An Epic Conclusion

So this is the last piece of my three piece concept, which includes the stories In the Diner and The Open Door.
This piece is called Pitchforks and Haunted Souls and it is also revised the magnificent Brooke Rojas, thanks to her again.
So here it is, the epic conclusion that will comlete the picture, ladies and gentlemen, I give you:

A Stories from the Mute story Pitchforks and Haunted Souls

Written by Wille Holopainen

Revised by Brooke Rojas 

                      June 18^th, 1626, that’s the day I was drowned, burned and hung. It was a rather interesting and beautiful day. The birds were singing and rain was falling down to the ground from somewhere in heaven, although I don’t believe in heaven. Well, I wouldn’t know since I’m bound to haunt evil people until the world ends, if it ever does. But yes, back to June 18^th.

                      It started when I moved to the town of something in northern England. It was small town where everyone knew each other. Mrs. Hatchet made the best pies in all of England, but the beer was the worst in the world. Anyways, I was the new lad from Scotland and I really didn’t fit in, because these people couldn’t understand half of what I was saying. Another thing was that I wasn’t religious. I never believed in that humbug they wrote in the bible. It’s completely bollocks. But I went to the church every Sunday, because if I weren’t there I would have gotten burned as a witch. That’s pretty ironic, because I got burned anyways.

                      Well I went to church every Sunday, but I never sang. I couldn’t sing when I was alive and I can’t sing now and I never liked singing, especially those hideous religious songs. I just hate them. Well, then some people noticed and the word spread around the whole town and I got casted out. I don’t understand why they made it such a big deal. I wasn’t like the women in Mexico who hopped in bed with eachother. It wasn’t really pleasant, because I couldn’t buy food or go for ale with other lads. It was bollocks, absolutely bollocks. And it got worse.

                      It took them one night, one night to decide what was me destiny. They decided that I’m afflicted by the curse. I couldn’t do anything but let the rain fall down. The birds were singing, but not for me. No, they don’t sing when you’re six feet underground.

                      They took me to the lake and tried to drown me. I would have drowned but the priest pulled me up every time so it seemed that I wouldn’t drown. He was a bastard child of a bastard mother. He enjoyed burning people. Apparently I was the 21^st to be burned.

                      After the drowning ceremony they marched me down to the center of town. They had their pitchforks and they we’re waving them high in the air. I could already smell the burning hey and wood. I could feel the warmth from the flames. They ripped my shirt and whipped me all over. I tried to fight, but I couldn’t fight eight strong men who were holding my limbs as if they were big sausages. Whipping stopped when someone announced that the judge is coming. They covered my wounds with a sack so the judge wouldn’t know what was going on. Then they chained me and put a blindfold over my eyes so the judge wouldn’t catch my stare. If he did he would have seen the innocence in my eyes. They started to push me towards the flames and shouting at me. One lad was pushing harder than the others and shouting to my ear that I shouldn’t resist. I told him not to get his bollocks in a twist. Did he really think I could resist. Like I had a chance to.

                      When I reached the flames they took the blindfold off. Then I looked to the sky and shouted: “Tell me! Tell me why do they all get to live and I have to die!” Then the first flame started licking my skin. Then another one joined and another and so on. The flames got hungrier as the people of the town fed them with hey and air. In a few moments the flames were eating off my skin, going towards my bones. My hair was gone, my skin was gone, but my eyes were not. They could see everything. They saw the women and children look away, they saw the cheering men, they saw the judge’s face that had a small evil smile on it, and they saw the angels. The angels were singing. They told to let it shine. They dried the teardrops from my eyes. Then it was all over. My soul flew away from my body and stayed to observe.

                      When they noticed I was dead they took me down and hung me to make sure I was dead, but the witch they never found. And I can’t take an eye for an eye, so I will haunt them until they die. And when they die I haunt their children and when they die I haunt their children and I will haunt their whole family until the world ends.

                      So that is my story so far. At the moment I’m haunting the sixth generation so far. I could only pick one person to haunt. I picked the priest. Now his descendant suffers. This young lad is having a very romantic relationship with a girl named Veronika. I will make him suffer more than I suffered. I will make him suffer through Veronika’s agony. He will be in pain.

                      All I need to do is to plant some very nasty thoughts into his mind to upset the girl. And then I make the girl feel miserable. When she feels miserable and upset I will plant an idea of death to her mind. It’s easy because madness, as you know, is like gravity. All it takes is a little push.