Jack Kursed
by Glenn Bullion
Published by Glenn Bullion at Smashwords
Copyright 2012 Glenn Bullion
Cover Design Copyright 2012 by (http://DigitalDonna.com)
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Special Thanks:
Rieland Riggs
Pete Thiel
Dominque Nelson
Liz Weaver
Fate
K. Mathis
CHAPTER 1
Year: 1820
"Excuse me."
John nearly dropped the bucket he was carrying at the sound of the feminine voice. He turned to see Angela standing outside the gate on the dirt road that ran in front of his home.
Angela looked lovely, as always. Dark hair, emerald eyes, a slightly dirty white dress, a smile that lit up her face. John smiled back at her. She carried two half-full knapsacks, one in each hand.
"Angela," he said, putting a hand to his chest. "Don't sneak up on me like that."
She laughed, a pleasant sound. "You scare easily then, John. There's nothing frightening about little old me."
His brow furrowed when he noticed Angela was on foot. She lived alone deep in the forest, but visited town once a month to trade. The journey was too far to walk.
"Where's your horse?"
Her smile vanished. "He died, I'm afraid, two nights ago."
"How did you get here?"
The corner of her mouth lifted slightly as she gestured to her feet.
"This won't do at all," he said. "Are you in town for trade?"
She nodded and lifted her sacks. "Yes. Just supplies to keep me going."
"When you're done, I'll see if I can borrow a horse from Thomas."
"Oh, no, that's not necessary. I'll be in town most of the day. But I was wondering. Would you know of a place I could stay for the night?"
John scratched his head. "Well, Miss Elizabeth usually has an extra room or two. But, to be honest, that's probably not a very good idea."
"Why not?"
He took a deep breath. "Not many people in town like you very much."
Angela leaned her head back and laughed. John couldn't help but be drawn to her neckline and the tops of her shoulders. He never understood why such a beautiful woman lived alone out in the forest. Her living arrangement only added to the rumors about her.
"That's why I've always liked you, John. Very honest. Tell me, does the town still think I'm a witch?"
He lowered his head and blushed at the fact she'd heard the rumors. Every month, as Angela rode away on her horse, the people in town would gather outside their stores and homes, watching her. They whispered in hushed tones. Some would giggle, others prayed and read from their Bibles.
"Among other things, yes," he said, smiling slightly. "Our little town still has their silly superstitions."
"Every town does," she said. She locked eyes with some of the passersby, and then focused her gaze on John. "I understand you're not very popular yourself."
John held in his surprise. Not only was this the longest conversation he ever had with Angela, but she was apparently asking about him around town.
"Most of the town simply...leaves me alone. I'm a private man."
"That's a shame. I have to go before the day slips away. But I was hoping, since my options seem to be limited, would I be able to stay with you this evening? I'll certainly pay for your trouble."
"Of course."
"Thank you, John," she said, smiling. "I'll try to be back before sunset."
He watched her walk down the road, moving in and out of the people going about their day. It was only when she stopped at Mary's fruit cart did he realize what he'd done.
He agreed to let a woman he barely knew stay at his home.
Picking up his bucket, he forced himself to remain calm. He leaned on the fence and looked at the town around him. It was a beautiful day, not a cloud in the sky. Birds danced on the ground as Samuel and his daughter Gertie tossed them food. The blacksmith Alexander leaned against his wagon and did his best to win the affection of Emily, the preacher's daughter.
Their town was small, barely a hundred people. John knew nearly everyone by name, although not everyone knew him.
Someone waved to him, just behind Alexander's wagon in the middle of the road. It was Angela, laughing and holding up an apple.
John waved back, Angela's infectious energy taking hold. He needed to tend to his garden, pull a few more vegetables, chop wood, and then clean. It had been months since he had company, and that was only a quick visit from Daniel about possibly buying one of his farm's cows.
His spirits fell when he opened his front door.
There was no need to straighten up his home. John simply didn't own much. His home was nothing more than a shack. His parents raised him here, and left it to him when they died. John loved his home with all his heart, but there were times he'd forgotten what it looked like to others. It was barely large enough for a cot in one corner and a wood stove in the other. There was no dining table, no chairs. His one luxury was a tiny bookshelf near his cot with ten or so books, but his reading skills were quite limited.
"What was I thinking?"
John spent the rest of the afternoon trying to think of ways to send Angela away. Perhaps he could speak to Elizabeth at the inn, convince her that Angela's coin was as good as anyone else's.
There was the good chance Angela would leave on her own after seeing the inside of John's home. He laughed at the thought.
The sun had nearly set when there was a knock at the door. John grabbed one of several candles lying about.
"One moment."
He opened the door to greet Angela, a smile on her face. Her knapsacks were full from a day of trading. Her smile turned awkward as John simply stood there.
"Hi," she said. "May I come in?"
"Oh, of course. Sorry."
He grabbed the sacks from her as she stepped into his home. She stood at the doorway, studying everything.
"It's not too late to find you a horse. I know I live...very poorly."
"You live like a man who takes care of himself, and answers to no one. You don't care what others think of you. I admire that."
"Thank you." He set her knapsacks down near the stove. "I see trading went well."
"Yes. Most people avoid looking me in the eye during a sale, but I'm used to that now."
John worked over the stove, making a stew large enough for two people. Entertaining guests wasn't a strength of his. He was content to leave the conversation for another day, but Angela had other things in mind.
"I see you grow your own vegetables."
"The best skill my parents taught me. I'll trade in town, make some coin. I can't ask for much more than what I have."
She was behind him, almost uncomfortably close.
"And no woman to share your life with?"
"That's...personal."
"Most of the people I talked to today didn't have much to say about you. I'd mention your name, and they'd look away, or change the subject. May I ask why?"
John cleared his throat. "I wouldn't think my name would come up during a sale."
"I'm curious about you."
He turned from the stove. Angela was a few feet away, her eyes locked with his. So beautiful.
"There's a plantation a short ride from here. The town believes my parents rode in
at night, and freed the slaves there. There wasn't any evidence, but still the town believes what it wants. My parents have been dead a few years, but it seems hate can live quite a while."
He didn't know why he told her. It was strange to even speak the words. The town didn't welcome him, didn't invite him to their dances and gatherings. But they tolerated him, and that was enough.
"That's what the town believes. What do you believe?"
John said nothing. That night was still fresh in his mind, even though he was only a child at the time. When he woke up in the middle of the night his parents were gone. Those were the longest hours of his life. He cried in the corner in the dark, calling for them. When they finally came back home at daybreak they were excited and emotional. His father looked like he'd been in a fight, but they were both happy.
They never talked about what happened, and John never asked. But the rumors around town started, and people talked with John and his parents less and less. They pulled him out of school to help with the garden, and that had been his life ever since.
When they died, he was all alone. There was never any woman in town that took an interest in him. Most wouldn't even address him by name.
"John?" Angela asked. "Are you okay?"
"Yes. I'm sorry. Just daydreaming there for a minute. Let's talk about you. How is it that you live in the forest alone?"
She raised an eyebrow. "How else would I practice my witchcraft?"
He laughed, but quickly grew quiet as she took a step toward him. The back of his legs touched the stove as he tried to back away from her.
"I like you, John."
"You...don't even know me."
"I've watched you for a long time. I know you're better than this town. You deserve so much more."
Angela leaned forward to kiss him. Gently, at first, touching his lips softly. Then she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close.
John knew he should push her away. She was a mystery. He barely knew anything about her. But he was weak, and it had been a long time since he felt the touch of a beautiful woman.
He kissed her back, and was almost surprised when he held her close, and she didn't pull away. Rejection had been a constant companion all his life. He almost expected Angela to change her mind. She didn't.
They moved from the stove to his cot, the stew all but forgotten. They undressed as they went, Angela's figure almost ghost-like by the candlelight. John was mesmerized as she forced him onto the cot and straddled him.
He didn't know her last name, didn't know where she was from. He didn't know how she came to be in the forest, or why she had taken an interest in him.
As he took her in his arms, he didn't care.
*****
John drifted in and out of sleep. He didn't remember the last time he shared his cot with a woman. They fell asleep naked, Angela's leg over his waist. It was a wonderful experience, the real world blending with his dreams, her quiet breathing in his ear. Her hair tickled his nose. He would awaken, brush the hair away with a small laugh, and then fall back to sleep.
From deep in his dream he was aware she wasn't at his side. It was still the dead of night when he opened his eyes. The candles had long burnt out, but moonlight through the window let him see a shape hovering over him. Curvy, with hair just past the shoulders.
"Angela?"
"We'll live together forever, love."
Her hand touched his bare chest as she put the vial to his lips. The bile, disgusting liquid poured down his throat. He gagged and lashed out, striking Angela's hand and sending the vial crashing into the wall.
"What have you done?" she shouted.
John barely heard her. He rolled from his cot to the floor, on his hands and knees. He retched, expecting to vomit, but nothing happened.
Climbing to his feet, they moved past each other as John made his way to the front door. More moonlight filled his home as he threw it open.
Angela was on her knees, still naked, hovering over the broken vial. The disgusting liquid seeped into the wood and between the cracks.
Not far from her on the floor and walls were strange symbols and words written in a language John had never seen. He couldn't be sure, but it looked like they were written in blood.
"You are a witch."
Angela looked up at him. Her expression was a mix of sadness and anger. Tears fell from her eyes and mixed with the strange liquid.
"Like my mother and father before me," she said. "You've ruined everything. It took me years to make that potion. Studying, experimenting. We were going to live forever."
"Get out of my home. Now!"
New voices, just on the road outside.
"John? What's all the commotion?"
"Where are his clothes?"
"What's going on in there?"
John looked out beyond his home. People were gathering on the road with lanterns and candles. Samuel, Mark, Elizabeth, Henry. It seemed the entire town was outside. He slammed the door shut and backed up a few steps.
"It wasn't supposed to be like this," Angela said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "John, you foolish human."
Pulling away, he spun to face her. "What have you done to me?"
Shadows moved across the floor as the people outside surrounded his home. He thought his mind was playing tricks on him as the shadows took the form of pitchforks and axes. His breath caught in his chest as a very real pitchfork crossed in front of his window.
"We heard screams, John," someone shouted. "Just what are you doing?"
The door flew open. Everything happened so fast. Alexander the blacksmith and Michael the preacher led the way with a growing crowd behind them. They looked at the naked couple, the strange markings, the broken glass and liquid on the floor. They didn't ask any questions, or give John the chance at an explanation.
The beating was swift, but brutal. John strangely didn't feel any pain, but didn't have time to wonder why. Angela cried out next to him as they whipped and struck her. Witch or not, it hurt him to hear her suffer.
John's hands were tied behind his back, and a noose slipped over his head. He was pushed out of his life-long home, Angela right behind him.
"What are you doing?" he muttered, nearly tripping on the road. "What have I done to you?"
"This woman is a witch," Michael said. "And you've taken her to your bed."
"She's not a witch," John lied. "And what we do is none of your business-"
"Save it for the Lord, John."
"This is all your fault!" Angela shouted behind him.
She fell, and they dragged her on the ground, like a dog. John's head reeled back as a thrown rock struck under his eye. They led John and Angela to Elizabeth's inn, where they tossed the loose end of their nooses over the sturdy wooden sign.
"Please, don't do this," John begged. "What you saw back there-"
Mark and Samuel, two of the stronger men in town, pulled on John's rope. The noose tightened around his neck as his body lifted up. The balls of his feet barely touched the ground. Angela was to his right in the same position, tears and blood streaming down her face. Despite his anger, he tried to move to her, to be close to her one last time. They pulled on his rope once more, freezing him in place.
Michael read from a Bible as the crowd around him cheered. They pelted John and Angela with rocks.
"Any last words?" Michael asked Angela.
She tried to twist in her noose to look at Michael.
"You're better than they are-"
Her last words were cut off when she was lifted into the air. John watched in horror as her body spun and swayed, bumping into him several times. She kicked with her feet, her face turning purple. John pulled uselessly against the rope around his wrists.
Finally, her naked body stopped moving. They dropped her to the ground, and her head landed near John's foot. Her lifeless eyes looked up to him.
He looked at the crowd, at the collection of torches and weapons. Angela was a witch, and the town felt th
ey were doing the right thing. Still, if he could, he would have killed them all.
John felt a rage he never felt before.
"This is an excuse!" he shouted. "You've wanted to hurt me for years. All you needed was a reason. Now you've killed a woman who meant you no harm-"
His words died in his throat as he was lifted into the air. He stretched his toes as far as he could, desperate to feel footing of any kind. The crowd roared around him, laughing and pointing their weapons in the air. More thrown rocks struck his body. John felt the pressure build in his head. Then, all at once, the pain and pressure stopped.
The town waited for him to die.
And they waited.
John dropped a few inches as Mark and Samuel's strength waned. He watched the crowd as he spun uselessly. Their expressions went from joy and celebration to wonder and fear.
"Is this the witch's doing? He's...not dying!"
His foot brushed against Angela's body as he fell a few more inches.
Alexander stepped toward John, ax in hand. The blacksmith waited for John's body to spin one more rotation. He reared the ax back and swung as hard as he could. The ax found its mark and buried into his chest. The crowd gasped and jumped back as Mark and Samuel finally dropped him to the ground next to Angela.
John didn't hesitate. He didn't wonder why he was alive, or why he felt no pain at having an ax sticking out of his chest. It was difficult to move with his hands bound behind him, but he managed to roll to his knees. Taking one last look at Angela, he ran away from the crowd, around the side of the inn, directly into the forest.
It only took the crowd a moment to gather their senses.
"The Devil has him!"
"We have to get him!"
John ran, pushing his way through the forest. The forest reminded him that he was still naked, completely without protection. Rocks poked his feet, brush grabbed his leg, a tree branch scratched his arm.
The ax was still in his chest, the noose still around his neck. Twelve feet of rope dragged on the ground behind him, occasionally catching on a bush or stump. His wrists bound behind him made it difficult to keep balance.
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