She wasn’t an ordinary woman, and that is why they hanged her.
Agnes Waterhouse was born in a village so small, that it was impossible to keep any secrets there. Her parents died when she was young. Her mother was a milkmaid and her father a failed clergyman. When he died, the girl had nowhere to go but the local church.
Many evenings she spent hiding in the stone arches of the building, looking at the stained-glass. The girl would ask the pastor:
- Dear Father, why are all these people on the coloured glass weeping?
- Because they were martyrs, sweet child – the pastor would say – they were prosecuted for their beliefs.
The never-ending rain outside the cathedral walls would paint their eyes wet with streams of water. It seemed like they were weeping right before the child’s eyes.
Agnes would then turn to the altar. She would always look at Jesus, crucified on the cross. His face was full of pain and sorrow.
- Why did they kill him, father? – she’d ask the priest – Why is he weeping?
- Because he wasn’t a regular human – the pastor would reply – and they hated him for that. They crucified him. He feels pity for the hateful people of this Earth. Here he is, dying for the sins of the ungrateful. That is why he weeps.
Agnes would listen attentively but always think to herself: “He must have held a grudge against them. Maybe he wasn’t a regular human, but he was a human. He was hurt. They hurt him for being different. That’s why he wept.”
Many years Agnes spent inside the walls of the cathedral. The pastor liked her because she was a smart girl. He taught her how to read – something that other priests didn’t approve of. But the pastor didn’t care. He pitied the girl too much: “Her father never made it as a man of God – but perhaps she will”.
And Agnes was a smart girl indeed. She had an unusual talent in natural sciences. She knew all the herbs in the cathedral garden – all their names and all their properties. She could cook and brew well.
She was also a good friend to animals. Pastor taught Agnes to be kind to others. “I must try to be kind to all – she reminded herself – even those who are lesser than us”. A stray cat once came to the cathedral. It was beaten and skinny. With ripped-out black fur the poor beast wailed like a ghost near the church’s wooden doors. The pastor ordered Agnes to throw it away, because he was annoyed with the screams. Agnes disobeyed. She took the poor thing, fed it, and tried to heal it with the herbs she collected. The cat still wailed in agony through the night.
However, it fell asleep by the morning. When the black cat woke up, he still looked as if he’d walked through hell. But he was alive.
It soon became obvious that he was a kind cat. Agnes called him “Angel”. She told him: “You must have been sent to me by the heaven itself. I am sure you fell from it. You lost an eye; you were so wretched. That’s why you were in such a state when I saw you. That’s why you crawled to the cathedral!”
The cat purred in her arms softly, hugging her with his small paws. It was wretched indeed, but so lovely. The emerald eyes stared at the girl. Her green eyes studied him too. His fur was as black as night. Agnes had hair of similar raven colour, rarely found in these lands.
- I am sure you longed for a friend, Angel – she whispered to him – So did I. Thank God, we’ve found each other!
Suddenly, a voice as sharp as a knife was heard across the room:
- Leave that creature!
Agnes turned around. Angel jumped out of her arms.
- You should have never taken it, Agnes. I told you what black cats mean.
- Father, he is good! – Agnes protested – He will be healthy soon!
- He’ll die before next evensong – laughed the pastor.
- No, I will tend to him! I will take care of him! I fed him a tincture of herbs – he’ll grow to be strong.
- What can a cat be for? They are little useless devils with claws! You should have gotten yourself a pig or a rooster instead. Cats are…
- No, he is good! – Agnes interrupted – He is tender and kind. Angel is not like other cats, I swear!
The pastor looked at her darkly. Agnes took the animal back in her arms. Angel’s green eyes widened as he hissed at the man.
- He’ll bring you bad luck, girl. Mark my words. – said the pastor before leaving.
This was the first time she protested the pastor’s will. The first time she stood up for herself. “I did the right thing” – Agnes thought – “that’s what a true Christian would do. A true Christian would help others.”
Many months passed since then. Agnes grew and decided to leave the church for good. Pastor insisted on her joining the monastic order, but she protested. She grew into a beautiful woman – tall, with jade black hair and olive skin. Her eyes enchantingly deep emerald colour and sometimes resembled a dark forest itself. There was no one like her in the village. She was the fairest lady around, but she never married.
Agnes wanted a life of her own. No one would sell her a house, so she found an old wooden shack on the outskirts. There she lived with her cat Angel.
She made a garden near her house, like the one she had on the cathedral grounds. There she grew herbs, vegetables, and fruit. She cared for them greatly. Whatever she had left that she did not need - she stored for the colder months of the year. Her grains would always survive the winter. No mice were seen in her house. No pests were around. Many wondered why. Must have been Angel, who was catching every single one of them.
Agnes could never go to school because of her poor upbringing, though she dreamt of it. No choice was left for her but to stay and study the surrounding nature on her own.
To earn some money, she started helping those who were in need. She brewed tinctures for the ill, made ointments for the sick, and even tried herself as a midwife to some women in the village. People needed Agnes but didn’t like her. She was too strange. There was no one else like her.
Especially the pastor was not happy with her. Once, he met her on a street. He was still dressed in priest's clothing. She was wearing some strange cape, carrying a basket full of mandrake and thistle. Angel was following her obediently.
- You could have been a woman of God by now – he told her spitefully – Look at you! Living in some ramshackle, brewing potions!
- I do what I’m good at, Father – Agnes replied – I help the people. I gather what nature and God bestows upon us.
- You are well aware of what you’re doing, Agnes – the pastor said – You’d better abandon your ways. I know a good smith, James. He goes to the church every Sunday, he fears God. He fancies you. He’d take you as a bride.
- Stop it, father – Agnes said. She turned away from him – I am content with what I have. My God gave me my skills and my knowledge. I am most grateful for that.
- But what will the people say? – Agnes heard as she was moving away. She did not intend to listen any more.
A cold winter soon came to the village. December was harsh – many were starving. Even more were freezing.
The pastor caught a wicked fever before Christmas Eve. Many prayed for his health, but nothing seemed to help. His skin was growing pale. His breath was bitter. Coughs spread around the cathedral each day, and the pastor, it seemed, was soon to meet his creator.
When Agnes heard of his condition, she rushed to the church immediately, her cat following her.
She stormed through the wooden doors. No one was inside.
She saw but a shadow of the man she’d known for so long. Frail and weak, he was barely holding on to his bedsheets.
- Do not bother, Agnes – whispered the man – it is too late for me. I am ready to meet my God…
- No, no – she protested again – we shall do something!
- Give me the poppy milk – he demanded; his voice fragile but still domineering – Be kind. I took you in when you were little to put an end to your misery. Now, you shall repay me and put me out of mine.
The pastor died the next day. Agnes stayed with him until his last breath. She told the villagers that the pastor had passed away. Many were horrified by this news. Agnes walked back to her house and intended not to leave it for a long time.
As the winter turned colder, the food supply grew thinner. Soon enough, the starving many needed to do something about it.
They gathered in the town square, led by a pious smith named James.
- My fellow brethren! – he spoke to them loud and clear – Can’t you see all the wicked things that reached our home? Can’t you see that our Lord is punishing us? He is punishing our village for the sins we have committed! That is why famine has choked us! That is why winter is harsher this year.
The said shouted “Aye!” in agreement.
- If we want to come back to the right path, we should repent. We should purge this village of sin – James held a pause – A witch is among us.
People went silent. Some seemed shocked.
- Thus we shall start with the witch. Agnes Waterhouse is her name. We must drive her out of our home, for she works the devil himself. – finished the smith.
A gasp swept through the crowd. Suddenly, a question was heard:
- How would you know that she is a witch?
- How can she not be? – James eagerly replied – Haven’t you seen her? She had no parents and no home. She lived in a shack near the woods. Satan only knows what she was doing there! She made potions and fed them to us - she poisoned us! She poisoned our crops with pests and mice, whilst keeping hers safe from harm!
The crowd gasped again. James did not intend to stop.
- She has not starved a single winter! Have you seen her cat? That black creature must be the devil! She named him “Angel” for it must be Lucifer, the fallen one! Blasphemy! I heard she brought it back from the dead herself!
“A necromancer!” – some whispered in terrible disbelief. Others saw an opportunity – after all, it was true, that Agnes probably had some food supplies for the winter.
- But that is not all, my brethren – James shouted to drown out all other voices - On the holy Christmas day, she committed the worst crime of all. She broke into our cathedral and murdered our pastor.
After the last sentence, the villagers screamed in righteous anger. James matched them by proclaiming:
- We shall take what she has, for we are starving! And we shall kill the witch today!
With the pastor gone, there was no one to protest. The villagers rushed into the outskirts. Soon they broke into Agnes’s house.
James, holding a torch in his hand, led the crowd.
- Surrender, you witch! – he screamed as he entered the shack.
He suddenly fell to his knees. Angel jumped on him and started scratching him until he bled. James shouted in pain: "You, Satan!". Agnes screamed, “Stop it!” and tried to pull the animal away, but it was too late. James managed to take hold of him and strangle him to death.
The cat fell on the floor breathless. Agnes let out a scream in terror, as James was shouting: “witch!” at her. She fell onto the floor, paralysed by what had happened before her eyes.
The other villagers came into the house shortly. They seized Agnes. All her stored crops were taken from her, as she was being dragged out of her shack. She couldn’t comprehend what happened next. She heard a thousand voices scream at her. She felt the ropes that were tied around her hands and her throat. But she was too shocked and terrified to resist.
While awaiting her execution, she wept. The woman cried bitterly until her eyes were crimson. Until they were hurting. She raised her weak hands to the sky and asked:
“Why?! Why did they do that to me?”.
Cold winter rain was falling loudly. It washed her face clean, mixing the raindrops with those from her eyes. “Oh, Angel, my poor Angel!” – Agnes lamented – “Why have they done this to you? Why have they done this to me!”
And in the pounding drum of raindrops, Agnes would have sworn she heard the answer: “Because you were different. They hated you for it.”
For three days, the body of Agnes Waterhouse remained on the gallows. Her skin so pale, it was like milk. Her face worn out and lifeless. Likewise, her eyes completely black. She scared those who were passing nearby, even though she could not move or speak.
Winter only grew stronger. A few weeks passed, and James, the smith, lost his parents. They were old – fever took them. Then his younger brother passed away. His newly-wed bride after that. Then all the livestock he had. First died the chickens, then the pigs.
No one knew why such fate befell upon him. Some heard him scream: “Witch! Witch! Stop it!!!” into the dead of the night. He must have gone mad.
A rumour soon was born in the village. “It’s Agnes Waterhouse, who killed his family and livestock. She longed for revenge.” – the people would say –“She came back from the dead.”
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