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The Witchfinder's Axe
- Thread starter Barbaria1
- Start date
malins
Stumbling Seeker
Things of such eternal constance MUST be the Will of God, and therefore right and just
2. CONFESSION (version 3)
Following my midnight arrest I was brought to the cellars of the town hall, where the Witch Finder General had established himself and his staff to carry out his self-proclaimed holy mission of cleansing the community of witches and deviltry. Under guard and wearing only my night shirt and a shawl, I was led down a flight of stairs and along a torch-lit passageway to a large chamber.
As I entered, my hand flew to my mouth as I took in a scene straight from Hell itself. The chamber was filled with every imaginable instrument of torture ... racks, iron cages, wooden stocks, wheels and horses ... and most were already occupied by naked or half-naked young women, attended to by bare-chested muscular men wearing red hoods. The hot stale air in the chamber was heavy with the acrid smell of coal-burning braziers, which immediately assaulted my nostrils, making me cough.
The pitiful screams and pleas of the victims of this mass orgy of cruelty echoed off the chamber's stone walls and vaulted ceiling. I immediately recognized them all ... the distinctive Irish brogue of my maid servant, the sweet blonde girl from down the lane, the dark-haired young woman who worked in my father's shop ... to name but a few ... the Witch Finder General's henchmen had apparently been busy that night not only arresting me, but rounding up all my friends as well.
And there he was ... the General himself ... gaunt, sallow-faced, piecing dark eyes ... dressed in a dark hooded gown and accompanied by the town's Lord Mayor and leading churchman as he made the rounds, moving from one wretchedly suffering victim to the next, stopping to extract a confession or a denunciation, or to order the application of new and more terrible tortures for the recalcitrant.
Two hooded brutes took me by the arms and led me quickly across the chamber to an empty torture rack. They tossed my shawl aside, ripped the top of my night shirt open and held me in their iron grip as the torn remnants slipped over the curves of my body to pool around my ankles.
Then they lifted me, squirming and kicking, onto the rack, securing my wrists and ankles with coarse ropes leading to the machine's great ratcheted drums. Naked and helpless I laid stretched out on the hard wooden surface … still damp and slippery with the sweat and blood of its former occupant … chest heaving, eyes filled with tears … dreading, waiting in silence for the real stretching on the rack to begin.
Quite suddenly, without warning, the Witch Finder General's face appeared over mine, fixing me with his black, piercing eyes.
"You are Barbara Moore," he stated matter of fairly, raising his croaking voice to be heard over the blood-curdling shrieks of my Irish maid servant who was being stretched to the limit on the next rack, just off to my right.
"Yes," I replied blinking and turning my head to my left to escape his penetrating stare, but then turning quickly toward him again to avoid witnessing the red hot irons being pressed to the naked quivering flesh of the dark-haired girl being tortured nearby as she sat astride a heavy wooden horse.
Over her hysterical screaming and the Irish girl yelling "My God, it hurts so much!" the General continued speaking, hand gripping me by the chin to focus my attention, "We have two witnesses who have already reported having seen you consorting with the Devil. You are a witch Barbara Moore! Confess now, before me and God almighty!"
"Those two old hags! They are crazy. Don't believe a word of it. I am not a witch! I am innocent."
He shook his head wearily and nodded to his men. The ropes binding my wrists and ankles began to tighten as the rack machinery was set in motion. Slowly I was stretched, the ratchet mechanism clicking and clunking as the ropes wound around the drums at my head and foot one notch at a time. I lifted my head to look down the length of my sweat-sheened body, breast quaking, hips flared, mound high in my field of vision.
The General leaned over me again. "You should know that some of your friends in this chamber have already denounced you, and the others will also denounce you. One by one, they will each swear before God to have seen you fornicating with the devil ... all in good time. So what is the use of resisting? Confess now my child. Save yourself and others the horrors of this chamber."
That statement was driven home by the pitiful howling from across the room of my blonde friend from down the lane, who was being whipped mercilessly, front and back, as she hung naked by her wrists from the ceiling. I listened to her suffer and imagined what the lash might be doing to her lovely body, but I shook my head and doggedly restated my claim to innocence.
Face white with rage, he ordered his men to resume my torture. The pain was more than I ever would have thought possible. Notch by notch the drums turned, the rollers with their blunt wooden teeth that lay beneath my shoulder blades and lower back did their work.
The pressure on my joints increased. I could feel tendons and tissue being stretched to the limit in my knees, hips and shoulders. A whip lash descended with a loud slap across my bare breasts, flattening them with its force, then another across my taut tummy, then to the breasts again.
The General screamed at me “Confess! Confess!”
As I suffered in agony, the Irish girl gave it up; she had had enough.
The dark-haired girl on the horse persevered, whispering to herself over and over, “I have no choice”.
They carried the unconscious blonde girl past me, and tossed her on the rack vacated by the Irish girl.
The joint in one of my shoulders popped. The pain was too much.
“Oh my God, please stop!” I screamed, “Please, please, stop! I confess, I confess!”
TO BE CONTINUED
Following my midnight arrest I was brought to the cellars of the town hall, where the Witch Finder General had established himself and his staff to carry out his self-proclaimed holy mission of cleansing the community of witches and deviltry. Under guard and wearing only my night shirt and a shawl, I was led down a flight of stairs and along a torch-lit passageway to a large chamber.
As I entered, my hand flew to my mouth as I took in a scene straight from Hell itself. The chamber was filled with every imaginable instrument of torture ... racks, iron cages, wooden stocks, wheels and horses ... and most were already occupied by naked or half-naked young women, attended to by bare-chested muscular men wearing red hoods. The hot stale air in the chamber was heavy with the acrid smell of coal-burning braziers, which immediately assaulted my nostrils, making me cough.
The pitiful screams and pleas of the victims of this mass orgy of cruelty echoed off the chamber's stone walls and vaulted ceiling. I immediately recognized them all ... the distinctive Irish brogue of my maid servant, the sweet blonde girl from down the lane, the dark-haired young woman who worked in my father's shop ... to name but a few ... the Witch Finder General's henchmen had apparently been busy that night not only arresting me, but rounding up all my friends as well.
And there he was ... the General himself ... gaunt, sallow-faced, piecing dark eyes ... dressed in a dark hooded gown and accompanied by the town's Lord Mayor and leading churchman as he made the rounds, moving from one wretchedly suffering victim to the next, stopping to extract a confession or a denunciation, or to order the application of new and more terrible tortures for the recalcitrant.
Two hooded brutes took me by the arms and led me quickly across the chamber to an empty torture rack. They tossed my shawl aside, ripped the top of my night shirt open and held me in their iron grip as the torn remnants slipped over the curves of my body to pool around my ankles.
Then they lifted me, squirming and kicking, onto the rack, securing my wrists and ankles with coarse ropes leading to the machine's great ratcheted drums. Naked and helpless I laid stretched out on the hard wooden surface … still damp and slippery with the sweat and blood of its former occupant … chest heaving, eyes filled with tears … dreading, waiting in silence for the real stretching on the rack to begin.
Quite suddenly, without warning, the Witch Finder General's face appeared over mine, fixing me with his black, piercing eyes.
"You are Barbara Moore," he stated matter of fairly, raising his croaking voice to be heard over the blood-curdling shrieks of my Irish maid servant who was being stretched to the limit on the next rack, just off to my right.
"Yes," I replied blinking and turning my head to my left to escape his penetrating stare, but then turning quickly toward him again to avoid witnessing the red hot irons being pressed to the naked quivering flesh of the dark-haired girl being tortured nearby as she sat astride a heavy wooden horse.
Over her hysterical screaming and the Irish girl yelling "My God, it hurts so much!" the General continued speaking, hand gripping me by the chin to focus my attention, "We have two witnesses who have already reported having seen you consorting with the Devil. You are a witch Barbara Moore! Confess now, before me and God almighty!"
"Those two old hags! They are crazy. Don't believe a word of it. I am not a witch! I am innocent."
He shook his head wearily and nodded to his men. The ropes binding my wrists and ankles began to tighten as the rack machinery was set in motion. Slowly I was stretched, the ratchet mechanism clicking and clunking as the ropes wound around the drums at my head and foot one notch at a time. I lifted my head to look down the length of my sweat-sheened body, breast quaking, hips flared, mound high in my field of vision.
The General leaned over me again. "You should know that some of your friends in this chamber have already denounced you, and the others will also denounce you. One by one, they will each swear before God to have seen you fornicating with the devil ... all in good time. So what is the use of resisting? Confess now my child. Save yourself and others the horrors of this chamber."
That statement was driven home by the pitiful howling from across the room of my blonde friend from down the lane, who was being whipped mercilessly, front and back, as she hung naked by her wrists from the ceiling. I listened to her suffer and imagined what the lash might be doing to her lovely body, but I shook my head and doggedly restated my claim to innocence.
Face white with rage, he ordered his men to resume my torture. The pain was more than I ever would have thought possible. Notch by notch the drums turned, the rollers with their blunt wooden teeth that lay beneath my shoulder blades and lower back did their work.
The pressure on my joints increased. I could feel tendons and tissue being stretched to the limit in my knees, hips and shoulders. A whip lash descended with a loud slap across my bare breasts, flattening them with its force, then another across my taut tummy, then to the breasts again.
The General screamed at me “Confess! Confess!”
As I suffered in agony, the Irish girl gave it up; she had had enough.
The dark-haired girl on the horse persevered, whispering to herself over and over, “I have no choice”.
They carried the unconscious blonde girl past me, and tossed her on the rack vacated by the Irish girl.
The joint in one of my shoulders popped. The pain was too much.
“Oh my God, please stop!” I screamed, “Please, please, stop! I confess, I confess!”
TO BE CONTINUED
Last edited:
'Barbara Moore your guilt is no longer the question. Which of these trollops are part of your coven? You will tell me. As they denounce you so must you them. Help me save your soul and theirs...'
Roberta
Senator
Totally Agree!
Perhaps just insert them in sequence with subtitles "Version 1, 2, etc". The ultimate outcome will be the same.
Powerful stuff, Barb.
Just caught up (thanks for the notice - alerts were less than useful again).
OF COURSE THEY'RE ALL INNOCENT, BUT THAT'S NOT MY CONCERN, IS IT? I'M JUST WAITING TO DELIVER FINAL SERVICE, SO TO SPEAK. I SUPPOSE THERE'S A CHANCE THAT ONE OR TWO OF THEM MIGHT BE RELEASED. WAIT AND SEE. HAS ANYONE GOT A CUP OF TEA WHILE I WAIT, OR A CURRY? I COULD MURDER A CURRY!
That torture chamber sounds familiar...
I must consult the family annals.....hmm....let me see.
Oh dear.
Sir Matthew Wragg, 4th Baronet Cruxton, Witchfinder General.
Oh gawd. Me and my ancestors!
Perhaps just insert them in sequence with subtitles "Version 1, 2, etc". The ultimate outcome will be the same.
Powerful stuff, Barb.
Just caught up (thanks for the notice - alerts were less than useful again).
My intent, Madi, is that you should do just as Jolly suggests. Insert them in sequence. Readers may then choose between episode 2, version 1, 2 or 3 (or read them all) before the main story line resumes with episode 3 (coming soon).
That torture chamber sounds familiar...
I must consult the family annals.....hmm....let me see.
Oh dear.
Sir Matthew Wragg, 4th Baronet Cruxton, Witchfinder General.
Oh gawd. Me and my ancestors!
Anytime, anywhere something like this took place in the past, one can rest assured a Wragg was on the scene.
Celticvirgin
Tribune
I'm sorry Miss. They forced it from me. I'm so sorry. I fear I should have stayed quiet. They have hung me from the roof while they rack you in front of me. We are all fucked I fear.
mongo
Governor
Oh so nice
keep going my dear...................................we enjoy your fighting
The way things are going we are going to need a bigger cart...
His Eminence Tree
