Brooker Tom stands by a tree, wearing only an old suit and tie. His long arm leans against the trunk of the tree, and he watches. He watches the women scream in agony as they stand on stools, waiting to be hung. Screaming out profanities and cursing the men who brought this upon themselves, the women thrash around. When the stools are removed, and the witches are dropped, he watches as their necks snap like twigs. Blood drips down pale dry lips and a split tongue reveals itself to a watching crowd. Some people in the crowd cheer chants of approval. The witches are gone! Their souls wrapped in Satan's arms. A young girl in the crowd cries, though. He watches her too. In her arms, is a large black cat. Through her lips are screams of sorrow. Hanging from a rope, is her mother.
The crowds disperse. They'd be back when someone else was accused of witchcraft, but for the time being, they had other places to be. The dirt on the ground is trampled on. It holds the weight of all the violence and evil, but salty drops of water seem to be washing all the bad things away. Kneeling in the dust, in front of the wooden stand, is the girl. Crying for her mother, is Ann Fellin.
"Go home," shouts the hangman. She tasted a mix of blood, salty tears, and hatred on her tongue.
"Give me back my mother!" she cries. The demand is urgent, and sounds strange coming from the lips of a seven year old.
"You're mother can rot in hell." Ann lashed out at the man. Her long fingernails ready to claw at his skin and her eyes sharp as daggers. He catches her arms before she can do any real damage.
"You better watch it, girl. You'll be hanging from the same rope as your mother." He drops her arms and watches in disgust as she lands flatly against the ground. It's when she looks up at the sky, that Brooker Tom's eyes narrow in an evil delight.
When the hangman is gone, Brooker walks into the daylight. Ann see's him swiftly moving toward her. She notices how much taller he is than a normal man. His suit is old, but impeccably ironed. She brings herself to her feet and stares into his face. Maybe it's just the light, but his eyes look red.
"I'm sorry about your mother, my dear," he says. His voice sends chills down Ann's spine. "I think I can help with your situation."
"My situation?" Ann mutters in reply. He bends to her height, then curves his lips into a smile.
"Do you believe your mother was a witch?" In all honesty, she wasn't sure what she thought of her mother. One minute, the town is praising her mother for healing an ill man with only holy water, and the next, the same man she healed is accusing her of witchcraft. Did that really make her a witch, though? Ann thought it was only the work of God, but was it really something more?
"I don't know."
"I think she was," he coos. She looks up towards his face into his blood red eyes.
"Sir, I don't see how this is going to he-"
"I believe in witchcraft. I can use magic to bring your mother back." Ann's eyes widened, and suddenly she was torn. The idea of seeing her mother again seemed so satisfying, but something wasn't right.
"Having hesitations, miss?" She snaps out of her trance and fixes her dress.
"Might I ask," she starts nervously, "just how you intend to bring her back?" As if the question were nothing he reaches in his pocket and pulls out a vial.
"This bottle holds the truth between life and death." The vial hung from kite string and shone in the light.
"This tiny little thing?" Brooker stands up straight.
"Precisely. You'll just have to give me one little thing in exchange." Ann had felt there was a catch.
"What would I have to give you?" The sun gets hotter against her face.
"It's nothing really, just a small piece of you."
"A piece of me?"
"A token of sorts." So many questions, but absolutely no answers. Brooker Tom senses Ann's reluctancy and finally spits out his request. "I'd like your soul."
"My soul?" No. This man isn't getting her soul. "I can't give you my soul!" Brooker's eyes narrowed. Suddenly, the sweet man willing to share his magic was is gone and is replaced by something else. Ann's stomach turns to knots as his red eyes turn to black. She turns to run away, but Brooker grabs her wrist.
"I will have your soul." Somehow, using all her willpower, she breaks away.
"You will not."
"You'll see, girl. Eventually one day, your spirtital being will be mine."
Terrified and dizzy, Ann runs away.
Two days later, no sign of the witch man. There is, however, a festering disease burning on Ann's wrist. As soon as she had felt pain, she cleaned it, wrapped it, and rested it, but it only seemed to get worse. Now she sits on a stool, the town's best doctor looking at her arm.
"How did this happen, Ann?" he asks. Ann wonders this herself. Was it some sort of sun burn gone bad? Or maybe she brushed her arm against a patch of poison ivy. Wait.
That man.
He grabbed her wrist.
It's his dark magic.
Is there a cure?
How can this be fixed?
Oh my god.
"Ann, are you alright?" the doctor asks, noticing her unease. She shakes her head.
"T-the witch man. He wanted my soul. He grabbed my wri-"
"A witch man?" Ann can't reply. She leans over and vomits into a waste bucket. With slight panic, the doctor grabs a wet cloth and helps clean Ann up. There isn't much said afterwards. Clearly angered at Ann's condition, the doctor marches to the town mayor, and within minutes, Brooker Tom is being taken away by the wrists.
They wrangle him like an animal. He thrashes around, furious. He stops when he sees the pale face of Ann amongst the men.
"It was you." he spits out. Ann's face stays stern, and she doesn't say anything.
A day later, everyone in town knows of Brooker Tom. He's the tall man who cursed the little girl. If the story didn't pull people to see the his death, it was the method of execution.
If the executioner hanged Brooker Tom, his neck might snap, but his feet would rest upon the ground. He was simply too tall for hanging. Instead, a dozen men carry a large torture contraption onto the stand. It's long and made of a sturdy iron.
"What is that?" Ann asks someone in the crowd. Instead of answering, they only shake their head in pure delight and stare sadistically at the machine.
When Brooker Tom is brought onto the stage, his face is covered by a cavas potato sack. It's tied tighly too his face, enough to show the slender contures of his cheeks, nose, and forehead. Several men hold the ropes that bound him, making sure the large man doesn't break away.
One way or another, they get Brooker to lay down on the contraption. His ankles and wrists are strapped tightly to all four corners of the machine and something clicks in Ann's mind.
"It's a stretcher."
The noises and chants are far to similar to Ann's mother's death, and it makes her uneasy. She takes in the scene in front of her and notices that they thought it would be funny to kill Brooker Tom in his old suit and tie.
As soon as the ropes are pulled, Ann drowns in regret. She forgets the pain in her wrist as well as the sweltering boils overcoming her entire arm. Brooker's screams are muffled through the sack covering his face. Monster! Kill him! Wrap him in the flesh of demons and throw him into hell. The chanting was terrifying.
It seemed like eternity passing her by as Ann watches Brooker Tom slowly get pulled apart. The nausea seemed to be returning and she steadies herself and focuses on standing upright. As soon as the first crack of bones is heard, Ann's heart speeds up. More cracking. The sun beats down and creates beads of sweat across her brow. She imagines in her own mind a pair of feet stomping on weak sticks.
Crack.
Crack.
Crack.
Crack.
When Ann thinks she isn't going to be able to take much longer, she hears Brooker Tom call her name.
"Ann.," he screams in agony and in anger. "I will find you and I will murder you." Ann covered her ears and shut her eyes, but one final yell was heard before Brooker Tom was silenced by death.
"I...will...have...your...soul."
The screaming stopped.
Ten years later, a sixteen year old girl walks through a forest. She writes in a notebook about a memory involving her mother's death and an old suit and tie, and a terrifying promise ensuring her death. Everyday she wakes up thinking that promise is going to be fulfilled and every day is lived in fear.
Ann's death was set in stone from the day she gazed at Brooker Tom, though. She was the daughter of a witch. That sort of life isn't meant to be long lived.
Brooker Tom stands by a tree, wearing only an old suit and tie. His long arm leans against the trunk of the tree, and he watches. He watches a young lady walk through a wooded grove, silently writing in her diary. He watches hungrily, as she steps through the grass. He's taller now and can thank a torture device for that. His bones crack when he walks and a canvas bag is tied tightly around his face. From a distance, it seems like he has has none.
He reaches a hand out when she's near by, and touches her shoulder. As soon as her eyes see the suit, she screams in complete, utter terror. He chases her as she darts through the forest. She screams out begs to just let her go and that he's tortured her enough.
Eventually, she starts writing warnings and sticks them against whatever she can. Eight total.
Can't run.
Follows.
Always watches...no eyes...
Leave me alone.
Help me.
Don't look...it'll take you.
No No No No No
One is left blank. By the time it's stuck against a tree, it's splattered with her blood. Her body is cold and lifeless, and Brooker Tom walked away with her soul. Many years later, a brave girl will journey into those woods with only a flashlight. When she finds the notes, she'll encounter a slender man wearing an old suit and tie.
~End