Chapter 8

Eight

"John Crow," the elder Puritan leader proclaimed my name as the members of the small settlement huddled nearby, observing the spectacle of ‘my trial'. "You have been found guilty of committing the most unholy of sins and breaking one of our most sacred commandments: you have perpetrated many gruesome murders, crimes which span from the coast to the doors of our humble homes. You have tainted our lands with your poison, plaguing this town, robbing many of their innocent souls." Innocent? Oh, what a debate that was.

A larger gentleman locked the thick iron chains that wrapped around my body like a constricted metal snake, preventing me from moving. Two men held me in place as more appeared through the on looking crowd, carrying with them a large coffin. They placed the wooden box at my feet, kicking the lid aside. My eyes examined the feeble enclosure, knowing my fate.

"Against my better judgement, you have been granted one final opportunity to speak, the last frail attempts to save your humanity before your well-deserved execution. I suggest you take this time to rebuke your wicked ways, and beg for peace upon your wretched soul." He paused. Oh what dramatics. "What say you, John Crow?" The Puritan held a burning torch in one hand and a bible in the other, which he clasped close to his chest as if I was some demonic being. Truthfully, their logic wasn't too far-fetched.

I cleared my throat, glaring intently at the Puritan man. "The only regret I have as I face my end," my head tilted as a devilish grin grew, snaking along my face, "is that I was unable to fully satisfy the vile and unbearable hunger burdened within. So many lives I could've claimed, adding to my impressive repertoire of death. Lives such as yours, dear sir." The gentleman's face drained of color as I laughed into the night, thunder booming in the distance. "Ah," I sighed. "Perhaps I'll have yet another chance in the afterlife. One can only hope."

"Witch!" the Puritan shouted. The crowd began to chant alongside him, calling me a witch, a devil, a demon, all their biblical, humane references for evil. He nodded at the group of men who surrounded me. They acknowledged his command, grunting as they pushed my body roughly into the coffin. He approached my side, peering down at me with content filled eyes. "Let's see your devil magic save you now," he spat, his warm, bubbling saliva hitting my cheek. My hands burned in rage, constricted by the metal as a deeply seeded hunger growled in my stomach.

My vision became obscured as they slid the thick wooden lid across the coffin, nailing it in place, immersing myself with the shadows. Once firmly secured, the men raised the box and carried me a distance.

The sounds of the angered crowd that seemed to follow faded into that of running water, the intensity growing with each step the men took. As I listened to the calming sounds, I realized my death would not be as I had expected and began to prepare myself for what was about to occur.

"It is custom to burn heretics and witches in these lands," the Puritan leader shouted, as if addressing the entire settlement, "but due to the cosmic evil nature of this man's sins, it has been decided that he shall endure an execution fitting of his crimes, slower and far more painful than a simple burning at the stake. A death in which I pray can cleanse his wretched soul of his crimes. And if not," the coffin swayed, swinging back and forth, "then may he burn in hell for all of eternity." My stomach raised as the coffin rose into the air, my body lifting with it.

The wooden box crashed into the water, my skull slamming against the front of the coffin, bouncing roughly against the back due to the impact. My chains rattled as I wriggled within, cold dark water flooding through the cracks of the coffin as it flowed inside. A slight panic set in as I slammed my bound fists against the wooden lid to no avail.

"Do you think I fear death?" I shouted, frantically slamming the chains against the sinking coffin, the cold dead water rising around me. "This is only the beginning! I may die here in this box, but I shall haunt your lands until the end of time! Even if it takes me centuries, I shall wreak chaos upon these lands! I swear on the mother of magik herself, you shall—"

Water quickly filled my mouth, draining my words, pouring into my lungs as the faintest hint of light dissolved into darkness alongside me.

Cold, wet, empty darkness.

Death cannot stop me.