Chapter 3
Chapter Three
I wake to a letter that destroys my lingering good mood from last night with De. The letter simply states, ‘Today’s sentences have been cancelled due to unforeseen circumstances. You are not needed today. Apologies.’
Fuck.
I rarely have a day off and I have no idea what I’m supposed to do. I need to kill. I need blood. I need to satisfy the monster within me. If I don't, who knows what will happen.
I stab my fork into my breakfast, playing with my food.
I pick up the sausage and tear the fucker in two between my teeth while staring out of my cottage window at the greying sky, wondering if a storm is coming.
I hope so. I love the rain, the darkness, and the chill across my skin that comes with it.
The thunder booming and the lightning striking through the swirling clouds.
I finish my breakfast, don my hooded cape and decide to head out for a walk, but not before I grab my favourite little knife that I have so much fun with.
My feet take me into the nearby forest. The heavens have opened and now cry on me, soaking me to the bone. My boots splash through soggy mud and trample mushed up leaves.
No animals in sight to capture and not a soul around.
Tranquil. I take a hidden path, covered in tree decay and thorns, and find myself deep within the forest. I spot a squirrel perched on the tree in front of me, and I crouch down as silently and slowly as I can, hoping I can get a decent aim and throw my dagger at it.
As I line up my dagger with the squirrel, which is washing itself in the rain, a scuffle nearby catches my attention. I crouch down lower as the rodent scurries off clearly as spooked as I am.
“Goddamn, stupid map.” I hear a man mutter to himself. “Piece of shit.”
I move around my tree to try to see the man. There he is. All by himself looking at a soggy bit of parchment and then looking around at all the trees. He’s lost. Maybe I should offer to help him…
I palm my dagger tighter and keep it hidden within my cape. “Excuse me? Are you okay there, sir?” I ask, startling him.
His body sags with relief yet shudders from the coldness of the rain. “I’m lost and this map is of no use to me. Can you tell me how to get to London from here? It seems ridiculous that I have ended up in the middle of a forest.” He throws the soggy mess onto the floor.
I suppress a smile at his frustration. “We are just on the outskirts; it’s not that far from here. I can lead you out of this forest, if you'd like?”
He nods and walks towards me. “Lead the way, Miss…?” He looks me up and down as he waits for my answer, just like my father used to. His eyes darken and he gives me a wicked grin. It’s a sign I know all too well, a sign of his true intentions.
“Grimes,” I lie.
“Lead the way, Miss Grimes, I owe you a great debt for helping me today.” I smile with mock-sweetness at him and he returns the gesture as I turn around to head deeper into the forest, rather than out of it.
“What brings you to London?” I ask, making small talk.
“I’m here on rumours of a witch hunt starting soon. I want to join,” he responds, casually, picking up on my small talk vibes.
I stop to look at him, water dripping off my hooded cloak, and I wipe my face.
“Witch hunt? What do you mean?”
This sounds intriguing.
I carry on walking through the forest, waiting for him to answer me.
“Women have magical powers. It’s the devil's work. They need to be stopped and burnt before their magic gets out of hand. Witchcraft is no joke, young lady.”
I relish this information; I haven't heard any such rumours of a witch hunt here, but I am aware of witches. Also, young lady? I am nearly thirty.
“Surely not all women? Otherwise, you might be tempted to burn me right here, wouldn't you?” He stops behind me and I turn to face him, putting a confused look on my face. “Is everything okay?”
“I… yes. I’m okay. Let’s just get out of here as quickly as possible, please.” His voice trembles a little and I find myself wondering if this man is important or if he will be sorely missed.
The rain grows heavier, and it becomes harder to walk through the leaves and mud, but I enjoy the challenge.
The thunder booms over our heads and lightning illuminates my path.
I don't think my new friend here is enjoying this one bit. Perhaps he believes I’m a witch and wants to kill me, or perhaps he is just so cold and wet that he wants to get to safety and warmth.
“Why is a nice lady like you out in the middle of the forest, during a storm?” He shouts to me over the sound of the thunder. I turn to look at him, seeing he is struggling to walk in the mud; he’s heavier than me so he sinks more.
“Oh, I like to come here and gather ingredients for a potion I’m making.
I was about to dance naked in the rain and chant and sing but you caught me before I was able to do so.
” I smile at him, my brown hair plastered to my face.
His eyes widen and panic takes over his features.
He holds his hands up to his mouth in shock and tries harder to get his stuck foot out of the mud. A crow caws nearby.
“Wi… Witch!” he yells out, terrified.
“Now, now. There is no need to panic. You said you owe me for helping you? Well, I need that payment now. I am going to offer your soul to the Devil.” I laugh at him. This is playing all too well for me. I really wish I was a witch at this point, but this facade will do.
“No! Please, I'll do anything! Anything!” He pulls at his leg, but the more he pulls, the deeper his foot goes. He’s trapped, and all mine. It almost feels like a gift.
“Get on your knees and beg,” I demand.
He drops to his knees, best he can. Water running off his hair and nose onto the ground. The sound of suctioning around him echoes and I realise that his hands are now stuck, too.
“I beg of you, Miss Grimes, I have a family. I will return to them and not participate in the witch hunt. I swear! Let me go back to my daughter. My wife. I won't tell anyone about this encounter. Spare my life. Please,” he sobs hysterically.
With my dagger in hand, I step around him, out of his sight, until I am facing his back.
“Oh god, please!” he cries to me.
I lean over him, grab his hair, pull back his head and place my dagger at one side of his throat.
“There is no god here,” I whisper, before slicing his throat from left to right, slitting a grin to match the one on my face.
Blood sprays out and mixes with the heavy rain.
The man's gurgles are too quiet, but I can see into his eyes as I keep holding his head up.
There.
Right there.
He looks at me and his eyes go dim.
Dead.
I drop his head and let out a soft moan as he slumps face first into the paste of earth and water.
The handle of my knife is still firm in my hand, and I need one last thing.
Pressing my knee in between his shoulders, I slide my fingers up the back of his skull, then tighten, all the while, the rain cleanses my body of the red.
All the red. Slowly, I push my dagger through his skin, the tip appearing next to where I hold him.
Forwards and backwards, I cut. Hair snaps and curls between my fingers as his skin comes away.
Squeezing my handful of his flesh, it tears from him.
One final slice and his face slaps back into the mud.
It’s only now that I see he is of golden hair.
Of course he is. But it is mine now. Matted and beautiful in my hand, I lift that singular cut of skin clinging onto the roots and wet my lips on it.
I’ve never taken a trophy from a kill before, but I felt it in my soul that I needed a piece of him and his hair was the first thing I thought of.
I press it to my chest and look up to the sky, relief and pleasure flowing through my body, and I laugh, rain hitting my face hard.
The thunder roars, sending ripples through me.
I drop my head back down, eyes closed, and wipe off the rain from my face.
Looking up, I see Him.
He’s just standing at a nearby tree, a witness to what I have just done. His long black hair is soaked and sticking to his face and his black eyes stare at me, as a cruel grin spreads across his face. My heart starts pounding against my ribs.
I can see him better now, despite the heavy rain around us.
He wears a tunic that has a deep V, showing me his chest which glows.
Why is he glowing? Is he a witch? His trousers are black and paired with the same coloured boots.
There’s no mud on him whatsoever, but he is drenched, just like me.
How long has he been standing there, watching me?
Is he the Devil? Did he bring that man here?
I have so many questions, but I don’t dare voice them to him.
The gleam on his chest stops and I now see markings there. A rune. It's in the centre of his chest, spreading out across to his shoulders. Around his neck hangs a small crow upon a thin, dark chain, with wings outstretched, its head staring at its master.
I look back to his eyes; I could feel that they never left me as I looked upon his body. He’s so tall and broad and I’ve never seen anything like him. He continues to grin at me like a man gone mad and then he bows at the hips towards me.
A spooked deer runs past me, stealing this man's image away from me.
He left me again.
Evelyn.
My name is whispered by the wind, echoing around me. And then it’s gone, as surely as he is.
I take a sip of tea as I huddle around my hearth.
I stayed out far too long in the rain and I don't remember getting home or stripping out of my wet garments.
My clothes are hung up to dry and my dagger is on the kitchen table.
I feel like I've lost all memory of the last few hours.
What did I do? I look into the flames and watch them dance as I try to recall today's events.
Witch. Burn them.
Oh god. Oh no.
My eyes widen at the sudden realisation of what I’ve done. I killed a man. A man who did nothing to provoke it. Even worse, I left his body in the forest.
Fuck.
I shoot to my feet, my chair falling onto its back from my sudden rise, and I look outside.
Night has fallen, and it’s pitch black—I can't go back into the forest now.
I'm too late. I'll be found out and charged with murder, and it'll be my own head on my own stage and block.
I think back as hard as I can to figure out what happened to me.
Evelyn. My name. Someone had whispered my name.
Him.
He was there. I murdered a man and he saw me. He smiled at me, like he enjoyed the show.
I stop, standing in my kitchen area, tugging at my hair.
Hair.
I have his hair. My eyes widen and I look around me, where is it? There. On the floor near my cottage door, is a lock of hair, attached to some skin. I go and pick it up, examining the golden locks that I stole. I smile. My own little trophy.
A crow comes to my window and taps its beak on the glass, cawing and staring. I look at it and grin. Only that man knows my secret, and now I have to find something to do with this prize.
Terrified and excited at the same time, my heart begins racing and my mind spins.
I have to find Him.