and begged him for mercy.

Mark, ignoring her pleas, grabbed Elizabeth by her hair and pulled her up. She screamed in pain, grabbing Mark's hand, trying to take it off her. But he was too strong.

–Women like you; Satan's worshipers, liars and disgusting, deserve the bonfire. The slowest and most agonizing death ever known. –Mark said, looking with hate to the scared Elizabeth. –I would enjoy hanging your disgusting body from a tree. From this tree, where your sinful friends did, –Elizabeth looked up and saw, for the very first time, the huge tree whose branche over them were lurking. Six bodies were hanging in there, like weightless ghosts; sentenced to wander through the mortal plane forever. –but I wouldn't be able to listen your scrwams of pain if I did... And that's something that I don't want to miss.–A sharky smile was slowly sewing on his terrifying face, Mark turned arround and watched his angry fellows. –I have too much ideas, guys, –he joked–what should we do?

Elizabeth looked up to Mark's cold eyes.

–Mark, for our friendship's sake, please... –She tried to say.

–I'm not friends with witches. –He said, interrupting her.

Elizabeth's heart broke into pieces.

–Mark–she tried again–by the friendship we used to have shake... –She corrected –please... I beg you; I'm begging you for mercy... Mark...–She whispered, about to cry again.

–Mark, –Someone called him. –Let's tie her up to the tree and let her burn with the others. –He offered.

Mark went quiet for a moment, thinking. Closely watched by Elizabeth.

–Tie her up. –He ordered.

He threw her to the ground while he joined two men with torches. He grabbed a this but short branch and they lit it.

A young marriage grabbed the young Elizabeth and, grabbed by her arms, they took them next to the tree. Meanwhile, she screamed, cried and begged all over again, trying her best to ask for help.

Ignoring her, they tied her up tightly and put branches and leaves around her, creating a base for the fire. Elizabeth, who gave up her hopes and prayers, looked one last time to her neighbors. She looked with anger and hate to her judges and executioners.

–You, my neighbours, angry villagers who punish a woman for not following your path. You, the neighborhood I was raised in, the one who's now about to kill an innocent. You, mothers and fathers; you lies carriers. –Her voice, far from broken, announced inexpressively her veredict:–You, the ones who'll rest between shadows, and in the shadows you'll find your biggest fears... I curse you!!–She exclaimed, winning her ambicious and bloodthirsty public's surprise. –And so I curse this land, bathed in my sisters' blood! Listen closely my advice, and be aware... Because ten years after my death, we will raise again from the death and come back to this land to get revenge! We'll kill your sons, daughters and we'll punish your old bodies... Pray... PRAY!! to your loved God, because we'll get revenge and either he will be able to save you.

They threw the torches down to the branches, starting the bonfire, which quickly started to burn and grow up in towers of flames. Red, orange and a bright yellow lightened the dark night.

Elizabeth cired. The most painful, torn and agonic weeping they ever heard. Her organs were burning with the power of ten hells, and she felt her skin melting under the flames. Fire licking her bones and her soul quietly leaving her body while she was using her last breathe to scream.

She screamed until her throat bleed, until her voice disappeared in the painful sound of her body burning into ashes.

She screamed. She screamed that loudly, that she woke up the wolfs, who howled sadly to the moon, knowing an innocent was being murdered. She screamed that loudly; that painfully, that even her murderers kept the memory of her torn weeping deep inside their fears. And, since that night, Elizabeth lived in everyone's fears, counting the days until she could come back.

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raintherainywriter · 6 years ago

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"Night two: Peter"

- Time candy time, children!- Mrs. Smith announced, with her formal smile and an enormous tray full of sweets.

A wave of hungry and smiling children ran towards her, forming a riotous circle around her, demanding their portion of sweet heaven.

Mentally she enumerated one by one the little monsters invited to the party: Mark, Ruffus, Kendall, Ashley, Mickey, Holy, Molly, Drew, Vanessa, Kelly, Ian ... Where was Peter? She was sure that Drew, her son, had taken charge of inviting him that night. In fact, she would put her hand on the fire, swearing to have received him hours earlier at the door, dressed in his funny werewolf costume.

Concerned, though not nervous, she went looking for her husband, Steve. Surely poor Peter had gone to have a formal talk somewhere quiet; well known was how bad that little man felt in noisy and rowdy places.

-Steve honey, have you seen Peter?- She asked, frowning curiously, meeting her husband in the kitchen. Although it did not surprise her, it bothered her to see him there, isolated with his newspaper while she took care of everything. How easy it was to ignore everything!

-I didn't. Although he's probably chasing some mouse in the garden or being upstairs playing with Drew's toys. You know what that child is like.- The sweet Mrs. Smith, who had to restrain herself so she doesn't strangle her arrogant husband that same night.

With the level of concern increasing, she crossed the hallway with a short interval between heel and heel. She opened the door, letting the cold come in and freezing her long legs; That year she wanted to disguise herself as a waitress in the seventies, and didn't take into account the fact that a skirt in the middle of autumn would be the worst of ideas. She looked around, reviewing the relief of her front garden meticulously, but she didn't find more but little groups of children crossing the street to the next house to ask for candy. The anguish slowly grew in the depths of her insecurity, and she slammed the door shut, beginning to lose patience. She turned around in frustration, ready to go and reprimand her husband, guided by the tremendous fear that something had happened to little Peter. The children didn't have to know, but that pigeon could show a minimum interest.

Turning around, she found little Peter standing in front of her, still in her disguise, except that the mask must have left it somewhere. His black eyes looked directly at her, and he rubbed the tips of his fingers conscientiously.

-Are you ok, Mrs. Smith?- He asked, barely in a whisper. Or, at least, it was barely a whisper between so much scandal coming from the room.

She took a breath, closing her eyes with relief and bringing her hand to her chest while a smile decorated her face.

-You scared me, little one. I thought something had happened to you.- She assured, smiling at him kindly.

Peter didn't say a word. He had stopped smacking himself, but he still had traces of some kind of strawberry or raspberry syrup at the corners of his mouth.

-The sweets are over.- Little Peter explained, wiping the remains of whatever that sticky concoction was on his sleeve. The coat became sticky and reddish, skimming the black.- But don't worry, Mrs. Smith, I've fixed it. Everything is solved.

She stayed there a few seconds longer than expected. What did he mean exactly? Steve got him more sweet? If so, she only hoped that the children wouldn't mutiny against her fighting against a supposed inequality or favoritism.

Leaving Peter behind at the entrance, she returned to the kitchen with Steve. He was still where she left him when she went to look for Peter in the garden; sitting there too busy reading the column of sports to listen to his exhausted and hardworking wife that all she asked for was a little attention.

-For your information, Peter wasn't in the front yard. It surprised me from the back when I was going to try Drew's room.- She said, turning her back to start scrubbing the dishes. Steve was silent. - "Oh Hannah, what would we do without you? I know I never say it, but you are the best" .- She mocked, imitating the voice of her husband, who didn't answer her. -Very mature, Steve, ignore your wife.

Fed up with her husband's silence, Hannah slammed the tap abruptly, taking off her gloves, reluctantly. She turned, glaring at the man in that chair in front of the television, holding the newspaper.

-I am talking to you!- She insisted, offering him one last chance to get rid of her tremendous bad mood. Which, silly of him, rejected.

Hannah walked furiously, slamming the paper aside to look directly at her impolite husband. The only thing that came out of her throat was a terrible and paralyzing cry of real terror.

The noise stopped suddenly, and only then she was aware of the true weight of silence. Her eyes widened, analyzed the inert body of Steve with horror. Blood poured from his throat, uncontrollably, even though he was no longer breathing.

Tears welled up without warning. The trembling seized her body, and horror paralyzed her face. Soon, the kitchen was full of terrified children who admired the scene in the same lascivious and morbid way that a traffic accident was seen; you knew you had to stop, and in fact you wanted to stop ... But it was a superior force.

-Don't touch him, Drew. Are you all ok? Someone must have entered ... Peter? Where is Peter?- Hannah asked, looking over the heads of the pale children, scared.

-Mom, who are you talking about?- Seeing her mother's disbelief, Drew added, -No Peter has come to the party ... In fact, there's no Peter in my class.

On the open page of the newspaper there was a chilling message written on a permanent black marker.

"I HEAR YOU, HANNAH SMITH."

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