Tuesday, March 6, 2012

Bleakman's Bog Pt. 7


I don't want to over excite anyone, but I nearly crapped my pants with excitement as I wrote this entry. Everything is coming together. I hope you all are enjoying the experience as much as I am.

Part 1.
Part 2.
Part 3.
Part 4.
Part 5.
Part 6.
And now prepare for the shocking Part 7.

The witch had finally collected enough power. It had been so long she waited. It had been so long that she clawed at the last remaining sliver of life in her cracked leather skin. Finally she would have justice, finally she would have her Thomas back. Standing over the tomb she put more and more of herself into the blood spells. Into the magic of Vengeance. The air crackled with energy. If all in the bog was death this room was life itself. Even the worn flesh of Anne looked new in this room, but the magic was not for Anne. Nor was it for the witch it was for Thomas Bleakman.



Her name was once Olga Bleakman, wife to Thomas Bleakman. Thomas was a good man or at least he had been to her. But the towns people didn't trust his magics. Sure he had doubled their crops and made wounds heal nearly instantly. However, none of that mattered when a young child disappeared. It was the warlock's fault. It had to have been. Only someone who consorts with the powers beyond could take a child. So, when they arrived at the door in numbers with torches and weapons it was not a surprise.
Thomas was kind and let the villagers in.
“Search all you want I did not take the child.” Was all he said. Yet, his eyes told Olga that he knew his death was near. She saw the fear and grew more fearful in the knowing.
That was all well and good until they found some lace from the dress the girl was last seen wearing. Thomas and Olga knew one of the villagers had planted it, but it didn't matter their pleas were ignored. Thomas was tackled to the ground angry hands tearing his clothes off. A rope was brought in the house . A noose was made and thrown over the man Olga loved. Olga screamed and she fought but the men held her back. The whole while Thomas Bleakman refused to raise a finger against any of them. A noose was tightened around his neck. Some even tore at Olga's clothes. A slap came from outside a horse whinnied. Other men began to roughly touch Olga. The rope went taught and the snapping sound of bone and sinew came from Thomas' neck. Olga had been beautiful back then. Some of the men hardly noticed the lifeless body torn from the house as they took up positions around her.
Olga's husband was dragged through the front gate and out of sight. All the while a dark eyed man grinned maliciously at her now naked body. The man and a few others stayed behind and prepared a slew of evil thoughts. While many rode away in shame, but never stopped to offer the witch any aid.
Olga survived somehow. Bloody and battered she clung to life as she hung on the precipice of death. Clawing at the edges she lifted herself inch by inch, fueled by rage she raised herself. She screamed in defiance at the ever looming black pit of despair that marked death and meant her vengeance would not be fulfilled. As she sucked life back into herself the earth around the cottage became cursed. The trees died and became shriveled husks, grass turned brown and sunk to the earth. Putrid waters rose and ate away roads and flowers. And Bleakman's bog was born in Olga's oath of vengeance.

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