Flash Fiction-New England's God

New England’s God

The first time I showed myself, I materialized at the foot of the bed of one of the young women, the weak light of the waning moon bathing my antlered figure. I remember her slowly waking up, upon feeling my presence. She rubbed her eyes, and suddenly her gaze met mine. I felt her terror, heard her whispering “Our father, who art in Heaven, hallowed by thy name…” and slowly I disappeared. I made her think that her prayer to who she thought was “God” had frightened me away.

Soon after that, the hysteria began. The accusations. As I watched, invisible, I heard the frantic shouts of several girls, shouting that they had seen me standing at the foot of their bed. And they did indeed.

But I didn’t stop. The hysteria continued to build, and it only encouraged me. I daresay I grew bold enough to lead a girl out of her bed one night. In a trance, she followed me into the deep, dark woods, the full moon shining through the trees. In her trance, she felt only contentment. “You are safe. You are safe,” I kept communicating to her. The next morning, she woke up from what she though was a surreal dream, only to find her nightdress, her hands, her feet, covered with the sacred earth.   

“I know that I am a witch. And I accept it!” I watched with pride as the young woman defiantly testified in front of the screaming crowd. And, as she was led away to her cell, her grim sentence hanging over her, I stuck by her side. I was all she had left.

“I’m a witch…I’M A FUCKING WITCH! SO HANG ME! BLOODY BRING IT!” her screams echoed from her cell. And I smiled upon her. She has, indeed, won my favor. I will stick with her…to the end, and beyond the end.

I was there when she hung, when she took her last gasping breaths. Her last words as the noose was being tightened around her neck were indeed, “I AM A BLOODY WITCH…AND I’M FUCKING PROUD OF IT! SO MOTE IT BE!” And I embraced her as her spirit left her body, and into the Summerlands I escorted her.

I am He who was known by many names back home in England. Herne. Cernunnos. Jack o’ the Green. Now they see me as the Devil. But there are a few that know the truth. And those are the ones that willingly chose to hang for it.

In Adam’s Fall, we Sinned All. I am now New England’s God. Merry we meet, and merry we part. So mote it be.