The Witch — A Short Story

The creature that stood on the wooden platform may have been a woman at one point, but that was before they had sheared the hair from its head, stripped it of its pride and clothing, and paraded it in front of the townsfolk as they threw rocks. But the creature they tied to that wooden platform was no longer a woman. It was no longer human.

They wouldn’t tie a naked, dirty, bruised woman to a stake. They wouldn’t burn a human being to death.

A witch, however, a witch they could burn with feral smiles on their face and fervor in their eyes. So a witch it was that they were ridding the world of. It was a public service.

The creature stared straight ahead, its face emotionless, as the executioner thrust its torch into the stacks of tarred wood at the base of the platform. The wood caught fire quickly, a curl of smoke reaching towards the velvety night sky. The creature did not look as smoke quickly obscured the multitude of stars and made the executioner cough and back up.

The creature stared without blinking, somehow immune to the stinging in its eyes as smoke wrapped it in its hazy embrace. It counted its heartbeats. It remembered. Time slowed as the fire crept up the stack of wood, crept up towards bloody toenails and bare skinny legs.

Its heart beat once, heavily.

The creature remembered life as a little girl with soft yellow curls and bright red cheeks. It remembered running through fields shrieking with glee after rabbits and birds. It remembered the hot sun on her head and the way the golden wheat slapped against her legs as she ran, heedless of the way the hem of her dress tore on a passing thorn bush. It remembered the smell of the man she ran into, the shock of sweat and rancid pork fat. It remembered looking up in surprise to see a wide smile with chipped teeth in a scruffy bearded face. It remembered the gleam in his eyes.

Its heart beat again, slowly.

The creature remembered humming to herself as she stood in the town square, reeling up a bucket of water from the well. It remembered a yellow-bellied bird perching on the edge of the well to look at her with its beady black eyes. It remembered whistling a little melody to the bird, after she had set the bucket of water on the edge of the well. It remembered the group of children running by, laughing wildly as both the bucket and she went flying, one lost into the well and the other to land on the hard paving stones of the square. It remembered how they screamed whore at her and how their mothers looked on with stony faces, and fiery hate in their eyes.

Its heart beat a third time, painfully.

The creature remembered being used by man after man. Sometimes roughly. Never happily.

Beat.

The creature remembered growing large with child. It remembered hating it and also fearing the life it would be cursed to live. It remembered swallowing something bitter, that made her choke. It remembered pushing out the stiff, unmoving flesh, alone, bleeding, on the floor of the privy. It remembered the miniature empty, blue eyes.

Beat.

The creature remembered walking on the street on a cold, lonely night. It remembered the feeling of a hand yanking her dirty yellow braid sharply, pulling her into a dark alleyway. It remembered screaming into an uncaring night, thrashing out with arms and legs. It remembered when the fist suddenly let her braid go as the body of a man fell to the ground and blood started to seep from a dent in the side of his head. It remembered the reflection of the moon on his unblinking eyes.

Beat.

The creature remembered holding a knife to her master’s throat as he signed her papers of freedom. It remembered staring into his eyes, hard with contempt and moving ever so slightly. It remembered his body crashing backwards into his chair as he scrabbled in vain at the gash in his neck. It remembered how he knocked over a candle in his death throes and how the dry wood burned so quickly. It remembered seeing a reflection of her face in the mirror on his wall, flames shining in her eyes.

Beat.

The creature remembered running away and finding an abandoned house in the woods near this village. It remembered living in peace for years, as the memories slowly faded and were replaced by new memories, of a husband and a daughter with soft yellow curls. It remembered recognizing the new blacksmith in town. It remembered watching as her neighbors started looking at her differently, suspicion growing in their eyes.

Beat.

The creature remembered the day she came home from the market and found her home silent, its windows broken. It remembered the smell of charred wood.

Beat.

The creature remembered sitting in front of the empty house, tears drying on her face as she listened to the sound of boots marching up the path to her house. It remembered the torchlight through the trees. It remembered hearing them scream, murderer, whore, witch.

…beat.

Light rushed back into the creature’s eyes as the memories ran out. It glared out at the townsfolk, its eyes red and glittering in the flickering flames that had risen to wrap around its body.

Lightning flashed out of the sky, blinding the creature. An acrid smoke rose to twine with the smoke from the dry wood. The townsfolk were no longer screaming.

The creature heard only the sound of its own crackling in the flames and nothing more.

The woman closed sightless eyes, a small smile on her now flesh-less lips.

Her heart did not beat again.