Psycho #2 – Crucified Curses –
© S.B. “LullaDIEs”
A Tale of Religious Fanaticism:
Refers to individuals exerting an extreme zeal or enthusiasm for religious beliefs. Often placing their ideas above people, condemning all who don’t agree, or performing extreme rituals not accepted by society.
I watched the woman as she slept peacefully, unaware of the sentencing about to be carried out. The pentacle necklace she wore rested on her chest neatly, rising and falling rhythmically along with her breath. She laid on the crude wooden cross I’d fashioned for her earlier that afternoon and as I studied the woman I began wondered if she could appreciate the favor I was doing her soul.
I admired her dark brown hair and flawless ivory skin. She was beautiful no doubt, but she was also a servant of Satan. Of course her appearance was part of the overall deception, a trick to keep righteous men like me from doing what needed to be done.
Don’t allow her to fool you, this needs to be done. I reminded myself.
I had all morning to prepare her punishment and did so with the blessing of God himself. This woman flaunted her heathen ways to the townsfolk, wearing that satanic symbol with shameless pride. It was appalling.
I was the communities priest. It was my job to protect the citizens from such evil individuals, to keep them safe from the devils influence. A demon worshipper would move to town every year or so, wishing to settle there due to the thick forests surrounding. It was no secret that these heretics held paganistic rituals in such areas but they never succeeded in my town. It was my job to remove the threat before they could summon their abominations, and so I did. Each one I vanquished filled me with the Lords essence, allowing me to feel the touch of Jesus Christ within.
I glanced around. The woods were mostly silent, with a few birds chattering in the distance. I inhaled the clean, pine tree air and relished in the calmness of the moment. Hunting season was long over and it was too chilly for camping. I doubted anyone would stumble upon the clearing, or hear her screams for mercy.
I sighed as I lifted a larger than normal nail and mallet while kneeling over the enticing witch. Positioning the blissful woman’s arm to lay across the cross, I placed the nail between the tendons of her wrist. Looking into her sleeping face once more, I prepared myself for the chaos to follow my actions. I raised the mallet above my head, asked God for strength, and buried the nail into both flesh and wood with one powerful strike.
The woman woke instantly with a shrill screech that escaped her mouth. In her waking panic, she tried to yank her arm free but succeeded in only tearing at the wound. She cried out louder as the agony of her violent movements took it’s toll. Blood began forcing itself from around the rusted metal, staining the wood below a bright red.
I walked to the other side, and grabbed her free arm. The witch had been too lost in her own pain and confusion to notice me before hand, but now she stared with wide, fearful eyes. She attempted to pull free from my grip, yanking and twisting against my firm hold in a desperate fashion. I was inevitably stronger though and so she failed. She also tried begging me to let her go, but I heard none of it as I pinned her second arm to the cross with another rusted nail.
The witch screamed and weeped relentlessly as I plunged yet a third nail through both her feet and the crosses thick wooden base. Her face contorted to reflect the anguish she was experiencing, ruining her once perfect features. She began thrashing against her restraints slightly, but stopped suddenly after only a moment. The pain it caused her lacerations must have been too much to continue trying to escape, because she laid perfectly still again, whimpering quietly to herself. Blood was seeping from her wounds at a steady rate now. The wooden cross absorbed each drop along with her sins.
I kneeled down near her face, and watched the tears flow from her tightly closed eyes. Her sobs came out in an erratic manner making her seem both pitiful and helpless. I brushed the salty drops away gently with my finger, knowing it was my God given responsibility to be both strong in my convictions and merciful to the lost sheep; even those who are too far gone.
“Don’t cry.” I whispered.
She flinched away from my words and touch. Clenching her eyelids tighter together, the heathen’s sobs became more audible and distraught. Her body began shaking uncontrollably, most likely due to a mixture of shock and terror.
“Hush, I’m helping you.” I tried to explain.
“Y-Yo-You’re K-Killing Me-e.” she managed through mournful snivelling.
“Its the only way to save your soul and set you free from your contract with the Devil.” I explained softly.
I was a good man, a holy man in the service of the Lord. I didn’t want to kill her, I had to kill her. There’s a difference. This was my task, assigned to me by the ever Holy Trinity. I dared not refuse the commands of the one true God.
“I’m N-Not-” she began, but I cut the witch off before she could finish the lie.
“Yes you are.” I asserted while reaching out and grabbing her necklace. “You wear the mark of Lucifer, and so you are his servant.”
“But-” she stammered.
“Enough!” I yelled as I rose to my feet and yanked the symbol from her neck. “Do you think I am foolish enough not to recognize this symbol?! Do you think you can deceive me witch!” anger rose as well as my voice, and I stomped the woman in the ribs as I spoke.
She called out again from the sudden pain and a loud cracking sound reverberated through the clearing, but I paid it no mind. If the heathen was not willing to confess, than I was not willing to show her sympathy. I’m only one man after all. I held onto faith that God would forgive me my weakness; my inability to keep my temper when dealing with a hieraric.
I grabbed the top of the cross and began walking it to a standing position while the wretch of a woman yelped from the pressure applied on her open sores. The base of the cross slid into the hole I’d dug into the ground easily, and I started kicking the loose dirt around the base pole to steady it.
The woman’s breaths shortened, becoming sharper and more difficult with each attempted one. Crucifixion had that effect on people. Inhaling was easy enough, but exhaling was near impossible due to the bodies positioning along with the slight pressure applied by gravity. Eventually the lungs would become overly full of oxygen, expanding the organ beyond their intended capacity, but still the air would have no way to escape. This was the cruelest way known to execute a person. The victim would always take another breath, torturing themselves more and more each time.
“Do you know why you’re nailed to a cross?” I inquired of the little heathen as I walked around to face her.
She didn’t answer. At that point she could barely even cry, although the tears still tumbled down her face past her quivering lip.
“It’s so you understand what Jesus went through. He died this way to save you from your sins and you took his sacrifice for granted.” I spoke gently and slowly, wanting her to be able to process the words and understand the Why.
Still she didn’t respond. The woman’s body began quivering more violently as she realized the hopelessness of her situation, but she refused to speak.
“I’m going to have some dinner now and I want you to reflect on what I just said.” I finished before walking away.
The sun was going down and my meal was long over. The witch I was persecuting took ragged, difficult breaths but her tears were long gone. Blood was oozing out from around the nails, leaving red streaks down her arms and the wooden structure propping her up. The woman’s head hung low with her hair covering her face, and for a brief moment it reminded me of prayer. I stood from the rock I was sitting on and approached the cross humbly.
“Would you like me to pray with you?” I asked.
The demon worshippers head snapped up and instead of the terror I’d seen earlier, there was only wrath swimming in her eyes.
“I have my own gods I pray to.” she replied coldly but with great effort.
It must have taken all of her will power to vocalize the simple sentence and she began wheezing directly afterwards. Her lungs clearly exceeded their capacity long before now.
I sighed out in relief regardless. She’d confessed to her wicked ways sooner than I thought she would, and so the agonizing scene could finally come to an end. The next step I needed to take was to set her eternal soul free so God himself could judge it, and perhaps show her mercy.
I took a gas tank from the cars trunk and walked back to the cross. Carefully, I slung the fluid onto her and the wooden structure. The bitter smell of fuel whipped around us with the light breeze, and the woman stiffened as she realized what I planned to do. I walked around the cross, being careful to dowse as much as I could with what little I had.
I stood facing the witch as I struck a single match. She looked me in the eyes and smiled. It was an unnerving grin, filled with evil and malice. For a moment she appeared inhuman, and I was momentarily paralyzed by the dreadful sight. Quickly recovering, I tossed the match at her.
The fire erupted, spreading over her entire body. She gasped at the searing pain initially, but never broke eye contact with me. The flames devoured her clothes and licked at her skin, eating away at anything they touched. A gust of wind sent the smell of burnt skin and hair straight to my offended nostrils. As if with divine aid, she no longer reacted to the torment. The heathen only stared at me, wearing her venomous smirk.
“Your home will burn just as you burn me. Your town will burn, your loved ones will burn, everything you know will burn but you will be helpless to help them.”
Her words escaped with unexpected strength, and ended with an ear shattering wail that seemed to belong to multiple entities. The distant birds were startled by the terrible sound and fled into the sky, spotting the dusk time sky with their black forms. My thoughts instantly flew to the demon Legion as the voices roared from all around, disturbing the local wildlife.
Black smoke rose from the fire, and the smell of burning flesh became so strong it completely overpowered the crisp forest air and gasoline. She thrashed like a crazed woman as the flames ate deeper into her body. The sounds of her wrists and feet being torn against the nails was matched only by her skins hissing and pops as the fire danced across her frame, consuming her very being. The long, luscious hair she once adorned sizzled until only a blistered scalp remained.
All of this was expected, except for that maniacal cry. It had a way of seeping into your mind and made a righteous person doubt their faith.
After what seemed like forever, her charred body went limp and lifeless. I closed my eyes and focused on the heat of the dwindling fire against my own skin, imagining it as the loving embrace of the one true God.
One more down. I thought as I headed back into town.
The last words the woman said ate at the back my mind. None of the devil worshippers before her ever foretold such horrific things in their final moments. I found it even more unnerving since experiencing the demented sound she emitted before finally expiring. I had to remind myself that I was a priest in the service of God. He would protect me from any satanic curse.
God will protect you. God will protect me. God will protect us.
As I came closer to the town I loved so much, I could see a bright red light illuminating from it and black smoke rising in the horizon.
Dear God, why have you forsaken us.
What did you think of Psycho #2? All comments, critiques, thoughts, & reactions are welcomed.
There’s still 99 Psychos to go!
By Sitarra “Lulladies” Sefton