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The Forest - Story 1 of 31

by Ta'kom Ironhoof

“Run, Abigail!. You must run!"

The doe's thoughts echoed loudly in her head. At this stage, running was her only respite. Now, deep in the woods outside of Beverly, Abigail had assumed she was safely beyond the reach of the Magistrate and his band of “vigilantes". She had run throughout the night, doing her best not to fall, and as the sun rose the following morning, surely she had put enough distance between them and her.

Earlier in the day, Abigail had managed to put together a small shelter, and even managed to gather some berries that were still edible. This time of year, just before Samhain, temperatures were dropping and vegetation would be more difficult to come by. However, Abigail only had to reach Manchester. Surely, she could find passage on a ship; even if she had to sell her body, she needed to get away.

For as long as Abigail could remember, her mother had warned her to pay no mind to those of the Christian faith; play along, be nice, and don't speak of our ways. This had never failed her, that was, until a few years ago, when a new book began circulating in Beverly. After this, the church folk had a new fervor to their accusations, and Abigail's own mother was put to the stake. It had almost destroyed the young doe, knowing her mother to be used as nothing more than a scapegoat, but fear made Abigail deny any association outside of her parent. As if by prophecy, the older doe had warned Abigail that this day might come, but it still hurt regardless.

Now, in this “Year of the Lord, 1692", Abigail was now the one being hunted down. And though she had assumed she was safe now, the rhythmic crunching of leaves and footfalls of a group proved her wrong. Though she had run, the wolf of a magistrate only had to follow his nose at a gingerly pace. It would seem that they had intended to catch her unawares in the dead of night.

Abigail had intended to turn South come the next sunrise, just briefly, to go around a portion of the woods that her mother had warned her to never enter. Abigail could still hear her mother's words.

“Child, if you travel east, off the main road, do not enter the grove of the Red Oaks. Evil spirits linger on Snake Hill, and many a soul have vanished from this realm."

However, her thoughts were all over the place and, in the blanket of darkness she found herself, Abigail had no way of knowing that she had ran directly up the hill and into the middle of the one place Abigail's mother warned her never to go.

Suddenly, a voice called out from in front of the doe, causing her to stop dead in her track, staring deeply into the inky blackness before her.

“Abigail! Abigail Dunne! Stop this foolishness, foul woman! You have fallen into our trap. You've been surrounded. There is nowhere left to run, witch!"

With the light of the full moon, Abigail was barely able to make out the form of a figure. Looking around, more figures began to step through the wood line before a torch was lit. Before her was the Magistrate, Richard Hobbs, a wolf of some stature, though the years of political service had left him slightly pudgy. At the moment, Abigail could do nothing besides catch her breath and the realization of where she was began to sink in.

Richard spoke again. “What say you, winch! First your mother, accused and judged, all while you feign ignorance! Now, you accused and you flee. Curious, I might say. The innocent do not need to flee!"

Though the words flowed in the doe's mind, her fear was squarely focused on the trees surrounding them.

After a moment of silence, Abigail spoke, “I have been accused, true. But Richard, I beseech thee, I only ran for fear of mine own life. I have no proof to refute your accusations, nor any proof to give them credence!"

Richard let out a hearty chuckle, replying, “What other proof do I need other than the word of God? You have been accused by the most holy of persons, my wife Elizabeth. Surely, she would not lie before myself AND God?! And as you know, you poor wretch, I am a Magistrate. It is my sworn duty to carry out the law and the word of God is law."

“Please Richard, do as you must, but you know not what you do. You do not understand where we are!"

Richard lifted his torch higher, lighting more of the open ground around them, giving an eerie glow to the red leaves, gently shifting in the Autumnal breeze of the night.

“Abigail, I once knew you to be a simple soul; of no import beyond that of a child. Do you believe I'm a fool to listen to you now? One so accused of witchcraft and consorting with devils? You're a heretic and in the eyes of the Lord, I CAN NOT suffer a heretic. You will die where you stand. Tonight."

A tremor shook through Abigail's lithe body.

“No, not here. Anywhere but here."

Abigail shouted now. “Richard, please. If you must kill me, take me back. Let me burn on the same stake as my mother!"

Richard lowered his torch now, the shadows across his eyes and muzzle growing long, a yellowish-green reflection coming from his eyes. “And allow two twisted souls to be reunited inside of our consecrated town? The suggestion is just another heresy to add to the mound against you. Your trickery will not save you."

From behind, two unknown persons grabbed Abigail's arms. The young doe fought, kicked, and squirmed, but their grip was powerful. Deep in her soul, Abigail knew that tonight, she would no longer be amongst the living. However, she was much less concerned with her life. She was dead regardless. Once accused, there was no escape.

She stopped struggling, lowered her head, and murmured, “If it be God's will, then I accept my death."

Richard, again, chuckled, “By the light, it would seem the Lord has granted you some sense in your last moments." Richard looked over to the side, addressing the ring of onlookers. “Brothers, fetch me a knife. We do not have time to burn her here. She will die and her body will be brought back for scorching."

Abigail hung between the men holding her, long past the point of the last bastion of fight or flight: surrender. In her mind, she called out to her mother in a silent prayer.

“I'm sorry, mother. Please forgive me. I knew not where I had run to."

“Any last words before we snuff out your miserable life, Abigail Dunne?" Richard spoke with a sarcastic lilt, which brought quiet chuckles from the ring of “righteous folk" surrounding her.

Abigail lifted her head and smiled, barring her teeth as she spoke, as if someone else was speaking through her. “You've disturbed my home, Richard of Beverly. Spilling this poor soul's blood will do nothing besides stain your hands. And the trees will drink deeply." The doe's head dropped back to her chest, once again silent.

With a quick flash of a blade and a momentary pause in time, the autumnal breeze picked up, howling through the Red Oaks surrounding Snake Hill; another life removed from this world.

For that night on Snake Hill, the trees did indeed drink deeply, the full moon watching the entire event. Though the other residents of Beverly searched high and low, Richard Hobbs and his band of vigilantes, along with the body of Abigail, never returned to Beverly.