It had been a great satisfaction and relief for the dour Judge Hopkins when the witch, the evil servant of the Devil, Agatha Prenderghast, was taken to the gallows to face punishment for her sins against the town.
He had been there. He had seen it all happen. The day the follower of demons who had dared to wreak damnation on the innocent souls of Blithe Hollow was to be taken away and executed for her sin. Her sin of speaking to the dead. A supernatural ability that surely was passed to her by the Devil himself. And God knows what horrific evils he had bestowed upon her as well. Buts she would not use them. The witch would not be a threat to anybody once she was hanged.
He had seen the damned creature taken away to the gallows. The witch's six accusers had been standing with the judge in front of the crowd of pilgrims who had come to make sure that the witch would not harm them or their children.
The girl was weeping loudly and pleading for her life. "Please don't," She was crying. "Don't do this." But Judge Hopkins would not hear any of it. He would not be swayed by the Devil and risk the lives of every soul in the small village to the demons.
Small droplets of tears dripped onto the floor in front of the Judge as the hangman slipped the noose around her neck. Every soul in Blithe Hollow was watching in fear and anticipation for what was about to happen next. Agatha was crying louder than ever and was begging openly, but her cries fell on deaf ears.
"I didn't do anything wrong!" He remembered her cry. "P-Please, don't…"
Those were her last words. The hatchet was removed and the girl went plummeting towards the earth, and the noose coiled around her neck went taut, and with a scream of pain, Agatha drew her last, painful breath as her neck broke. Her small, lifeless body was soon swaying in the distance, her head hanging to the side.
A few townspeople recoiled in fear at the sight before them. The Judge was aware that many witch executions had taken place, but he also knew that the sight of ones death still frightened them.
The seven accusers sighed with relief that the threat was finally over. But alas, he and the six others had just sealed their own fates.
Just moments after the girl had been executed, a sharp pain seemed to strike each of them, and they were soon as cold and lifeless as the young girl hanging in the distance.
…
It was because of the witch. The dead Judge Hopkins was buried with the other six in the cemetery, and in death, his soul knew that the witch had cursed them all to die.
"I'll make you sorry! I'll make all of you sorry!"
The witch had not been lying. Even in death she was a threat to them all.
Hopkins spent the next several years in deep hatred towards the girl that had indeed damned them all. The witch, the demon, was a danger to everybody even in death, and the Judge despised himself for it. He could not save the lives of the innocents of that town. He had failed to do the work of the Lord by destroying the threat to them all.
But the evil witch was held back. A group of people had appeared to take it up to prevent her from returning to the world to wreak havoc. The dead Hopkins was somewhat relieved at this.
But something was wrong.
These people who had been keeping the witch back. They had a special ability nobody else possessed. They could speak to the dead. They were witches, just like Agatha.
It was with great irony to the deceased Judge that he had hanged a witch, and now more witches were helping to protect the town. And that was when he came to a harsh realization: They were not witches.
The truth struck him more coldly and harshly then when Agatha had struck him down. Their ability to speak to those who were no longer alive, it appeared, was not bestowed upon them by the Devil. They had it naturally.
The truth is a harsh reality. And the reality was that Hopkins had not executed a witch to death. He had executed a young girl with a unique ability unlike anyone else. She was special, and he realizes that he had condemned her to death for it.
His hatred towards the young girl was replaced by great sorrow and despair. He had murdered a young child, and it was for no true reason.
What have I done?
The question thundered in his cold head for centuries. He had been responsible for the death of a young girl, believing she was something she was not. She was not a witch, she was not a demon, she was not a threat. She was just a child. And he had sentenced her to execution.
He had taken away a young girl's life. Her future was gone now because of him. He had not done the Lord's work in protecting the town. He had done the Devil's work by murdering that child.
It made him think of the other people who had been executed as witches. Had they truly been witches? So many people had been killed, and it was all his doing. He had convinced himself that he was doing what was right, but he had been wrong. The only one who deserved to be prosecuted was he himself for his crimes. His crimes against God.
…
His rotting corpse finally rose on the 300th anniversary of that young girl's unjust execution. Along with the other six cursed beings, he had to set out to find the one with the gift that he had killed a another because of.
As Hopkins walked the earth once more, it was in his mind that this would be his only chance to right what he had wronged. And then maybe, just maybe, God would forgive him, and the young child would forgive him.
And he could forgive himself.