The Burning Of Eliza Carfax

There was an air of carnival as I made my way through the milling, soon to be spectators.
A man sold roasted nuts from a wagon and an older woman, little faceless cloth dolls hanging from a stick. Children begged and their mothers and fathers gave in to them buying the awful things so the children could join in on the “fun”.  Somewhere, off away from the actual burning there would be a small bonfire where the little ones could hold the dolls in the flames pretending to burn their very own witch, watched over by one of the church elders. There were other games for the children and gambling for the men while the women stood by gossiping.  

Eliza Carfax stood silently in stocks, the center of it all, no expression on her face, seeming as one of the dolls waiting to be hung from a stick and set to flame. The old tree in the center of town had mostly died off, just one of the many crimes Eliza had been convicted of. “I seen it with my very own eyes!”, said a witness at her trial. “She touched it was all she done an’ the tree dried up an’ the leaves fell as if it were the Autumn of the year. I swear by all mighty God his self!” The woman’s hand fell away from the bible a bit too fast, I thought as if it would scorch away the sweat and lies. The remaining branches had been either cut or broken off leaving only the trunk to be surrounded by kindling and bunches of sticks and finally logs to create the premature funeral pyre.

I could still hear the judge  ranting, and raving, all fire and brimstone as he sentenced Eliza to death by burning. I sat dumbfounded in the back of the meeting house. The trial had been a farce. It had been all I could do to keep from laughing until the judge had out of nowhere stated that he’d heard enough. Eliza Carfax was a witch and there was no doubt in his mind. In almost the same breath he’d sentenced the poor woman to her doom. I couldn’t breathe. My heart wanted to burst from my chest and I seemed for a moment to see time stop as the bastard looked around the room saying let this be a lesson to all who would hold court with the devil, his eyes  gleaming an evil light I’m sure no one bothered to notice but me.

It was getting dark and it would soon be time to begin. The judge came out of the town hall dressed in his finest robes of office. He held up his hands to quiet the crowd, their excited voices seeming like a roar as
people spoke of  the only now remembered “strange” occurrences connected to the witch, forgotten for the time being was the fact that gossiping was not only considered a sin but also against the law. All were so happy they’d not been touched by her evil. When the judge spoke it was with the voice of  authority and solemnity. His hands swept the crowd pausing over the figure of Eliza. Her head was bowed as if in prayer. Who do you pray to?, the judge asked. God does not hear the prayers of those who would do evil. Tears stained her face as she raised her head God knows I am innocent. Someone threw a stone. Blood poured from her left eye as several men made their way to her side  unlocking the stocks, dragging her to the tree, tying her tightly so there would be no escape. Eliza could barely breathe but she began singing. The words were unfamiliar to me the melody like something a child may whistle or hum while doing chores.

The Judge began a speech he’d been practicing all morning but his words stuck in his mouth as if like smoke he choked on them and he couldn’t speak. Gag her!, set the fire! he roared instead, angered and several men with torches made toward the burning tree . They tried to tie a gag to her mouth but it would not stay but finally the torches set, the kindling burned, the larger pieces began to smoke in the heat and it raised up to darken Eliza’s face who’s song still did not waver. Instead she began also to chant or seemingly to hum. The song, chant, humming was unnerving. Spectators threw stones screaming at her to stop!, to shut her blasphemous mouth! Eliza herd, felt nothing of it. She sang on, the flames caught the kindling, the ropes that held her the logs her feet stood upon, her flesh. She sang on, the humming, the chant seemingly as much a part of the crackling of the flames now as the popping of drops of  her flesh falling from her bare feet. Her legs, soon her whole body was aflame but her voice would not be silenced.

Somewhere off in the distance the humming seemed to reverberate out from the surrounding forest. The children heard this first but were not frightened. Instead they lay upon the ground without ever holding their little “witches” to flame. They lay holding them close as if to protect them and fell asleep and none who tried could wake them. The Elder of the church who’s charge it was to watch over the children ran from that place and was never seen again.  Those who tried to wake the children ran to the burning Eliza hatred in their eyes, stones in their hands, rifles cocked, death in their hearts but when they reached the burning tree Eliza was no longer tethered or so it would seem.

Her body still burned, hanging from the tree tied round and round but at the same time she danced among the screaming, panicking, horror stricken villagers. Still singing, still humming, still chanting that horror. She looked around her as one by one the townsfolk caught fire from the inside and slowly turned to ash falling to the earth in heaps their screaming cut short as flames burst from their lips until at last all was silence and there were but three left standing in that place, Eliza, The Judge and myself.

She looked to the Judge. He cowered, dropped to his knees in the dust, filth and ash in his finest robes. Mercy!, he begged. Her song never wavered as she moved slowly towards him like a forest creature her arms raised almost lovingly. The chant, the humming, the song on her lips now a lullaby, now a reproach, the Judge a punished child sent to bed without any supper. He screamed as he tried to get up. Whimpering he was rooted to the ground in places. His left arm raised, right arm only partly before it was stopped by a tendril of root that ripped from him and entered the earth below. Guttural, liquid sounds emanated from deep within him. He screamed one leg already rooted fast to the earth the other straightened to pull himself free but deformed as it was broken. He screamed again. There was the ripping of his fine robes, tearing of flesh as his spine was torn from him, his rib cage twisted, the bones of his arms snapped as they too tore from him to grow branches as those of a tree first from the joints and then from the fingers and then finally his jaw opened wide as he made what sounded like one final effort to scream , his head tilted back, his skull burst, his lower jaw folded back on its self and the thing left was no longer anything that had once resembled a man but slowly grew into what became over the many years known as the crying tree, the remains of the Judges fine robes hanging in shreds rotted and blown away over time by the wind.

I stood, frozen in my fear, my horror as she slowly turned to me.