Alright, so this is just a little ghost story I wrote for an English assignment on The Scarlet Letter. I wanted to go more into the story of Mistress Hibbins, the accused witch sister of the Governor Bellingham and how she (and the others of her 'kind') would supposedly go into the woods to meet with the devil and sign in his "heavy black book". It's not too long, but I hope you enjoy it! Thanks for reading!
(ps, it was written in essay format so apologies if it seems a little blocky !)
The Red Sentence
There was a misty fog hung low on buildings and dew covered grass. Grey, atmospheric winds blowing itself through trees and open windows, howling like the wolves in nearby forests. All was quiet in our dreary town of Salem, the first rays of morning not yet making the days appearance. The Governor Bellingham, along with the rest of the townspeople, hadn't made a move to rouse since their callings to bed the night since. However, my sleeps awakening had made due early this time twilight for reasons not known to me. I felt a strange tug at my person that I had yet determined the source. No obstructions fastened me, nothing bound. I had no attachments, nay, this feeling dwelt within me. As though my own mind were beckoning thee to some destination which beheld no coordinates. But I did! I knewest the place where thy soul hast yonder coaxed me. I suppose I'd known all along. I'd sensed it in my very skeleton, the yearning to heed thy request. To the forest it said! Take thy self to the forest where thou canst take orders! The voice inside, thine own, quieted where thou couldst think again.
With light step I hastened out of thy brothers dwelling into the early of dawn. I hurry into shadows as not to be seen by other possible early risers. They thought me different, a witch they said. Tainted by the caress of Satans palm. Old Mistress Hibbins, never to be near for fear of contagion. Fools! Didst thou ever think to ask thee! Ha ha ha, how they would have assumed correct! Thou's trek into the forest hast not been thy first. Thoust commander hast many a time persuaded into His forest. And without hesitation I thus compensate. Thou hast no need, for willingly I placate Him. And thou doth not mean thy Man above to whom I refer. Thus speaks of thy one true sinner, thou Father of darkness. He is thy one who brings thus requests to thine. He is thy persuader. But, thou hasn't bid thee to his fortress for some four years. Possible why thou could not recognise thy thought before. Yea, he summons thee now, for I shall come without hesitation.
Almost outside the edge of town I walk towards the large and dark forest. Bits of low light awkwardly shining in minimal areas, cascading a sinister glow over the vegetation. Once inside the cover of the backwoods I let myself become the person I am only in the presence of equals. Stretching my arms out I let fingertips graze leaves, lingering on branches. My stride morphs into that of younger stature provoking the rest of my being to change. For the age of my damnation being many years since, that is who I become when in such closeness to our Master. You see, when you are damned, you freeze so to speak. Anytime you are to communicate with the Devil, you go back to being the person you were at the time of your excommunication. Being as though I was accused when thy was still a young woman, I thus become that same maiden now.
Trailing my way around trees and other hindrances with a grace and fluidity I so missed, I am soon wanting to stop, having reached my haven. I look forward, eyes scanning. I call out to thee: "Wilt thou come out?" I await reply. To which none I receive. "I prithee saw for thy came in alone. Thou hast never brought the unwanted. Thou hast taught thee better." I say to the shadows. A cool wind blows over me and I have my reply. Again I await Him. Though I assume no haste for this be privilege to meet with thee.
Far out yonder in the black I make out movement. A frigid trembling in the canvas that resembles the silhouette of a man, yet still encompassed fully in the sheath of darkness. As shapes draw nearer a more defined picture comes before me. Twas right! Thou didst see a man! The man! And thou art holds thy large and heavy book! Oh, how I admire the book, with its intricate weaves of adornment and fascinating uses of the iron upon its face. Familiarity wells in me. Yes, for I have encountered the book before, yet that doth not seem the reason for provoking such feelings. Strange indeed! I quiet my thoughts for the Black Man hast almost come upon me with his broad and intimidating book and heavy iron pen. Now only yonder a few yards, his ferocity never ceases to threaten me. The pure size of Him trumps that of any mortal man, and if not for the look of physical body, he would not seem man at all. For he shows no features, no eyes, nose, or mouth to speak of. Thou didst though, wear a cloak. And with his hood pulled over just enough to hide the details of his countenance, as for mystery to seem his one remaining virtue.
Pulled out of my reverie I am now face to cloak with the Devil Himself. With the many times I have been in this placement it never ceases to bring forth such awe and worship to this all-powerful being. I bow my head and curtsy to the man, showing my utmost respect and admiration. He responds by lifting the colossal book and holding it out forth to me, I fixate my gaze upon it in pure wonder and perplexity. As I stare, the low glow which illuminates our surroundings dims, even as the sun continues to rise in the morning air. The green of the foliage mixes with the black of the shadows leaving the forest in a malevolent haze. Just as I consider a sideways glance the placement of the book in the Black Man's strong grip shifts and slowly reveals its contents to me. A strong wind suddenly forces itself against us and blows through the many pages of the wrought iron book, making them flutter like that of a hummingbird's wings.
Almost as quick as it had come the wind vanishes and the flapping stills, landing on a page. The page in which I am to sign my name, once again confirming the exchange of my soul to the Devil. On this page, at the very bottom of the slide, contains one single letter. X. Written so with the blackest of any ink, followed by a line. This was to be where I would sign. Though, the placement of this scribe sprung forth inquiry in me. As if the blank space above held the information of my sins and satisfactories possible only seen by the Black Man himself.
Just shortly after the Books opening was it time for my ink blot doom. The sign and deliver in which I reinforce the Devils verdict. The dense utensil, the iron pen, lie just next to the line of signature with an integrity far more than myself. It gave off pure, unadulterated (no pun intended ) superiority very rightfully placed. I put my hand on display above the book palm up and pause for Him to finish the act. My mind flashes to my first trip to the forest and how when this time came then He reached for my wrist and guided me to this very position. My cognitive memory recalls the lack of limb underneath his cloak, and only a bitter cold vapor that lead my palm to this open position above the book and left behind only a heavy and desolate feeling in the pit of my heart. My subconscious mind still shivers at the remembrance and vowed that first cold morning in the woods to avoid any contact, or lack thereof, with the Black Man, seeing as though the consequences of these actions left with me a horrible dread and unease.
Focusing back towards the hooded figure I see a glint of silver and then a sharp stinging in the tip of my pointer finger. He'd pricked me. As the blood builds I turn my hand over and let a single drop of that crimson beauty fall upon the line. One mark blemishes the paper in which I must now sign. Glancing at the pen sheathed in its heavy iron, I pick it up. With opportunity, I now examine the pen more closely taking in account the unnatural weight and texture. Smooth as porcelain and a freezing cold temperature that warmth of hand could not thaw. Also in such close proximity to the pen I notice the very end of it, where you write from, was dyed already with the scarlet of another! My body went slightly frigid with the thought of others who had placed their hand upon this iron spike, and whose blood hath dripped off the edge. With unsteady hand I place the pen's tip into the small dot of red and almost like a magnet the blood is drawn to it. Controlling my shiver I begin the sign, and before I have time to take a second breath I have finished the sentence. The red sentence. The crimson etch that affirmed my destiny. As I stare at the unholy brand of my name, written with shaky loops and crosses, I see that almost like magic the blood seeps into the very paper to soon look as if it had always been there. One last look and the book is shut with an echoing thud and small puff of dust. I take step back and once again curtsy. He remains in his spot but adjusts the book in its original space under his arm, pen in hand, he nods. "I thank thee for speaking with me, and hope thy considers meeting again in futures time." I exclaim. And this be truth, for I cherish when thy commander calls to thee.
The light from mornings break slowly begins to return and I watch as the Black Man fades into the shadows only to return again when he needeth my services. I feel the youth and elegance drain from my pores leaving nothing but my weathered old body in its place. Sun shines in all areas now and ignites beauty and warmth in the once dark, cold umbrage. I start my trek back homeward tripping my way through the thick leafage until I am out from under the cover of green and on the path to town.
My last visit with the Black Man had been those four years ago and thinking back I remember a strange feeling kindled after it. Like a loneliness forgotten, somehow I felt as if I weren't alone in thy sentence. Never having figured out the mystery, twas disregarded. Yet, the awareness never ceased, always in the back of thy brain, lingering. And here again it sparks! That book! That book hast brought back the memory, the sensation of singularity gone! replaced by alikeness of something. Or someone? Canst be so, for no one else hast been like me.
While walking a glint of color temporarily blinds my vision and I look up to see none other than Hester Prynne ! And the little one! For I see her now playing in the flower beds whilst her mother glances on. She sits just outside the light of sun and speaks quietly to the child. As I further my way along, I come upon a new angle of Hester and catch glimpse of the red ornament upon her bosom. The Scarlet Letter. For her shame reads so clearly now with this in sight. With one last glance at the letter of mockery I make my way past their scene and back to my homestead.
Once inside the confines of my resident, I take a rest for I was out some hours long. And in my slumber, I dream of the Book. The abstract patterns and twists of elaborate iron manufacture are bringing up familiar memories not placeable. I also dream of Hester Prynne, and her strange offspring. I've heard a question or two between them and hast toldest me that her young one ist far beyond her years. Questions of the blasted mark upon her shoulder, and how it hast come about. Yes, I'm sure that Letter pose many a question from that wise child, many indeed. What wonders me is the beauty of such a horrible and scorching thing. The skill of weaving and sewing is most acceptable but the elegance of the gold threading and distinct embroidering hast surprised me. And also reminds me of the Black Man's heavy book! Could it be this that hast been so familiar to me? Thy Scarlet Letter? Could it be so that some other citizen of Salem hast met thy Black Man! And signed in thy book with blood of their own hand! Impossible! No other hast felt the solitude of cold sin. Yet one has! And was shone so through that Scarlet Letter seen today! Could it be so! Could it? Could it be - Hester Prynne! I awaken with a gasp as realizations floods through me.
Fin.