letter to his brother soon, or else his story could never be told. Wasting no more of his valuable time, Alfred Hamilton quickly dipped his pen into the ink and continued writing.
"What you have before you is an ancient spell to inflict upon the one who brings death!" Miss Stubbs continued. I could see in her eyes that she was becoming excited – even euphoric. "The murderer was promised clemency if he or she confessed their crime to the kin of the deceased, unknowing that by doing so would activate a curse. That curse would enable their mortal flesh to be possessed by whose life they took away!"
"That is preposterous!" I exclaimed, although the memory of Conrad Stubbs' face leering back at me from the mirror told me I was gravely wrong.
"No, Mr. Hamilton. Once the spell has been uttered and you have confessed your crime to a blood relative of the one you slain, then it is only a matter of time before the curse takes hold of your soul."
"But I am innocent," I argue. "It was a judicial hanging, I tell you. He was found guilty by a jury of his peers!"
"It matters not. On the day you ended my brother's life, you confessed to me in this very room. Conrad purposely sent you here to give me a letter that had no meaning so that I could ask you the question, knowing that I had already spoken the sacred words."
"No, it cannot be true," I tell her, although deep down in my heart I knew that it was.
"In death there is no death but only the withering of a mortal shell," she recited again as she stood boldly before me. "For the soul of God's man passes like seed into the breeze, so within fertile soil can swell."
"You are crazy," I told her.
"Conrad's soul is the seed and your mortal body is the fertile soil," she continued as she sat calmly down beside me.
"But he was a murderous, drunken scoundrel," I protested. "He does not deserve to live again!"
"He gambled far too much, I agree," she said. "He needed the money, but he did not truly mean to murder. I should have taken more care of him; it was my fault." She then put her hand gently to my face. "I will not make that mistake again the next time."
I stood up in a rage and threw the empty brandy glass to shatter against the wall. "There will be no next time, I assure you, for I will resist him – fight him!"
"You cannot stop it from happening," she told me and then stood and walked to the blazing fireplace. "There is no going back once the curse has been passed. With only a matter of days he will possess you completely, so take care of that body, Mr. Hamilton, for it no longer belongs to you!"
I could not restrain my anger any more. While she stood with her back turned towards me, I charged at her, knocking her to the floor.
"Stop this at once," she pleaded, but I plucked the fire poker from the hearth and proceeded to beat at her as she lay upon the floor. "Stop him, Conrad," she screamed. "Stop him. You must stop him, or else you will hang again!"
I beat her to death, my dear Arthur, the hatred inside me very much my own. I could feel the spirit of Conrad Stubbs fighting against me from within, but his will was far too weak against my rage.
After she was lying dead and bleeding upon the floor, I set the room alight with the flames from the fireplace. Before I ran from the house, I cast the devilish book into the fire, but not before tearing out the page containing the cursed words.
After that moment, I do not remember any more until I awoke in a police cell under arrest for the murder of Miss Stubbs. I was swiftly found guilty by a jury of my peers and sentenced to hang for my crime. During my short wait within the condemned cell, I was hoping that the spirit of Conrad Stubbs would fully possess my body and would thus hang again instead of me. However, even though I still see his face and not mine in my reflection, his influence is now weak as though his wretched curse has failed, knowing his spirit will die with me.
Do not feel pity or sadness, my dear Arthur, for by the time you read this I will be in a better place. I have a thousand more things I wish to tell you, but I must now end the letter I feared to write.
I therefore bid you a happy, long life.
All my love,
Alfred
Just before the strike of eight o'clock, Alfred Hamilton unfolded a single piece of paper hidden within his pocket and read the words written upon it under his breath. Once he had finished, he held the remaining page of the Book of the dead above the flame of the single candle while the clergyman began to read his last rites.
When the sound of a key turning in the lock echoed through the tiny cell, Alfred stood patiently until the hangman entered.
"Hello Richard," Alfred softly said as his former work colleague approached with the pinion strap held ready in his hand.
The hangman gave a sorrowful smile. "Hello, my friend."
"I see you have been promoted."
Richard Palmer nodded once in affirmation. "I'm sorry, sir, but I have to ask you to turn around so I can bind your wrists."
Mirroring Conrad Stubbs' actions, Alfred then dropped to his knees and held the envelope containing his letter up high. "Please, Richard, take this to my brother in person as my last wish on earth. Promise me truly you will tell him who you are, and that I died with courage in my heart!"
The hangman plucked the envelope from his fingers and gently placed it in his pocket. "I will do just that, my dear friend. Have no fear."
A short time later, Alfred Hamilton stood upon the trap doors beneath the gallows, and just before the hangman placed the hood over his head, plunging his final moments into darkness, he gazed upon the young man whose body he would soon possess. Seconds later, he felt the rough touch of the hemp upon his skin as he tightened the noose around his neck.
And he smiled.
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By Adam Patterson 2012
The Touch of Hemp Page 3