Entry 7

As I entered the farmhouse to investigate I heard the ghastly howl once more. Was the Hound close? I could not tell. The echoes seemed to come from so very far, but I could feel their impossible vibrations in my chest! My nerves were raw and my wits were dulling fast. The wood of the home swelled in the heat and the entire structure seemed to creak and sigh around me. If it weren’t for this, I might have heard the ill-intentioned farmer sneaking up behind me. Instead, I received a blow to the head, a vengeful oath and fitful rest of indeterminable length.

I awoke in a spell of nausea, with my hands bound behind my back and a quaking pain behind my blurry eyes. It took several moments for my vision to clear, but in that time I learned more than enough to understand the scenario that had unfolded. I was standing. My legs were bound to one another at the ankles and my waist was buttressed by a coil of rope that I shared with a column at my back. I made out the words “witches” and “shapeshifter”… I heard the name “Dianne.” Only then did I realize that beyond the taste of my own blood was a rag tied across my mouth. What protestations I could piece together in my mind were muffled and meaningless to the townsfolk around me, and it seemed that there would be no reasoning with them anyway. The terrible truth was laid before me: the Beast had been here and they suspected that Dianne and I had brought it. It killed many, and in return, they would kill us. After blinking away the swirls and spots before me, I could see clearly their satisfaction. Dianne, no doubt, was already dead, and I was the last remaining mark – standing on the edge of life, upon a witch’s pyre with fumes of oil thick around me. I would be burned at the stake.