Synopsis

It was a time when evil walked the land, when witches danced naked in the moonlight and put curses on innocent people. It was also a time of Witch Finders, professional men who went from town to town, seeking out those who might be witches and “putting them to the question”, a polite way of saying that they were tortured until they confessed.

In this time and place, there came Henry Mathews to the small town of Shrewsbury. It was not long before he had half a dozen of the prettiest girls in town in a basement dungeon, torturing them with whips, red-hot irons, with degrading and abusive acts upon their innocent bodies, and other inventive tortures designed to break down their wills and extract confessions from them. The confessions, of course, would only assure their places chained to a stake and burned alive!

Or maybe something worse...

EXCERPT

The cottage was unexpectedly empty.  Conley quickly looked around their
smallholding but did not find his wife.  Frowning, he set off back to the
village.



The first thing he saw upon returning to the village was a woman crying and a
man trying to comfort her.  He knew the couple and went up to them.  “What is
wrong?” he asked.



The man looked up, his eyes glistening with tears about to overflow, and said,
“Conley!  Do you not know what is happening?  Terrible times have come to our
village!  There is evil in the land.”



“I just returned from Hollingsworth.  Tell me, why does your wife cry so?  And
where is my Elizabeth?  I cannot find her.”



“Our daughter has just been convicted of witchcraft,” he said between clenched
teeth.  “There is a witch finder in town, and...”



The rest of the story came gushing out, along with sobs.  As the words painted
a picture of madness overtaking a peaceful village, Conley’s eyes grew harder. 
Suddenly, when he could stand it no longer, he cut the man off with, “Stop! 
Tell me, where is Elizabeth?”



“She’s in the gaol.  Accused of witchcraft, she is.”



Without another word, Conley stomped off towards the town gaol where he roughly
pushed aside the door and stormed in.  The Sheriff, one Hugh Blackthorne by
name, was sitting by the fireplace.  Three woman, including Elizabeth, sat in
the cell, their hands obviously tied behind their backs and their necks chained
to rings in the wall.



“Release Elizabeth!” he demanded.



The Sheriff rose angrily to his feet.  “I cannot do that.  These women are
accused of witchcraft and they are my prisoners.”



“Oh, Conley!” Elizabeth cried out.  Tears filled her eyes at the sight of her
husband.  All would be set right now, and after almost all of the day spent in
imprisonment and fear, hope filled her heart.  She struggled to her feet and
would have thrown herself against the bars had not the iron collar around her
neck snubbed her roughly.



“Unlock this door and get those irons off her!” he demanded.



The Sheriff stood between him and the cell.  “I said I cannot do that.  Now
don’t make trouble, Conley.  I have my orders and must obey.”



“By whose word is my wife imprisoned here?”  His anger was so strong that he
could hardly force the words out.



“The priest.  And the witch finder.”



Sucking in a deep breath, Conley tried to calm himself and managed to ask in a
nearly normal voice, “Where are they?”



“In the church.  But you’d best not disturb them.”



“And why not?”



“They’re putting an accused to the question.”



For a second, the meaning of that statement did not register on Conley.  But
when it did, his face flushed with anger.  With a quick look to Elizabeth to
assure himself that she had not yet been tortured, he stormed out of the gaol. 
He had heard stories of witch finders and the questioning of witches, and they
had not been pretty.



In his anger as he crossed the short distance to the church, Conley did not
notice Raven standing there, her eyes fixed upon him.  She had heard the tale
and knew what was happening in that village.  It was a tale she had heard and
seen before, and she felt sorry for the townspeople.  These witch hunts never
ended in good for anyone.



The church’s main room was empty, but there came faint sounds from a side door.
 When he opened it, the sounds formed themselves into muffled screams of agony
in a woman’s voice.  At the bottom of the stairs, Conley was greeted with a
sight that could have been a scene out of Hell itself.  A young woman was
hanging upside down from rings in the rafters, her legs spread wide and the
ankles tied to the rings.  Her arms were bound behind her back with the elbows
tightly corded together.  Her golden hair hung down to just touch the floor, and
a cloth gag filled her mouth.  As one man held her, another was dripping hot
candle wax onto her.



“What...!” was all Conley could say.  He knew the girl, Marla Pritt, a sweet
young thing who would never harm anyone, and certainly could not a witch.  “Stop
that!”



“Who is this?” cried Mathews, the candle in his hand still dripping hot wax
upon her sensitive parts.



The priest hurried forward.  “Now, Conley, you don’t belong here.”



“What the hell are you doing to her?”



Mathews calmly tilted the candle back into an upright position, and addressed
the stranger.  “This is a formal court of inquisition into charges of
witchcraft,” he informed.  “You should leave now.”



Conley looked at the girl he had known all her life.  Her body was crisscrossed
with whipmarks.  Cries of animal pain passed the gag and gave testimony to her
suffering.



“You call this a trial!?  You’re torturing the girl!”



“It is often necessary to apply pain in order to extract a confession,” Mathews
said.



“Witches have been seduced by the Devil,” he continued.  “And must have evil
driven from them.  Only when they confess and beg forgiveness of God can their
souls be saved.”



“And then you put them to death,” said Conley.  “I have heard of such ‘trials’
before.”



“They go to meet their Maker with clean souls.  Those who confess do, at least.
 Some are unrepentant.  I have seen witches hurling curses and taking the Lord’s
name in vain even as they burned.”



“And what of those who continue to deny they are witches?  Even when
tortured?”



“The power of Satan over young women is well known.  When he takes one as a
lover, her soul is his.  But being cunning and devious, they will deny their
evil in such convincing ways that most would believe them.  Those are the worst,
and the most in need of salvation.”



Mathews had walked up to Conley as he talked, and the priest flanked him on one
side.  Brother Cadfey, reluctantly tearing his eyes away from the naked body,
took up the other flank.  And the Sheriff had come down the stairs to stand
behind Conley.  Four to one, it was.  Still, the young man was so taken to anger
that he would have fought them all.



“You can’t do this,” he yelled at them.  “Look at her suffering!  It’s
terrible!”  Suddenly he seemed to realize how outnumbered he was.  “I’ll talk to
the people,” he said, switching tracks.  “They won’t let their wives and
daughters be tortured.  We’ll stop you!”



His threats were quickly put to a halt by a blow to the back of his head by a
heavy stick in the hand of Sheriff Hugh.  Conley collapsed to the floor and
uttered no more protests.