Parts 1
2 4
Parts 1
2 4Part 3 - The Gruesome Deed
| Suddenly at midnight she woke with a start. All
her senses rushed back to her – she half remembered the sound of something –
something like metal clattering on the stone floor. An uncontrollable fear coursed through
her body and she was on her feet in no time at all. It was now quite dimly lit as the fire
was dying down but, as she crossed the room, on the stone floor she saw the glint of a
knife blade by the sconce. Her refugee was still there, sprawled out, and still asleep but
had turned over and the shawl had fallen away to reveal a face. She recoiled with terror
at what she saw illuminated by the red glow from the fire, not an old woman - but a man! His face was nasty, nearly a week's growth of beard, pot marked skin and half his teeth missing. Her head was swimming, and she felt like the sound of her heart pounding might waken him. Her first thought was to pick up her child and flee into the night. But where could she flee? The next farm of Bakerstead had been without a tenant for many months and the next one after that was half a mile away. Anyway, surely as soon as she tried to unbolt the door he would awake. The thought of running about in the dark trying to escape some madman was more frightening than confronting him in her own house. Self-preservation, maternal protection of her child and shear terror took over and like a cornered animal she turned to attack. She filled the large ladle with the hot fat from the cauldron and poured it into the man’s gaping mouth. A fountain of fat spluttered forth as he awoke grasping his throat, his eyes glaring from his contorted face. She knew this was a fight for survival and with a peculiar unbridled strength managed to hold down his writhing body with one hand, as she poured another ladle of tallow over his face. Almost immediately she felt his resistance weaken but she still held his shirt with whitened knuckles as she poured yet another measure of molten fat over him. His face turned from red to a terrible ashen blue and his struggle stopped. She then flew across the room and sat on the floor in the corner, shivering uncontrollably. She stared with terror at the ghastly figure, half hanging off the sconce, his bulging eyes protruding from a mask of wax. Seconds later, which seemed like an age, she ran to her son who was crying and clutched him tightly to herself. Again she took position on the floor in the corner, facing the door, rocking to and fro, and murmuring words of comfort as much to herself as to her child. |
