Remebrance:1666

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Voncid:  The following is a reclamation taken by my predecessor and passed on to me.  

Hikers in the Appalachian mountains discovered an unknown church deep in the wilderness.  The building was found to date back to the mid-1600’s and had somehow been preserved there all this time.

Within the cemetery was found a body equally and inexplicably well preserved.

My master reclaimed this man’s tale and found… well nothing but horror.  Horror and questions for which we found no answers.

Upon inheriting his title and his reclamations and remembrances I found this one… hard to forget. I submit it now to record upon wax.

*we hear a long, strang series of mechanical sounds, and a lower, quieter susurrus of whispers as the remembrance is pulled forth from Voncid’s mind and relayed. The voice is the same, but the cadence and speech patterns are different*

What came we for?  I thought once I knew.  No, that is a lie, I did not think, I was certain.  I had certainty enough to carry me across the wide sea, away from home and family and all familiar places and into the dark and heathen new.

This land, it is darkness.

There is a darkness in the soil, in the trees.  Here are things strange and unknown.  The native man knows these things but keeps his secrets close.  Perhaps we may have once learned these things, learned of the hidden dangers and walking shadows, but such a time was long past in the year of our lord L660, and I imagine it is no longer even the fleetest memory.  

The answer was out of reach within a single generation of killing and poisoning.  Whatever the time is now, I would wager even the question has gone out of all thought.

I saw them.  The dark that walks.  

When I first saw these shores from the deck of the Pious… My God, no coal black stove nor the depth of any inkwell was ever so black as the forests of the new world.

We stepped off the ship and stared into a gaping mouth made of trees and through them a throat of unforgiving ebony.

I was only ten years then, but I had come from London town and so had seen many horrors already.  I knew darkness, or I thought I did but that darkness was pitched deeper on one hand by the knowing and the other, the not knowing.

Knowing that no matter how far you might go into these lands, there is not one home, or friend, or familiar sight or animal, nothing at all to moor yourself to.  

Nothing and no one to help or to comfort.

Then, the not knowing, just as terrifying.  Not knowing a step of trail nor an inch of how the land lies.

But I thought the throat of that wood was the darkest of all sights I’d ever seen and would ever see. How was I to know?  How was I to know… that an even darker shade awaited me?

The ink upon the compact was hardly dry by the time it was wetted once again with blood.  I was a fool to think peace could be had there.  That children could play free and happy upon the bones of the native folk.  

But we were as blind as they we ran from in England.  We flee the lash of tyranny only to take up the lash of tyranny.

It is the way of men.

What came we for?  I thought I knew.  A place free to serve the Lord I thought it was.

But now I know not.  Perhaps the Lord indeed only stands at the mouth of the river, setting us atop it and watching as we flow toward the sea, uninterested whether we sink or swim?

Perhaps this is not earth at all, but Hell.  Perhaps in the sleep of death we damned will find only some deeper level of perdition to sink to.

I think it likely that you have dredged me up from such and to such I shall return.

I took a wife, I had three daughters and a son, fine and virtuous all.  I served our governors faithfully, I was known as a man capable and strong.  In the conflicts with the native I had distinguished myself, wetted my blade in blood.  Isaac Bristol the Steadfast.

I had much to be thankful for.  Health and family and respect.  My son had had sons, and two of my daughters were married now with children of their own.  We had buried Margaret, but I knew my numbers were blessed.

And then all my luck ran out at once… that terrible year.

The year of the beast. 1666.

I had been working with a man who’s name I will not repeat, as I hope the ages have taken him to oblivion, as I hope God has taken him to Hell.  He had come to rid the colonies of witches, devils, imps, familiars and practitioners of black magic.

In the new lands I had seen more things that I could not explain than I could count, and the prowling of the Devil seemed a likely explanation and the hunting of His brides a righteous pursuit. 

I had done difficult and unwholesome work before. I was now called to do so again.

It was 1666 when a witch, Millicent Proud, whom I had caught and brought to the council spit upon me from the gallows.

“May the dark that walks find you, Isaac Bristol.  May it walk you far from home.  May your happiness rot on the vine and your light dim within your eyes.”

As far as curses went, it was not the worst I’d heard.  Mad with fear and rage these witches had uttered more terrifying things, most certainly.  What had I to fear?  My faith shielded me and the snap of her neck *crack* sounded clear and loud, after which I did not think of her.

Till a month later when, where her sputum had alighted upon my cheek I found a mark.  A black mole.

The witch’s kiss some said and crossed themselves as I passed.

Hardly, thought I. *emphatically* Hardly.  ‘Tis simply age.  I have lived long and each mark and spot is simply testament that I have been blessed another season as the Lord sees fit.

Then another month passed and I learned my brothers had burned alive in London.

They called it the Great Fire.

It raged through London like a mad dragon.  

The devils danced round the flames of the city of sin.

To my shame I spoke ill of my kin.  My kin who had refused to leave those towers of sin behind, who fear had kept as slaves to the old ways.

The witches kiss grew darker.

A horse threw my Johnathan that summer.  A chill of fear thrilled me as he fell before my very eyes, but after a hard fall he stood again.

I rushed to my boy, placed my hands on his face.  He smiled so kindly, as ever.  As ever.

“Fear not father,” he said.  “Fear not.”

And then something within him burst behind the eye.  

Blood poured from his nose and ears.

“Fear not,” he said once more as the blood pushed forth 

his eye from its socket.  

“I am well,” he said.  

*Eerie music swells*

Then he spit his life’s blood onto the black mark on my cheek and died.

A choking sickness took my Ginny the month after, and Eunice disappeared the month after that.

The black mark on my cheek grew darker still.

A hot knife and a thick wooden cord to bite down on did not solve the problem.

The black mark went all the way down to the bone it seemed.

The Church was of no help.  They derided me for marking my flesh and scolded me not to put my belief into the power of witches.

At last my mentor in the hunting of those witches returned from Plymouth.  I sought him out, told him all that had transpired, what I had lost at the hands of this curse laid by the witch Millicent Proud.

I asked what we could do, how to turn the curse around. 

And he laughed.

*Maniacal laughter* 

The sound still rings in my ears.

He clasped my shoulder, trying at comfort. 

“It is not true, this black magic of witches” the inquisitor said to me.  “Put your faith in the Lord and all will be well.”

He had grown too sure of his position, too sure of his power and had, in an attempt to assuage my fears, shattered me.

*Beginning desperately* It is not real? With anger*  It is not real?  Then what had I been doing these years?  What had I sent these girls swinging for?  If a witch could not curse me, if their hexes were not a danger, why had I killed for him? *Voice breaking* For all of them?  

What in the name of God had it been for?

And then I though, of the whispers of him.  Of the accusations made by women in our capture, of his predilections, how his eye wandered to the young women.  

These rumors I had always cast aside as a devil's slander, but here he tried to comfort me by waving away the dark powers, and in an instant his intent behind the hunting of young women was laid bare.

I had been made accomplice. 

A madness took me then.  I throttled the man.  He kicked and fought and screamed.  As I squeezed shut his throat, his screams took on a strangeness.  If I had not been possessed by rage then, I would swear now that his voice took on the whimper of a half dozen girls who we had put to the gallows.  He was soft and weak and I was strong, and his pitiful flailing could not loosen my grip.  I tightened and tightened and hoped his eyes would burst forth as my son’s had.  But this vengeance, in the end, I suppose, was not for me and mine, it was for her.  The sound of his neck snapping *crack* as I twisted it… it was the selfsame sound as Milicent Proud’s neck as she swung for denying this aged fiend I wrang the life from.

I *pause* hid his body beneath provisions enough to get me through the winter.  I would be far away by the time they found him gone.  I knew the forest well enough, and had the will to go farther than they would follow.  

They would always wonder what had transpired, but with the evidence gone and enough distance, hopefully the shame cast upon my daughters would be minimal.

By the time the leaves began to blaze and fall I was far away into the wilds. *crickets and sounds of the woods mix with soft music* I thought to bury my victim.  Twice I dug a grave and twice I left it empty.  The soil bed was unsanctified and though I hated him I did not wish to come between he and the resurrection on judgment day… or perhaps part of me found the soil bed too restful and I did not think it suitable for him.

I do not know why he did not rot.  Within the blankets I had him wrapped he dried until his skin had all pulled taught away from tooth and bone.

It had begun to turn bitter cold and, needing the blankets, I left him bare one night.  Propped up against the wheel of my wagon he seemed nearly asleep.

Dead white eyes watched me across the campfire.

Secretly I began to long for death.  I hoped now and then for a pack of wolves, or a native warband to come across me.  The fear of cardinal sin prevented me from taking my own life, but I was done with living.

I realized my whole life had been lived in this sort of cage.  What I wished, thought and yearned for harshly* suffocating under the boot of fear.

I pondered these things to myself one night, but I had been so long alone my own thoughts and my voice had lost all distinction between one another and so I said my thoughts aloud.  

“All my life I have lived in fear of God and God’s damnation,” I said into the dark wood that night.  

I said it to myself.

And yet a voice came in answer.

*A lilting voice* “And yet damnation has found you all the faster for it.”

The voice was smoke and flame.

I thought for a moment it was the man I'd murdered who spoke, but his cold death face sat in unmoving skeletal grimace not far away.  The voice had come out of the dark, between the trees.

“Vexing, is it not?”  The voice continued.  “To run in fear, only to realize you’ve been running toward and not away?”

My voice choked in my throat. I could not respond.

From out of the dark I thought I saw a glimmer of light that shed no brightness.

*The lilting voice continues* “What came you here for?  For freedom to worship God?  You have started the falling of an avalanche of corpses none can now stop.  It is, as it ever is, with your kind.  You simply cannot help yourselves.”

I heard the stretching of great wings.  The firelight glinted off of alabaster skin and reflected brightness that shed no light.

I began to pray, desperately. *Voice shaking* “The Lord is my shepherd…” I began, but my voice faltered.

*Lilting voice, becoming deep and distored* “The Lord is my shepherd, I am a sheep,” the devil hissed.

I must admit… I am not certain of what transpired then.  It may be that the devil stepped out of the shadows and the sight of him divorced my mind of what sanity remained within it.  It may be the entire encounter had been the dream of a fevered and guilty mind.  I know not.

What I remember next with any certainty was running through the woods, the corpse of the murdered man slung over my shoulder.  My every step sent a terrible painful throb through the scarred flesh of my jaw beneath which the witch’s kiss pulsed and writhed.

Through the darkness I saw a yellow light, many glowing shapes like windows lit from within by candles appeared between the trees.

It could not be.  Weeks I was from anything or anyone and yet, in the bright moonlight I could now see a church.  A lonely white church and single steeple peering out from the gloom, a tiny yard hemmed in by a small and simple fence.

Salvation.

The devil could not be far behind.  Must be nipping at my heels.

I sprinted headlong with all speed, terror clenching my heart.

“Help me!  My God!  Just a little farther,” I cried to the heavens.

Perhaps my slipping on wet grass and falling onto stone was my answer.

I clawed across the lawn, the line of the sacred ground just before me, the dark of the wood gnashing its teeth behind me.

I drug the murdered man the last distance and into the church's yard.  Onto sacred ground and safety.

I breathed a heavy sigh.  I wiped sweat from my brow only to leave mud and blood behind in its place.

As the orange-yellow light of the church’s windows fell upon my face, a feeling of safety filled me.  

I hefted the murdered man up with the last of my strength.  Here, here on this blessed ground I could bury him along with the other poor souls in its *beat* rather full cemetery.

There even was a newly dug grave, with no headstone yet, perhaps I could use that plot.

I looked at row upon row of small headstones.  So many for such a small yard, packed tightly and uniformly.  

Some lost colony come out too far into the wood?  Which had been lost to violence or sickness clearly, perhaps leaving only a few vigil clergy behind, too sick or old to make a journey for aid?  

I did not think on it too long, so thankful was I to see a house of God.

I pulled back the finely made wooden door.

I would beg for sanctuary and mercy from the men of God within.  Perhaps all would be well.

Three men there were inside, in black robes with holy vestments draped across their shoulders.

They were standing around a table, clearly taking themselves a meal.

They ate with their hands, pulling and stretching and stripping the bones.  Was it a boar?  The smell was delicious, like that of suckling pig.

They did not turn to look at me, so invested were they in their repast.

“Brothers,” I started to say as I entered.

But I stopped cold.

I think you’ll have guessed why.

The cemetery outside would be full, but the coffins would be light.

The largest man, bald and hunched called out to me, his mouth dripping.

“Ah, you’ve come at last,” said he.  “We’ve been waiting for you.”

Another of them, the smallest and roundest, looked up at me at last across their macabre feast. “Ah, you’ve brought another, oh but he is sinew and bone, but I suppose, some boiled water and a little time and he could make a fine stock for soup.”

The man had a black mark upon his cheek just the same as mine.

I hear myself speak now and think that I must have been mad.  My mind must have gone out, there in the woods all alone.  Lunacy and derangement are the likeliest explanation.  I mean, after all, after being invited in to feast by the ghouls in the church, instead I walked to the open grave in the yard, *the sound of rain* hopped within and pulled the earth upon myself.

A rain had begun to fall and the earth was heavy and wet.

*the sound of rain continues*

There in that hole is where I choked and sputtered and died. For done was I think the world and I had in fear run from damnation to damnation and tired was I of running.

*Soft music starts, the rain continues*

When I was a boy I had come to this new world, and saw there here was a darkness suffusing the woods and the soil, but down there in the ground I found no evil.

For perhaps once it had lived between the trees and in the dirt, but itself had found a better home in us.

*The whispering susurrus plays in reverse as Voncid consumes and swallows the remembrance once again.*

Voncid:  Among the graves the bones were found to have been gnawed and scraped clean.  Men, women, and children among them.  Also around the property was evidence of many animal bones, but these appeared, and it is hard to tell after all this time, but there was evidence they had been killed and hung amongst the trees.  Something tells me that the meat of these beasts went to waste.

My mentor was obsessed with this case for many reasons, but of course the primary of which was after reclamation the body of Isaac Bristol disappeared from investigators' cold storage locker… all save for the corpse's lower jaw which was left behind bearing upon it a deep black mark which had welled up from beneath the scar tissue.

*Clears his throat* Hmm

“There was once…there once..there was once a shadow here, 

it lived in tree and stone,

There is still a darkness near, 

now it dwells in flesh and bone.”

*The recording cuts and winds down.*