Spine Chillers

2. Castle De’ath-2

“It’s perfectly true, sir,” one of the other girls confirmed. “That man tortured us until we made up lies, just to make him stop.”

“Silence!” another of the elders barked. “You will not speak such slander against this good man.” He pointed directly at Vile. “He is a servant of the state, and as such, is authorised to carry out such an interrogation in order to arrive at the truth.”

Vile bowed his head, reverently, so that no one in attendance could see his cheeks flush.

Abigail Adams, the only girl not to have spoken thus far, stretched out her arm and pointed directly at Vile. “Put this man on oath,” she demanded, “and let him swear on the Bible that he did not coax an answer out of us by whipping and applying brands to our skin.” She parted a torn piece of her dress and, turning to face the crowd, she revealed a large brown mark on her skin.

The crowd gasped once more.

The other two girls began to reveal similar marks to their friend, which elicited further expressions of shock and surprise from those gathered.

Conrad shot to his feet. “Wait!” he demanded. The crowd quietened down. “I will inspect these allegations myself.”

With that, he pushed back his chair, letting it scrape along the stage, and climbed down before walking over to the dock.

“Be careful, sir,” Vile warned him. “It might not be safe to get too close to them, you never know what spells of wickedness and evil they may cast on you.”

Conrad smiled at the man. “Thank you for your concern,” he said, “but I have the power of the Lord to protect me, these wretches will not have their wicked way with me.”

Satisfied, the jailer stood back, allowing Conrad to enter the dock.

He walked right up to the women, close enough to rub noses with them if he had a mind to. Conrad stared at each one in turn, holding their gaze for several seconds before he began to speak. “If any, or all of you will confess to this gathering that you have been involved in licentious behaviour with the baroness in Castel De’ath, I can guarantee you all a fair and merciful trial, especially if you admit that you were led astray by that wicked woman.” He kept his voice down so low that even the women in front of him could barely hear what the was saying.

The three girls exchanged confused glances. Finally, Abigail spoke up. “But that would be a lie,” she stated. “We haven’t done anything up at the castle other than clean it, which is what we’re paid for.”

Conrad closed his eyes and pursed his lips together in an attempt to staunch the rising anger he could feel in his chest.

When he opened his eyes again, there was a look of pure malice in them, focussed directly at the three girls. “This is your final chance,” he whispered, almost spitting the words out. “Confess all here and now, and you will receive more mercy than you deserve. Now confess!”

This time the three girls all answered in unison, desperately trying to explain that they only confessed earlier because their jailer had tortured them.

Conrad had heard enough. He shot up his hands to staunch their torrent of objections, and the girls all pulled back, convinced that he was about to strike them.

Conrad’s face was flushed red, and perspiration trickled down his cheeks. The girls could tell from the expression on his face that he was far from happy with their protestations and would not be satisfied with anything short of a full confession.

After a moment, without speaking, Conrad began inspecting the marks on the three girls. He pulled their torn garments aside and felt along their skin with the palm of his hand, pressing and squeezing at will, causing the girls to gasp in pain as he kneaded their tender flesh.

He made a point of feeling them all over. Cupping their breasts in his palm, he fondled their soft flesh, and rubbed their n*****s vigorously with the inside of his thumb.

When he was done, Conrad turned to Vile and nodded, before making his way back to his seat. “I have made a proper inspection,” Conrad informed the gathering. “And it is my opinion that the marks these women bear, are in fact scars caused by the Devil’s touch.

Another loud gasp, accompanied by more calls for the girls’ demise, ensued.

The three girls huddled together as if by doing so, they might be able to protect each other from the venom being aimed at them from the crowd.

Standing in the middle, Abigail Adams put her arms around the shoulders of her fellow prisoners and pulled them in close.

Conrad raised both arms into the air and called for silence.

By now, the crowd were growing fevered, and several began crossing themselves and uttering silent prayers for protection.

Once silence was restored, Conrad conferred with his fellow judges, before passing sentence. “It is the decision of this learned gathering, that the three prisoners in the dock are all guilty of practicing the dark arts, and as such, they will be hanged at dusk tomorrow.”

The crowd roared their approval.

“And may the Lord have mercy on their souls.” Conrad made his final announcement without bothering to wait for the crowd to die down.

On his way back home, Conrad could not stop thinking about the feel of Abigail’s breast. In truth, Conrad had always been attracted to the girl, and had he discovered her before marrying Inga, she would now be his wife, instead of her.

The other two girls had perfectly adequate bosoms, but Abigail’s were by far the plumpest and comeliest he had ever come across, and he wished that there had been some way he could have taken them between his teeth during his inspection, without causing suspicion as to his true motive.

He could not help wondering whether Vile had taken full advantage of his position and helped himself to whatever the women had on offer. He would not put it past the town blacksmith, who also acted as town jailer and executioner when needed.

Conrad wondered if he could enact some form of subterfuge which would allow him to gain access to Abigail the following day. Then he could do more than just fondle her breasts, he could take his time with her and enjoy himself until he was satisfied.

He chided himself for such a wicked thought. He knew that God was watching him and knew his mind. It was one thing to dispose of those who had been in collusion with the Devil, their souls were already damned. But if he were to take advantage of his position of authority and commit a******y, that was a different matter altogether.

He had a wife of his own, and God allowed him to do as he pleased with her, it was his right. So, he would just have to satisfy himself with his present situation and leave it at that.

When he threw open his front door, Inga jumped up with a start.

She had stayed up like a dutiful wife, waiting for his return, stirring the stew to keep it moist and tender. “You startled me,” she said, catching her breath. She could tell from the expression on Conrad’s face that he was in the mood for more than just stew. But she acted as if she suspected nothing of the sort.

Conrad expected his wife to remain demure and coy, at all times.

Inga made her way over to the pot and continued to stir the contents.

“Shall I pour you some wine?” she asked, casually.

“Yes,” Conrad replied, removing his shoes before plonking himself down at the table.

Inga poured him a large cupful and brought it over to him.

Conrad glugged it back, then slammed the empty cup back on the table. “More,” he demanded.

Inga did as she was told, and fetched him another full cup, along with some bread and butter for her husband to have with his supper. She placed them before him, then returned to the pot and filled him a steaming bowl of stew.

Conrad ate in silence, draining his second cup in one long swallow, before pushing the empty cup back across the table towards his wife.

The stew was hot, but he did not care. Conrad slurped it down, mopping up the gravy with some buttered bread. As he ate, he watched the way his wife’s hips swayed from side to side as she walked over to fetch him more wine. He had warned her before about the way she carried herself. Moving her hips in such a provocative manner was not becoming to a wife of a Town Elder.

Conrad knew that he would have to administer discipline tonight. But it was her fault for not obeying her husband’s strict command.

By the time Inga returned with Conrad’s third cup of wine, he had finished his meal.

“Would you care for some more, husband?” Inga asked, sweetly. “There’s plenty more in the pot.”

Conrad shook his head, his eyes fixed on his wife’s face.

Inga recognised the signs and accepted them.

She waited patiently by his side while Conrad threw back his third cup of wine.

When he was finished, Conrad wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and let out a deep, guttural belch which echoed in the tiny kitchen.

As he stood up from the table, his chair fell back, landing on the floor.

As Inga reached down to retrieve it, Conrad grabbed her by the wrist, and squeezed it, hard. Inga yelped in pain and surprise, but she did not try to resist. She knew that to do so would make things all the worse for her.

Conrad dragged his wife up the wooden stairs to their bedroom.

Once inside, he threw Inga on the bed, face down with her legs dangling over the edge. She stayed put while Conrad removed his coat to allow him more freedom of movement.

Casting the garment aside, Conrad moved towards the far wall and took down the birch he kept there on a hook. He swished the wooden rod through the air twice, before striding back over to Inga’s prone body.

With one hand he pulled up her dress, exposing her undergarments, before ripping them down her legs, leaving her bare flesh on display.

Raising the birch high above his head, Conrad brought it down hard on his wife’s n***d posterior. Inga’s whole body shifted with the force of the blow, and she let out a tiny cry, which only seemed to excite her husband.

As a cruel smile stretched across Conrad’s lips, he lifted the birch and smacked it down again on his poor wife’s behind. Again, and again he beat her, until his arm ached. All the while Inga stayed as still as she could, suffering the beating with as much dignity as she could muster.

When he was finished, Conrad threw the birch onto the floor, and removed his trousers. He entered Inga from behind without warning.

As always, she was compliant, and did not resist as her husband shoved himself deep within her, forcing himself back and forth, grunting with the effort.

He grabbed hold of her hair with both hands and began to pull it.

After a while, he began to hiss in his wife’s ear as he took her. “You evil b***h, you s**t. You are little more than a common w***e, parading yourself around the town for all to see. You f*****g witch, I’ll have you dangling from a rope before the sun sets on another day.”

Conrad continued spewing out bile until he finally managed to ejaculate.

After he was spent, Conrad lay on top of Inga, breathing heavily from the exertion.

Inga waited patiently for him to climb off her. Once she was free, Inga undressed in silence, and pulled on her nightgown. Once Conrad had donned his own nightshirt, the two of them knelt on the floor across the bed from each other, with their palms clasped together in prayer.