The Agony of Fire

Sara hid behind her small bed in her sparse cottage. She clutched her worn bible and a small wooden cross, desperately praying. Her table and chair, the only other furniture in the simple abode, were pushed up against the door. Tears leaked from her eyes as she pleaded with her god for protection. She can hear the mob nearing her home.

The door shook violently from the pounding on the other side. “Open this door!” yelled a voice. Sara tried to make herself small and unseen. More pounding and yelling came from outside. “In the name of our lord, OPEN THIS DOOR!” Sara recognized this voice. The preacher has joined the mob. Still, she hid. This was not fair; she was a god-fearing woman. The cries of “witch” and “Satan” were hurled at her as the onslaught of pounding continued. “Chop the door down!” the first voice commanded. The ax blade splintered the thin wood that separated her from the angry mob. Sara screamed as a giant man pushed through the ruined door and past the table. The town’s blacksmith armed with the ax filled the center of her tiny home. The magistrate strolled in behind him, followed by the town’s preacher. “Sara Waterbury, I hereby place you under arrest. Sara Waterbury, you are charged with practicing witchcraft!” 

Sara’s hands and feet were clamped in rusty iron cuffs. The cold, rough metal rubbed against her skin. The blacksmith and magistrate led out from her cottage into the waiting mob. The town folk still hurled accusations of “Witch”, “Old hag” and “Bride of Satan” at her. The preacher followed the perception, pontificating about the evils of witchery and aligning the Devil. Sara was led to the town hall and held there. The blacksmith and preacher remained at her side. 

The magistrate hurried into the room at the back of the courthouse. He returned clad in his black judge’s robes and sat at the high desk looming over the accused. The mob filled the hall. It was standing room only. The whole town came out for the trial. Sara knew well how this worked. She knew the dangers of missing a hearing against witchcraft. Sara was working during the last witch trial and could not attend. As a widow, she worked as a domestic for the wealthier town folk. It was the only way she had to support herself.  

The magistrate pounded his fist on the desk, calling for the mob to quiet down. It took several minutes for the din to settle. In a clear, loud voice, the magistrate began the trial. “Sara Waterbury, you stand before this court accused of witchcraft. How do you plead?” Having seen firsthand how these trials worked, Sara knew there was nothing she could say to appease the court and the town folk. She could not give up hope that maybe her god would see fit to save her in her time of need. Half crying, Sara managed to sob, “I am a god-fearing child of our lord. I am a simple widow. I have nothing but a few possessions and my faith. I do not practice witchcraft.” The taunts and accusations came again from the crowd. Followed by more pounding from the magistrate. 

“Who can stand witness against Sara Waterbury?” announced the magistrate after he regained control of his courtroom. The blacksmith’s wife came forward to stand with her husband. “We can, your honor. Our three daughters fell ill after this WITCH cleaned our house last week. She must have placed a hex on our children.” A town merchant and his wife both stood up from the benches. “Our daughter also fell victim to the witch’s hexes after she cleaned our house last week.” Two more couples stood and accused Sara of the same. All four families employed Sara every week. 

Again, the magistrate turned to Sara and said, “Four witnesses have spoken against you. Again, I ask you, how do you plead to the crimes of practicing witchcraft?” Crying even harder now, Sara could not answer the court’s question. She could barely stand. The preacher and blacksmith had to hold her up. “Though the evidence against the accused is strong, the court needs indisputable proof of her sins. We shall conduct an examination to determine if she bears the marks of the Devil.” The magistrate’s and preacher’s wives came forward and led Sara out of the main hall and into a side room. There, they asked Sara to disrobe. Still sobbing, Sara complied, and the examination was carried out. Sara was on in years and knew she bore many scars and marks from a tough life. There was no getting out of this. Nothing Sara could do or say to prove her innocence. She could not cry anymore.

When they led Sara back into the main hall, she stood tall. No longer needing help standing, she stood alone before the magistrate. “Were there any marks on Sara’s body indicating her guilt?” The preacher’s wife stood to the side of the court and announced, “Sara Waterbury has the Devil’s mark on her back. She bears the proof that she communes with Satan.” The chorus of “Witch” started anew. The magistrate had to pound on his desk for several long minutes until the crowd was reigned in. The magistrate stood and announced, “Sara Waterbury, widow of Henry Waterbury, you have been found guilty of practicing witchcraft and being a mistress of the Devil. Your punishment shall be carried out tomorrow at first light. Sara Waterbury, you are to be burned at the stake.” As the city hall erupted in loud cheers, with accusations of “Witch” and “Satan’s lover” added in, Sara was led out of the main hall and back into the side room that doubles as the town’s prison. 

The following day, Sara was led back out to the center of town, where a pyre mound with a pole rising from the center was constructed. The town folk assembled around the stack of wood as she was tied to the pole. The preacher approached Sara, bible in hand, and said, “You can save your soul in the afterlife by admitting your evils and renouncing the devil.” Sara remained silent, bound by her neck, shoulders, hands, and feet to the pole. Her prayers and pleas were only for her lord. She would not confess to sins she never committed. She had her dignity. The preacher yelled to her and to the crowd, “Confess, and the Lord may have pity on your soul!” Sara said nothing. 

The preacher nodded to the blacksmith to ignite the pyre. The crowd stood silent as the flames rose. Unmoving, Sara closed her eyes tight. She felt the heat rise and, through her eyelids, saw the bright flickers of light through her eyelids. Sensing the flames, Sara expected to be burned alive. She felt no pain. Sara could still feel her bindings and the pole she was lashed to, but none of the agony associated with being burned alive was there. Confused, she opened her eyes. Bright orange, yellow, and red flames danced and swirled around her. Through the writhing arms of the fire, a man approached. He was tall and ageless. He was dressed in black robes, much like the magistrate’s. His hair and beard were obsidian. He stopped directly in front of Sara and captured her with his stare. His eyes were gold with pupils darker than any black she had ever seen. He smiled at Sara and began to speak. “Hello, my child. You seem to be in a bit of trouble. I can help you, but you need to help me first.” Dumbfounded, Sara just stared at the stranger. “Oh Sara, I can save you from this fire, but I need something little from you. I need your soul.” Sara finally understood who this man was. “NO!” she yelled. “I am a child of the lord. I renounce you, Satan!” Sara began reciting the lord’s prayer. Repeating it over and over. “Your god will not save you. Only I can protect you from the fires.”

Sara squeezed her eyes tight as her praying got louder. She finally experienced the agony of being incinerated. Sara let out a blood-curdling scream. The flames were intense. The pain was unbearable. She began begging for relief. She was screaming to make it stop. As her skin began to boil away she was pleading, she cried out “I AM YOURS!. My soul is yours. Make the pain stop!” Suddenly the flames were gone and the pain vanished. Slowly, she reopened her eyes and found only Satan seated on a deck. A large leather-bound book lay open. “Do you see now? Your god did nothing to save you. Only I can take the pain away. Now all I need is for you to sign here.” Sara blinked. She was no longer bound to the pole in the middle of the town square. She was in a dark room, just her, Satan and his book. “Sign it!” His smile was gone. Without a word she reached over the desk and signed his book.  

Suddenly, she was back in the town square. The fire was dying. The ropes holding her to the pole have burnt to nothing. The pole at her back was left in cinders. As Sara looked around, she saw that the crowd was gone. The preacher, the blacksmith, everyone was gone. The only other soul in the square was the magistrate. As he helped her out of the coals and ashes, he stared through Sara. His eyes were gold. As he led her from the pyre, he said to her “Welcome back my child.”