The Witch

Crowds gathered as the old wooden cart bounced and jarred along the rutted mud track, carrying an exhausted old woman standing in the back and trying to keep her balance, her eyes glazed over. Her naked breasts hung down like empty bladders, dark red brands burned deep into them, wet with oozing pus. The agitated crowd cursed at her, throwing stones and tomatoes, yelling for her death.

Her old mind went back and forth, wavering through her memories. She longed for the time years ago when she was a carefree, pretty young girl skipping along on the lush green grass, with the sun warming her face, her sweetheart smiling as he waited for her with open arms.

Then she could hear voices. Voices she recognised. Voices of her friends. "Ohhh my friends, they're here" her frail heart clipped the glimmer of hope. "they'll save me, they will. they're shouting, what are they shouting? I can't make it out." 

"Witch ... witch ... burn the witch!"

Her minds was in a haze, she wondered if those shouting were her friends, friends she had known for years. Neighbours she'd known all their lives. "I brought some of them into this world."

Why would they say that?? Have I done any wrong?

In the town square, sticks poked over the side of the wagon and drew blood. Tears rolled down her bloodied face. A rotten egg broke against the side of her head, the pungent contents spilling down onto her shoulder and running down her bruised and burned breast. 

The wagon came to a halt by the church steps. Tears pooled from her eyes when she saw the familiar structure. She had been baptized here. She had helped when the church burnt fun and they had to build a new one. She remembered.

'I was in church on the Sabbath, two weeks ago, when they announced this man was coming. I knew there would be trouble. I couldn't go to church last Sabbath, I was in the town gaol, and this man and his henchmen were doing things to me, things I don't want to remember.' She shuddered with the memory.

The shouting continued for a while, then a new voice boomed out somewhere over her head. "Good townsfolk, I am a miserable sinner!"

The shouting stopped; the crowd fell silent, not sure what was expected of them.

"Yes, I am a miserable sinner before the Almighty, we are all miserable sinners before Almighty God."

"We are all miserable sinners, but we do not consort with Satan!!!" the voice continued, rising to an almost hysterical scream. 

The crowd started baying for blood again. "Witch! ... Witch! ... Burn the witch!"

The speaker was poised waiting for the hubbub to die down again. "Before us here we have a sinner, but no ordinary sinner, she is a self confessed Bride of satan!"

The old woman sobbed and tried to sit down, to regain her strength  But sharp sticks, pitchforks and knives prodded her upright again.

"Burn the witch" ... Burn her! ... Rid us of Satan!"

"By her own free will, she has given herself up to him, she has shared her bed with him, that is why you did not see her in church on the Sabbath." 

"Burn her! … Burn her," not as loud now, some knew he was holding her in prison on the Sabbath. It made them wonder, but they dared not speak.

He raised his arms and the crowd fell quiet. "But we will not burn her! We are not worthy to judge her, we are all miserable sinners."

The voice took on a quiet, doom-laden tone as he confided: "Our Lord God Almighty will be her Judge, Jury and Executioner!"

"Praise be to God!" the crowd shouted.

"TO THE RIVER WITH HER!" he commanded.

The crowd clamoured round her, urging the wagon on, guiding it towards the water. Then hands grabbed at her, pulled and prodded her, touched her in places that only her late husband had touched her and then threw her to the ground. 

She curled up like a newborn baby, glad to be off her feet, tired and wanting to sleep, but boots kicked her along in the mud, into the water.

Then hands dragged her to her feet. She was face to face with her tormentor.

Steven Gray, the hypocrite leaned forward, his face only inches from hers, "you have been in cahoots with the devil!"

'There's no need for you to yell, I can hear you well enough.' she thought as she stared back at him.

"You and your family have been doing the devil's work. Where is he hiding, what form has he taken now?"

Her heart heaved, it was too heavy for her chest to carry, she just wanted to sleep. It showed on her, her eyelids grew heavier and heavier. She knew these people would never believe a word she said, she had resigned to death. It would eventually come.

"What form has he taken now witch! … what form has the devil taken?"

She took a deep breath to steady her voice, he wasn't the only one with a loud voice, she would show him.  

"Steven Gray, You are the devil himself! When the devil went out the door, you came in. The devil's has taken your form!"

Mustering all her remaining strength, she spat blood at him. But she was weak, and only a few could hear her defiance; and only those closest could see the blood spreading over the clean white shirt and well-scrubbed face.

"Throw her into the river! The almighty God will decide. If she is a witch, she will float, then we will burn her."

Images flashed through her confused mind, hands grabbed at her touching all over, lifting and swinging then throwing her over. The water is cold she shuddered. It stings.

The Witchfinder turned away; he already knew what the result would be. No one ever floated, and proof of her innocence was not long in coming. The tired and beaten old woman sank to the bottom of the river. At last no one was poking, feeling or punching, no one was hurting her.

She did not struggle, eyes open, she watched the bubbles as she sank. Beyond them, she could see the blue sky and a single solitary cloud, like a puff of smoke, drifting across her view. A relaxed calm came over her, she let her breath out slowly, and the cloud drifted on.

She could hear nothing but the sound of the bubbles rising through the water and the beating of her heart. A calmness seemed to settle over her as the solitary cloud descended into the water above her. 

The townsfolk screamed and fell to their knees in prayer. Steven turned back to the scene and his jaw trembled as he started to shout, "There is your proof. She was a witch...!"

But his ranting was cut short. A bright light starting at the centre of the cloud spread out and reached into the depths for the old woman.