666
Legacy Name: Taloola

Warning: Adult themes, Horror, and Violence. Do not continue if under 15 or have a sensitive nature.

While my given name was originally Ruth, during October 31st I am only known as '666' until sunrise on November 1st. The name is a code branded into my very being. However the people who branded me had no idea of what they were unleashing, so many years ago.

I was a teenage girl once. I had the usual problems of trying to do everything the way my parents said I should. Often getting it wrong, and being in trouble. Of being one sibling among many, and feeling sometimes left behind or forgotten. Feeling so alone and incapable of coping with the daily demands placed upon me. Sunday was my favourite day, as there was a reprieve from chores to go to church. Mind, it might last until midday or longer, when the pastor feels so moved to. My fingers would be blue with cold by then in winter. I'd often bring an extra kerchief to keep them warm.

One day on the way home from church, I had just turned fourteen years of age, and father was talking to a potential suitor. He was not as old as Myra's new husband, and was the bakers son, so we would not go hungry. I was happy. I tried to remember that I must act as a grown woman now. The time for childhood was past. But how I missed being able to run and play! My birthday was only a few days past. I still was not quite used to the proper attire for a woman, as it was more confined than childhood play clothing. It hindered my walk through the streets of town.

I had fallen behind a little from Mother, Father and my older brothers. I was watching some children play, and felt some envy. I knew that was wrong, and adjusted my skirts to stop looking at them. Unfortunately, that meant I did not see the handcart I was walking into, that was being pushed by a dirty and starved young lad. We collided and I went sailing through the air, my skirts were a mess and some went over my head! I was so embarrassed.

While trying to get out of the confusing jumble, I heard someone yell "WITCH!" and grew alarmed. There was a witch about? How frightening! I felt someone grab my arm and haul me up, for which I was grateful, perhaps not in the method employed. There was such a commotion and people gathering that it took me a minute to realise the person who had hauled me up had not been a brother, but the pastor from whose church I had only recently left! He kept saying the word witch, and was looking at ME! My head spun, because I must be imagining things, for witches are known to be evil, and he had talked about them that very morning, and the signs of a witch that included killing babes and consorting with demons! He raised my skirts to just above my knee on my left leg, and pointed to a large freckle I'd had from birth. My Mam said it was where the angel kissed me before I was born. I knew it had got larger over the last few years, but hadn't had time to think upon it. But with the pastor pointing at the mark, and the looks on peoples faces, I remembered that sermon had included the Devils Mark upon a witches skin! Was it true? Was I really a witch?? But it was an angels kiss! I tried to explain, but was howled down by the quickly forming crowd, eager for a show.

My parents and brothers made it back near me, but only Father made it to my side. I looked to him with wide, scared eyes, asking him for help. The pastor stared him down and asked if he was the witch's helper. I'd never seen my father defeated before. He only said "No. She is no child of mine." and turned and walked away as I screamed after him, begging for him not to abandon me. Looking back, I know it was because if he had made any attempt, my entire family may have paid the price I did. I can forgive him now, although that took many years. It was then that it started to sink in that my life was changed forever.

As the pastor dragged me over to the stocks, others ripped at my clothing and hair that was out of its Sunday hat. My kerchiefs were ripped away and I heard someone yell that I was an indecent harlot, trying to ensnare the men! I barely knew which way was up or down by that point! They put me in the stocks while the judge was called for an impromptu trial.

I couldn't stop crying at that point, and physically shaking with fear. I'd seen some trials with other women, mostly older women, and what their punishment was. I was praying that did not happen to me. Once the idea of a witch took hold, it seemed to never be proven incorrect.

When the judge arrived, I tried to speak in my defence, by then in chains kneeling in the dirt. I said how it was an angels mark, not the devils, and was called a blasphemer! I ended up agreeing with them when it was obvious they were trying to include my own mother in the witch hunt. I knew she had been outspoken against one of the Lords sons who had raped and murdered some serving girls. The son was sent to the city, and she had been told to be quiet. Was this the consequence?

When the blaspheming was taken into account, I knew my fate was sealed. However the judge did try to be kind to me in light of my youth. He offered that I be branded and, if I lived, allowed to be a washer woman. The pastor was incensed. He insisted in a special brand for the occasion, and paid for it himself while I waited in a cell for a few days. They only gave me water, which made me even weaker. The pastor said I should wear the devils mark, and got the number 666 made into the brand.

When the time came for the branding it was a public spectacle. I saw my father in the crowd, and knew my mother would have stayed home. I tried to be brave for father. But then they stripped my dress and held my arms while I cried with the humiliation. My hair had already been cut off in prison. The pastor insisted I be branded across my bosom, right in the middle of my chest. I felt the heat before I saw the glowing hot brand. I could not look away in horror of what they were about to do to me. I was struck dumb with fear.

Dear Reader, I cannot describe adequately how it felt. The split second before it hits when you know you will never be the same person again. The feeling of it pressed to flesh just before the pain hits with the force of a raging bull. The sound, oh dear Lord, the sizzling and popping of your skin, and the smell of burning flesh - your own flesh - as they hold it there for what surely must be hours as the pain arcs through your entire body, making every muscle seize in a spasm of shock. Then the brand is ripped from you, taking skin with it. I was suddenly extremely light headed, and felt like I was fading into darkness. I tried to succumb to it, but the dull pain of the burn would not let me. I vaguely heard yelling from the crowd, and the pastor who was whipping them into a frenzy by yelling that I had not cried out, and in fact seemed to be in ecstasy at having the devils number on my person! Dear Lord, I thought, no more, please!

Alas it was not to be. My anger burst into flame when the pastor persuaded those that held me to drag me over to a tall pole. That brand was supposed to be the end of things! It was supposed to let me stay alive! I might even have a decent life some day in the future if they left me alone! I had never felt such anger. So many years of being the dutiful daughter, the good child who always helped and bided my elders. Who had even put up with this very pastor telling us all that women were to suffer because of the Garden and the evil that Eve did there. The sins of the World were laid upon all women. Evidence was given such as pain in childbirth, women who often died in childbirth, or even just the pain of our monthly courses. So now my pain was for nothing, and he would not be happy unless I was dead. He kept giving orders for wood to be brought as it was quickly changed into a funeral pyre of my own. I saw the hate in his eyes, along with the lustful looks he had given me since my body had started to change. I looked around at the crowd of mostly men, and in their eyes I saw the same. The judgement, that I was not fit to live if I did not accommodate their whims. The judgement that I was worthless, and fit only now for entertainment.

The anger turned to rage, then to fury. I saw things so clearly now. Pain and death clear the mind in a way nothing else does. A part of myself felt detached from the pain and spectacle that was a tornado of sound and emotions assaulting my grievously wounded body. It was as though I could see things from on high. The screaming women who were glad it wasn't them, the roaring men who thought it fitting that I, a calm and good girl for my entire 14 years of life, should have my life ended so suddenly on a whim. The pastor who had such a strange smile on his face when he looked at my bared bosom with the number 666 burned down to the bone.

When they had enough wood to reach my knees and enough tinder and brush for it to burn fierce, the pastor took a burning stick from the branding fire and walked towards me. He stopped, and turned to the audience, and said that today they would burn out the very devil from among us, when I knew what he meant was that I was to be blamed for the entity living inside himself. Yes, Gentle Reader, I had seen within him. The strange looks, the lustful glances, and the eagerness to see me dead. I clearly saw the wickedness in his eyes and knew that he was the very devil he railed against! What better disguise than to be the one who pointed fingers at others?

His eyes met mine and he knew that I knew what he was. He screamed in rage and threw the fire stick onto the dry tinder, where it caught quickly, and spread all around me. I kept looking at him, my own hatred and rage burning within my eyes. I saw him look scared, and felt that he should be so, for retribution and justice was coming for him! I may die, but as God was my witness, he will pay for his devious sins. I did not know how God would punish him, but I prayed with all my might in my mind for God to bring justice to those such as he! However it was His will to do so.

The fire licked at my now ragged skirts, and they caught quickly. The heat changed to a sharp pain on my legs, like when you have burned yourself on the cooking pot. But there was no reprieve, for that sharp pain kept going and becoming more intense! I could feel my skin moving, bubbling into blisters and bursting like hot bacon on the griddle. The smell was horrendous with burnt fabric, leg hair and human meat. I had a fleeting thought of a roast piglet over an open fire that the smell had reminded me of, and laughed unexpectedly, which led to me inhaling more smoke, as well as the pastor making more demonic accusations. I was beyond caring about what he said now. Every nerve was screaming damage alerts at me as the fire spread up my body. When my legs stopped being painful, I knew it would not last much longer, for they would fail and the ropes tying me to the pole would not hold me up.

Again the rage and need for justice burned hotter within me than the fire without. I stopped screaming. I hadn't noticed I had started. My head lowered to meet the pastors eyes, with all the emotion within them. He was still scared. Of me! Little me. Everything was aflame now, but it had stopped hurting. Breathing was impossible but on my last breath, I screamed out loud "Vindicate me! and bring Your Holy Justice!" and I died.

The date was Sunday 31st of October, 1650.

(Please click on page II)

I woke in a strange place. It was white everywhere, but I could see no walls or roof. I was already standing, and felt confused, until all my memories came flooding back. My parents, the Sunday service, falling, accusations, and a week later, my death.

"Did you mean it?" a voice said behind me. I whirled around to more white, but there was a person there. He was so beautiful, I had never even dreamed of one so fair. I was distracted by his visage, so he repeated his question. I blinked, thinking. I asked what specifically did he mean? He answered that my dying wish, which was to be vindicated, and for Divine Justice to be brought to Earth. He also asked of the two, which was more important?

His eyes narrowed upon me, and I knew this was a momentous question. I thought on it with a surprisingly clear head. If I could only choose one, I said, it would be Justice. So that what happened to me would not happen again. He smiled, and it was like the sun had arrived.

"How would you like," he said, "to wield that weapon?"

I was confused, until he said "Justice can also be a weapon."

When described what would be involved in more detail, I thought at first I was being punished, but no. This would be for only one night of the year. The rest of the time I had earned my rest, and to spend the time as I wished. But for one dark night a year, on the anniversary of my death, I would become 666, and bring Holy Justice to those who have done wrong to the innocent. I was given weapons to use as I saw fit, and the wisdom of how and when to use them. Years of knowledge and wisdom filled me so I could be the hand of justice. Sometimes it would mean death. Sometimes Justice took a finer scalpel to weild.

The first year anniversary of my death came all too soon. I had learned so much, but when I returned to Earth, they all seemed stuck in time. My first assigned case was not given a name. But when I appeared next to the bedside, I realised the pastor who had me murdered was my first call. I stopped, shocked at seeing him asleep so peacefully next to his small wife. I had flashbacks to the fire, the branding. I ran my fingers across the 666 brand on my chest.

Over the months I had fought bravely to release any hatred of the people who had killed me. I thought I had succeeded until now. I had kept rage as a weapon in my arsenal. But this burst out of me. The pain, sorrow and yes, hate at this man. Less than it had been, but there all the same.

Is this a test? Would I take revenge? Or would I dispense justice? The rage was simmering and the temptation to simply turn into my tiger form and rend him apart immediately was almost overpowering. A part of the brief was not to be opened until you were by their side and had seen their face. It would detail why they were facing justice on this night. I looked down at him, as he rolled onto his back and started snoring. I knew why this was his fate.

I felt truly righteous at that moment, that I was the hand of Justice itself come to serve retribution. I started making plans of how to kill him in my head. So many ways, so many methods. Each more painful than the last. He would die screaming in torment, just as I had. Finally, when my imaginary revenge had spun it's path, I paused, breathing softly. I was better than that. Otherwise my path for justice would not have begun.

I sighed and opened the second brief. As I read, my eyes widened and my jaw dropped in disbelief. The first sentence told me that I was not to kill the pastor but instead his quiet wife! The small woman who had always been timid and frightened of the large bully she had married. Who had done her duty as wife, and never spoken out against him. I felt betrayed. He deserved to die so much more than the poor woman did.

I made myself re-read the missive as my outrage grew. How dare they do this to me? How DARE they make this my first assignment? This man had abused women all his life and now he would outlive his poor wife. My emotions were in turmoil.

Slowly I became aware of a noise in the room. The wife was coughing in her sleep.

Releasing my anger as best I could, I moved to her side of the bed and bent down to see her face. It was pale, and thin. There were old and new bruises, and her mouth had a pinched look of long pain. Her eyes suddenly opened, looking into mine, and startling me.

"Please", she whispered quietly with tears in her eyes, "please be the angel who takes me from here". She then sighed deeply and closed her eyes again, as though believing I was a dream.

I was not trained for this! What deviousness had occured for this to be my first assignment? My heart bled for her. So I did what I had been trained to do. I stopped, and focused within. I was an instrument of justice. What would be just here? It was her time this night and none could change that path. But how was of my choosing, as was details around the death itself.

I really looked at her face and tiny body huddled on the edge of the bed. She was so tired and ill. I looked within and saw so much scaring in so many places, including why she had never borne children. She'd been in such pain.

The last of my emotions faded and compassion rose for this amazing woman. I laid my hand gently on her head and she breathed her last. I saw her spirit rise up with such an amazing smile, and mouth "thank you!" at me before she left for the light above. I smiled after her and watched the light wink out, as others are the greeters to the afterlife.

I had not yet been recalled which I found odd. Then I looked past the husk of the woman who had been there, to the abusive snoring man. A man who always believed he was right. That it was his given right to do as he wanted. That men were worth far more than any lowly woman.

So I dispensed justice.

A short time later, the town was agog at the story of how the pastors wife went crazy when her husband died. They said she couldn't handle the grief of losing such a fine member of society. She even said she was her husband herself! That led to a final attempt to drive out the lying demon within her, after trying for a great deal of time to make her repent from her obvious lying and sudden personality change that had led her to believe she was equal to men! Imagine! That had all ended in failure, despite the best care given in the dungeon for so many months for the insane woman. So very sad she did not survive the last exorcism.

The leaves are falling, the harvest is done.
Samhain arrives with the setting sun.

The bonfire is lit and offerings ready.
The smell of the incense makes me feel heady.

This is the time the veil is thin,
From the Otherworld, we call our kin.

“Ancestors one and all,
We ask you now to hear our call.

I am Deborah, daughter of Rose”
And on and on the reciting goes.

One by one, the clans arrive
And soon the party begins to jive.

In typical reunion style,
We party on for a long while.

Singing and dancing, stories and boasts,
Interspersed with many toasts.

And all too soon the party ends.
We say goodbye to our departed friends.

To the Otherworld they return,
Until the year makes another turn.

And as the fire begins to burn out
Through the veil I hear one last shout…

“Samhain blessings – From my clan to yours”