NOTE: This is a chapter with a shift of perspective, from third to first-person. I'm sorry if this is confusing, but I love experimenting with points of view, especially third-person omniscient to first-person limited. Enjoy!

Chapter 8

Cole just sat in the director's chair, looking down with tears in his eyes. The interviewer grabbed a box of tissues and passed it to the subject as he began to cry heavily. The interviewer himself had no idea where to begin when imagining himself in the shoes of the traumatized interview subject. Cole knew he agreed to this interview, but now, he was beginning to regret it. He didn't want to think about the hard time he had with the Roanoke colonists' ghosts, the encounters with the Witch Scáthach, and more importantly, the deaths he had seen with his own eyes. Recalling Elias' death was tougher than recalling his coerced sexual encounter with the woodland Witch.

"Are you alright? Do you want to take another break and come back or…" the interviewer asked. Cole didn't answer, but sobbed into a tissue before blowing his nose into it.

"All this…was testin' my faith," he said breathily. His bright blue eyes were now beet red from the intense emotional display of tears and sobs.

"I understand, Mr. Paterson. This is some…very heavy testimony, if I do say so myself," the interviewer said with sympathy.

"No," Cole said. "I don't think you DO understand. How would you feel if you were in my shoes? Seein' the world through my eyes, seein' what I saw, experiencin' what I did?" He paused and sniffled as wet mucous began to drip down in the interior of his right nostril. "You ain't got a damn clue, sir. What it's like to relive all that horror on a daily basis, havin' this crap in your nightmares no matter how many times you pray to God to make it all go away. Do you even understand how hard it is to recover from somethin' like this even with a shrink and a cocktail of meds to go with it? It ain't done me much good…if anythin' it makes me THINK I feel better…but I don't…so don't be sayin' 'I understand' because…well, you DON'T."

Cole took a silent sip of his water, and the interviewer nodded, just watching his subject try to compose himself before he could say anything further.

"Good Lord," he said, gulping the refreshing, cold water. "What time is it?"

"It's quarter past 2," the producer said behind the camera.

"Good, let's make a day of this," Cole said boldly, a dramatic shift in from his previous distressed state. "While it's fresh in my mind."

Damn, I wish I listened to Elias. I wasn't buying that Sarah killed her parents, but now I could believe it. She killed someone RIGHT IN FRONT OF US. How else could we've taken that?

Thomasin's message was now clear. But what she said to Sarah got me thinking. At the time, Scout hadn't been on my mind, but, within the new couple of days, I was thinking of him, missing him…maybe Sarah had been the one to kill him as a 'sacrifice' to whoever Thomasin was bowing to. But…I found him on my porch, which wouldn't have made sense. Unless it was to send me a message, anonymously at the time. But then there were the parents of Barbi and Sarah. Were THEY sacrifices? Is that what Thomasin was referring to?

"C'mon, Barbi," I heard Sarah say, holding up that same meat cleaver she used to chop veggies that day at their dump of a cabin. "When would I ever hurt a hair on your head?"

"How should I BELIEVE YOU?!" I heard Barbi shout. I almost got a headache from her screaming; right next to my ear, too. "You just ripped his guts out!"

"Barbi, please, don't push it any further," Cricket said. He sounded like he was about to shit himself.

I tried to reach for my phone to call the police, but it was then that Cricket's voice made itself known again. He had looked behind us to see three men with guns, but their faces looked to be blown off. I was shaking.

"Oh my…" he whispered to himself.

He grabbed me and we ran down the hallway, only to be met by what looked to be an Asian girl, probably one of the Chens, whose head kept twisting to and fro as she crawled across the floor.

I let out a scream, but…Barbi was clearly more scared than I was. She started to panick. When we ran down another corridor of the house, Mr. Piggy came charging toward us, making us run in yet another direction.

That was when Barbi began screaming so loudly, and I began to cry from fear. Cricket just looked on in silence, shocked to see a bloodied blonde woman and a dark-haired man standing before us, holding a hand out to us. The man's face was so brutally…what's the word? Uh…mutilated…I didn't know who he was…t-then the woman looked to have wounds in her chest and one wedge slice in the side of her neck, like a meat cleaver had cut her to bleed her dry.

"M-M-M-M-Mom…" Barbi sobbed…. "Mom…"

This poor girl stared her dead parents IN THE FACE. We had no choice…we booked it down the cellar. Luckily, my beagle followed, barking up a storm. We ran down the stairs, locked the door behind us…and we kept it dark down there. But it was far from quiet. Jack kept barking. Barbi kept sobbing. I could not keep her quiet for the life of me, but…I empathized with her. I cried, too.

Then…we heard a scared gasp from Cricket, who shined a flashlight on what looked to be a man who looked like George Washington. It was uncanny. White wig, powdered skin, his clothes were…definitely not of this time, not even the time of the colonists who were ganged up outside my door. And…he had a British accent. Cricket just screamed a bit.

"There is no need for fear," the man in the funny costume said. "For 'tis not my intent to harm you."

"Who are you?" Cricket asked.

"I am Edward Philippe Mott," he introduced himself with a dandy-ass bow. "I am here to save you."

"Save us? What…I-" He cut me off.

"There is not much time left," he said, pointing to the wall. "I know of a way out of here."

Cricket took the message, like the paranormal zipdrive he claimed himself to be. He moved something aside on the wall, and…lo and behold…it was door! A DOOR! I didn't even know this was here! I pushed Cricket away, as I had Barbi with me, and I let her go first down the way. I followed, as did Cricket and then the dandy-Washington fella. Within moments, Edward appeared before us with a torch. Whenever he turned to look at us, we could see the shadow of a skull taking over his face. He clearly was dead, and really did live in the Revolutionary times.

I finally asked the man something, having Barbi's hand in mind as she continued to sob: "Where are you taking us?"

"To safety," he said.

"Where do these tunnels lead?" I questioned.

"I built them," the man replied.

"You're not..." Cricket began, "you're not alive."

"No," Edward said sadly, "The Butcher killed me, but I will keep her from killing you. No more, no less."

Barbi finally said something, sounding a bit whiny. After all, she had seen her dead parents right before her eyes: "Is that why you appeared? T-To save us?"

What he said next made me uncomfortable: "No. You're my bane. My ruin."

"We're no threat to you," Cricket said gently. "Y-You can trust us!"

"All that I was is no more. Everything precious turned to dust," Edward said. "I have but one last sliver of grace. My solitude, such as it is. I can hardly suffer three more souls."

We must've walked a mile in the dank and dark. In some places, the walls were moving, infested with insects. It smelled like a grave. I was going to throw up. I'm surprised Barbi took it so well, it smelled horrible. But like the typical girl, she was grossed out by the bugs.

I felt Barbi shivering a little; her hand was a bit chilly: "I-I'm cold."

"Well, better cold than the heat from The Butcher's flames," Edward said.

"Will this take us to the road? So I can get my truck and get us out of here?" I asked.

"There are no roads where I go," he said: I didn't like how he sounded.

"If we're not going to the road, then where in God's name are you taking us?" I asked.

"We can't go aimlessly into the woods," Cricket said worriedly, "we'll die of exposure."

Then we stopped. It was, you know, like time had stopped. No surroundings. Just darkness. He says to us: "This is as far as I dare take you. The living cling to life above all, but the trophy misprized is to die in peace."

"Do you remember what happened next?" the interviewer asked, jotting down the previous details of Cole's testimony.

Aw… Cole's voice seemed to drone. I don't remember much. Except that we all woke up…among strangers…and I had a headache to beat the band.

It turns out…we were kidnapped. All three of us. I knew this because when I opened my eyes, my hands were tied tight behind my back. Barbi was next to me, and Cricket was…off to the side somewhere. I remember…t-the smell was horrible. Just horrible. Like someone didn't shower in days mixed with manure mixed with…God only knew what!

I heard this…whining sound. And crying, too. From a man and a woman: "Help me! Help me! P-Please…"

Then Barbi began to cry. She woke when I did. Could've sworn I got a concussion from a hit to my head. But it also was when I saw this…lady, or someone, hand Barbi what looked to be beef jerky.

"Y'all hungry?" she asked: her Southern drawl, let me tell you…it was MUCH stronger than mine by fault. "I got beef jerky from the storehouse."

"N-No…" I heard Barbi cry. "G-Get it away…I don't want any…"

"How rude o'ya," the woman said, taking the beef jerky back. "I offer food to welcome y'all to my home. It ain't poison, it's delicious."

She took a bite of it, and I felt something hit my chest. She spat it out on me and shouted.

"SHIT! I spent 'ours curin' this! I like my meat sweet! Why does it all done taste like shit?!"

But…it wasn't that…oh god….it's not that piercing, low Southern drawl that scared me. It was what one of the men in the room said next: "it's his fault. He got bad meat."

I looked over, and recognized one of the men as one from the auction, when I first got the house for the $75,000. Slimy, dirty, white-trash son of a….

I don't want to cuss. But you get the point. When he said "his meat"…what exactly did he mean? That was my first thought. So…I sat up. My arms were killing me. Wrists, too…and I look and see blood all over the damn floor. It all came from what looked to be a gurney, and…then I see a blonde woman crying, red eyes, strapped to a chair, gagged with duct tape, one of those hillbillies with a rifle to her head. But…on the gurney-thing… was a black man…

I noticed them, too. They were also from the auction. Why were they here? Were they taken out of spite?

"There ain't a reason to keep 'im 'live," a hillbilly said. It was the one near the crying woman bound and gagged to the chair. "He's spoilt."

"K-Kill me…" the black man in the gurney said. It was then, I looked again and saw he was missing his entire left set of limbs. Leg and arm. Cut clean off with a dirty, bloody mess.

"One more word outta 'im, he gon' get the hammer to 'is teeth!" the woman shouted.

I was scared, shitting my pants…almost literally, now. It sunk in…Barbi was being fed…human meat. From those limbs…off that man. I…I get sick thinking about it sometimes now.

Even when…the woman…s-she brought a sledge hammer down on the man's face. Cleaved it in half. The woman gagged and bound in the chair began to scream. Hell, I would.

I, for one, nearly lost it. But I couldn't bear to puke in front of all these strangers. Not while they had guns in their hands and a sledgehammer.

"You should'a never bought that house," the woman sneered, looking down at me. "Come here with yo' big South'in blood money.Y'outbid Ishmael at the auction."

I lost it. Well, nearly: "Y-You can have it. Move in tomorrow. I'll sign the deed over to you right now. You can have it. I don't care anymore. I want out!"

"We don't wanna live there," the woman replied, leaning down further. Her breath reeked of rotting flesh. "We got places all o'er out here. We wanted to keep it empty for The Butcher. She don't like no company. My kin made a deal with her o'er two-hunn'id years ago. So long as she can consecrate the land with fresh blood ev'ry year, she'll leave us 'lone. Some years when the pickin's are slim, we help provide the sacrifice. In turn, nobody steps foot in the forest and disturbs our crop. That cannabis grows tall in this Carolina soil."

So…it got me. These people made a deal with the colonists so they could keep their Mary Jane crops? Gosh, darn it.

"Why are you telling us this?" Cricket finally asked, saying the first word he had the entire time.

"Why not? You ain't never gonna tell nobody," the hillbilly with the gun near the bound woman said.

"No. We won't. We swear it," Cricket said. "By the word of Spirit, we won't say anythin'. Just let us go, and you can have the house. Don't cause Barbi or that lady any harm."

The woman said something even worse: "I ain't forgot you led the police here and took away our babies." It was when they found Martin's body, and those two retards in my barn.

"You'll get them back!" Barbi exclaimed tearfully. "Please, please just let us go. DON'T HURT US!"

"I'll go back to South Carolina, back to my humble beginnings," I said, "and you won't see us ever again. As a man of his word, I swear it. I won't tell nobody!"

I was almost cut off: "Oh, sweet meat. The Polks always been as good as their word. We got a deal with The Butcher, and she gon' get y'all back."

After that…I was genuinely afraid…w-willing to accept my fate.

"Were you taken someplace else?" the interviewer asked. The tears in Cole's eyes began to fall, and he sniffled, trying to make it all go away. But he couldn't; he had to continue for the sake of the interview.

W-We were loaded on the truck. Like pigs to slaughter. W-We couldn't do anything…I-I think they must've taken blows to our heads. I had a headache to beat the band and was still dizzy. So…needless to say, I didn't remember much.

Not like…not like I remember praying to God to take my soul and silently repenting for any sins in life I may have had. I…stared Barbi right in the face, laying in the back of the pick-up truck. Her eyes just sucked me right in. I was staring in the face of death…the face of…God only knew what.

"W-We're done," I heard her whisper.

So I just…did my thing: "The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want." I was still crying, feeling…a mix of emotions. I was about to DIE, for heaven's sakes! "He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. H-He restoreth my soul…h-he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness...f-for his name's sake…" I started to sob, and Barbi full out started crying. She was truly fearful, as was I. "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and…t-thy staff…t-they comfort me…" I was struggling to get this out…have the Big Guy hear it. "T-Thou preparest a table…before me in the presence of mine enemies…" I looked up to see Cricket sitting up against the back of the driver's compartment, with a hillbilly and his rifle next to his head. Poor guy was whimpering. "And…thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over."

I noticed Barbi moving…I think she was trying to get loose. I joined and realized they did an awful job binding me up. My wrists were loose behind me, but I was still hurting. "Surely…goodness and mercy shall follow me…" I was half-loose by this point, "all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the…Lord forever."

Then, I got up, finally all loose and free from the crappy bindings, and, risking Cricket being shot, I took action. I pulled the rifle shaft away from Cricket, who moved away and I struggled, fighting with this white-trash piece of shit. I pointed it toward the hind window, and the one driving…h-his head, the back of it, faced us…a-and the gun.

"Let it go, boy!" the hillbilly shouted at me.

"G-GET OFF!" I screeched.

And it was this huge struggle. Well…until it ended. The…d-driver…had the short end of the stick. He was shot. Brains blasted…a-all over the inside of the driver's area…t-the passenger seat. And…w-we veered off the road…i-into the woods again…I couldn't find Cricket. I think the force was so much that…he had been thrown off into the road.

Barbi was thrown, but I could still see her. She only had roping on one wrist. But I tried to go over to her to see if she'd been hurt in the tumble. I was stopped though; I was hit with something so hard on the back that I fell forward onto the ground. I was picked back up again. I felt like a bullet went in my back, but…it was worse. I looked to see Barbi being held by another one of the living rednecks with a knife to her throat.

"You were taken back to the house, right?" the interviewer asked. Cole nodded sadly.

We were. Right before us…was the hellfire we'd be burnt over. I'd be sodomized and spit-roasted or God only knew what. We got closer and closer…I tried to look at Barbi…her lovely face for the last time, because when we stopped walking, it'd be all over.

That…old hillbilly woman went up to Thomasin and knelt before her. I cringed. I spat at the ground. I was so frightened. Barbi was dry-sobbing next to me with the knife held to her throat.

"Thou hast lost a son tonight," I heard her say to the woman. "'Tis a mother's burden to suffer the birth of her babe, but all agony pales when placed in measure with the cold death of a child."

Then…it was silent. For a split few seconds. Then I hear the woman say to the men grabbing us: "back in the truck, boys."

We were both shoved into the arms of two colonists. I could hear the sharpening of something, but whatever it was, it made Barbi scream and cry even more, kicking her feet.

"NOOOO! NOOO!"

I was whimpering, but in shock, speechless. I couldn't even say anything. I just let dry sobs come out. We were bound up even tighter…and together. I took Barbi's hand in the bindings and…she held my hand, leaning down to kiss it. I felt her tears come on my skin.

Then…a nightmarish voice: "Barbi's my sister. I want to take care of her first."

"Yes, craven soul," Thomasin said back; it was Sarah with the meat cleaver who said that last part. Chilled me to the bone. "She goeth first."

I remember screaming: "DON'T TOUCH HER!"

But I watched Sarah literally drag Barbi by her hair on the ground, getting dirt all over her. Barbi's face was redder than her hair, and I…felt so useless. I couldn't do ANYTHING to save her. I felt…oh God…horrible. Just horrible.

"This land belongs to the colony!" Thomasin shouted. "We consecrate our holy right with BLOOD!"

Cole looked down and sighed, tears coming back to his face. The interviewer leaned in and looked at Cole, catching his blue eyes out of their trance: "are you alright, Mr. Paterson?"

I am, I…just couldn't believe what happened next.

One of her own…it was Ambrose. H-He…he pushed Sarah right into the fire. And his own mother.

Like…God had answered my prayers, and saw we were in trouble. I just…watched…speechless. My eyes widened bigger than the fire itself. It was like…Sarah had burst into flames. Thomasin's ghost was next to her. I heard screams…but….it was what Ambrose said that set the scene, changed everything.

"I SHALL NOT STAND BY AND WATCH THOU SHED ANOTHER DROP OF INNOCENT BLOOD ON THIS LAND!" It was a piercing screech. VERY unexpected.

Then…I see him come over to us, but…stopped where Barbi was, cutting her loose of her ties. She was still crying in fear. But…Ambrose freed her. I saw the ghost of Edward came over to free me, and he cut me loose.

"Go," he said to me, "make your grand escape!"

I stood and ran to Barbi, who was crying in Ambrose's arms. His ARMS. Yes, he was holding her close to him. I only heard a bit of what he was saying, but he was crying. He was really guilty: "you are still so youthful, Barbara. Live, and make your life. Thou shalt not leave this earth in the same manner as your kin."

I don't remember much else after that, but…I heard a car come by. No…wasn't a car. It was MY TRUCK. And I saw the passenger window down…to see Cricket was driving my truck. He shouted to us.

"GET IN! NOW!" And we did. We fled like wildfire into my truck. My truck was my baby. I didn't give a damn if he was driving it. I wanted out and Barbi did as well. And we did. We got out.

That's all she wrote.

"Now wait a moment," the interviewer said. "That can't be all to the story…or…well, is it?"

It is. But it's a miracle. After all we been through. Weird part is… I-I still can't explain half the crazy things we saw. We were lucky to be alive. Those months were like a terrifying nightmare. When I close my eyes, I can still see...the fire and... Elias screaming with his insides being torn out…Sarah…that insane family…the Witch of the wood…all these things. I'm just grateful that I'll never have to see that godforsaken place again.

I'm not the same as I was. Far from it. I started seeing a shrink about two months after we all left. I was diagnosed with PTSD. I have weekly appointments. Not this week, though. Today I would've had one, if I wasn't doing this interview. I've been prescribed medications. A whole cocktail of them. Zoloft, prazosin before bed…doesn't always help though. I find myself…r-reliving all of these events, every day of my life. Alright? I had to give up anything with manual labor needing stuff like saws or sledgehammers for the job because they're triggering to me now just to LOOK at them.

To this day I still have nightmares of everything. That's why I was prescribed prazosin, but…again, don't always work. We escaped with our lives that night, but I never completely got over it. I'm not sure I ever will.

A/N:

So that's the end of the interview part of the story! And no, it's not over! Actually, there's more!

I hope you are all enjoying this! Murphy has created quite a stretch this season.

Please leave a Review, and be sure to Favorite and Follow!

Thank you all! ~