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The Seraph
by: Justin Hill

I 5 When the following events occurred, I was a mere boy of seven in a small New England town called Ellenville. It was late spring, and a more perfect season had not shown itself to our little town since before my birth. I lived in a modest, one story home with my elder sister of sixteen and my mother and father. Their names were Elizabeth, Mary, and Joseph respectively and all had the same curly brown locks as I, and hazel brown eyes. My father was a cobbler. He often brought his work home with him causing the house to often smell of feet and leather. Those aromas blended with my mothers cooking, as she was a rather accomplished baker with knowledge of many secret family recipes. Elizabeth was as most sixteen-year-olds are, snotty and full of hormones, and treated me as a nuisance to her perfect life. I paid her no mind as she was often not about the house as I was. The town of Ellenville was a small one. It maintained only about one hundred families, most of which had no children or were single person households. Most everyone in the town had a trade. We had a blacksmith, a baker, a butcher, a chandler, a tailor, and quite a few larger farms. Most of the buildings were located in town which was a single dirt road with only a few structures on either side. The buildings were all the same pale blue with white trim that matched a spring sky, except for the church, which stood white and stainless against the thickly wooded backdrop of dark greens and brown. We were church going folk as most of the town was. My mother was particularly enthusiastic, bustling about our two room home dressing everyone in their best clothing to prepare for the meeting. She had an infatuation with the newest pastor of our church. She would often say how the word of God would simply pour from him every Sunday and how she could feel the Holy Spirit in him. I was too young to care for such things at my age. All I was interested in was playing and rough housing around the town with my friends after two hours of sitting on a hard wooden pew. My mother always sang the loudest in the service. She had even committed many of the hymnals to memory and always raised her voice louder when one of her favorites was chosen on any particular Sunday morning. 35 After every service my mother would stay around to gossip with the other women of the congregation and to thank the pastor for another inspiring word from the Book of God. 1

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II Even in my lack of interest of adult affairs as a young boy I still managed to notice that Pastor Mark was a particularly nice man, though his origins were a mystery to the town. He was always dressed in his best suits, and greeted the towns folk with open arms and warm smiles. Even as a child I could understand my mothers draw to him. He was a rather handsome man, always clean shaven and had neatly groomed blonde hair that reminded me of the color of hay. The towns folk seemed to adore him as well. He was always walking about town talking to the butcher and the tailor about business. Even my father was rather fond of him and had made him a pair of shoes or two since he came to our town of Ellenville. I had heard that he arrived only a few years after my birth, travelling in to our town announcing himself as a close friend of our late pastor, John. He died of heart failure at the age of fifty some years back. I was too young to remember. All I know are stories of him that my mother tells. She says he was a kind old man. He never asked for tithing but rather left it up to the patrons of the church to give at their discretion. He also was willing to lend a helping hand to all in need and often offered the church as a sanctuary for travelers and gypsies. Mark was, in many ways, very much like his predecessor. He was kind and good spirited and did the work of God among his people. But he was quite a bit younger and overconfident in his position. He promoted the duty to give to the church, pushing the townspeople to give all that they could. No one seemed to mind too much because he always seemed to put the money to good use, giving back to the community. Mark started efforts to rebuild homes after storm or fire damage and helped to buy more seed to yield more crops. The church house itself seemed to undergo a few changes as well. The once plain wooden cross that mounted the steeple was replaced by a larger metal one. The candle sticks in the sanctuary were replaced with embroidered gold pillars that stood as tall as I. The organ was also replaced by a slightly larger, more expensive one as well. The people of Ellenville seemed to love Marks charity work. The choir loved the new organ to sing along to claiming its large brass pipes were perfectly in tune. The smith seemed to enjoy crafting a large metal cross at his shop to put atop the steeple. And everyone loved the beautiful golden candle sticks. Ellenville was a drearier place before Pastor Mark came to the church according to my mother. Not many people attended church or were even religious before his arrival. Prayer was not a sharpened weapon or tool of Ellenville, but Mark changed that as well. He was a very boisterous man of prayer. He could often be found wandering the property of the church house praying aloud, Bible in hand. That man simply has a way with words, my mother would say dreamily. 2

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There were many years of bad crop yield and poor health of the animals that we used for food. Storms and draught had left our poor village with not so much as an apple tree some years. Miraculously, that all seemed to change when Pastor Mark arrived. That was not the only miracle he did. Pastor Mark had helped sick children that were on their death beds by strenuously praying over them. It was often a rather strange ritual that he would exercise but assured everyone that it was all part of the process. Then sure enough the child would begin to recover and the people would praise him, calling him a prophet and coming to him for all of their ailments. He would heal them all and accredit his work to the power of God.

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III Before Pastor Mark, the towns folk took their ill to the Witchdoctor who lived near the outskirts of Ellenville. Very few dared to venture her way now, as her tactics and methods of healing the sick had always been questionable. Her house was a tiny, one room shack that stood alone on the outskirts of Ellenville, near the town cemetery. Its boards were an unpainted wood that were lacking in many spots around the perimeter. The yard was littered with symbols and strange apparatuses of measurement and was in dire need of upkeep. The windows were not broken but were filthy to the point of opaqueness. Many of the towns people believed this was her way of warding off peepers and eavesdroppers. The roof was made up of green shingles that were few and far between like the coat of a stray dog and seemed as though it would leak during a strong rain. No one ever seemed to see the Witchdoctor other than those who had used her for her services, and even those were too afraid to gossip. It was rumored that she ate dogs and cats, and that her quarters were littered with their remains. Others said she had long black hair that reached the floor and her face was blemished and disfigured; so she only came out at night to hide her appearance. Some went as far to say that she had horns and claws like the Devil and that she spoke in tongues and riddles, but I believed none of it. Or rather, I was simply too young to take any notice. I did take notice of her house and its sight scared me in the hours of dawn and dusk but I was never brave enough to venture too close. The older boys of the town would make a game of it. They would wait until dark and see who could get the closest. I heard of one boy that had the courage to go so far as to knock on the door. Fortunately for him and his friends, there was no answer. The people of the town would gossip and rumor about the Witchdoctor and her doings but for the most part she seemed to leave the people alone and they, she, and they liked it that way. 3

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Pastor Mark though, would scathe her in his sermons calling her a demon and a follower of Satan. He would receive many Amens and cheers and jaunts when he would use her as a scapegoat but the complacency often returned after the service. On a few occasions, a small group of radicals would go so far as to throw stones at the witchdoctors house, but that was as far as anyone would ever get to a full on conflict. Plus, there was never any retaliation from the Witchdoctor. One of the stone throwers broke a window during one of these outbreaks, but the next day it was back to its original, dark state. Never once was there a sound from the house either. No music nor singing, or even signs of voices. It if it had not been for the random fixing up of parts of the house such as the window that was broken, one could have easily concluded that the house was uninhabited. In fact, after a few months, the townsfolk began to wonder if the Witchdoctor was still alive. There had been numerous attacks on her house by this point and people were beginning to think that it was just some silent Samaritan that was fixing the parts of the house ruined in the attacks. Even the pastor began to lay off the instigations, if only a little. But that was all until the day that it happened.

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IV One Sunday around dusk, there was a shriek from the yard and I ran out to see what had happened. My mother had frozen in her garden, staring off into the horizon. I matched her trajectory and looked off into the distance. I scanned the tree line for a moment then saw what had caused my mother to become faint. About a mile away there was a pillar of thick gray smoke rising above the trees. There were many fires that summer in Ellenville due to the dryness, but I soon realized why my mother had fallen petrified. The smoke was rising from the direction of the church. It was thick and blackish gray showing us the ferocity of the flame before we even arrived. It took us just fifteen minutes to reach the church house from our home. When we got there, most of the town had already gathered and was attempting to put out the flame to no avail. Townsfolk were running about town, making trips from the small nearby well to fill their buckets and dump them on the flame. It was too late. The building was gone. The people of the town, with the exception of my wailing mother, watched the building burn in silence. It was entirely consumed by the flame. Smoldering boards and ash fell from the sides of the once white building. There were small explosions from the windows as parts of the ceiling fell to the floor inside and the beautiful mahogany front door was no longer standing. The roof began to give way and finally collapsed in slow motion as the steeple, crowned with the large metal cross made by

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the towns blacksmith came tumbling to the ground. The heap of wood and brick laid crackling and popping like an oversized bonfire. 155 It took the rest of that night and all of the next day to extinguish what was left of the building. The entire town halted for that day to help clean up the wreckage. Pastor Mark led the entire expedition with his ever encouraging words and confident attitude. Even in this time of mourning and sorrow he seemed to maintain his positivity. But no one thought it odd that he was just as good spirited as usual. Some of the town boys and I played in the rubble throwing stones and romping about in the ash. No one paid any mind to our actions and work continued. Construction of a new church began that same week but in the mean time my mother graciously offered our abode as a substitute sanctuary. Its as holy a place youll find round these parts, she exclaimed to him gleefully, trying to hide the redness and puffiness of her face from hours of sobbing. There were rumors throughout the town of those who were close to the fire when it started, but it seemed that no one was present to see what started it. The most common occurrence was simply the happenstance of someone looking out a window or walking down the street and seeing the smoke. 170 Perhaps a candle was left lit, proposed some. No, Pastor Mark would never be so irresponsible, retorted others. Well, maybe it was some of the town bows playing a joke, said a man. But who would do such a thing? answered another. Surely it was an accident. 175 There were even some rather fantastical theories, most likely proposed by those who had similar conjectures about the Witchdoctors residence. The only one I can seem to recall was one particular claim saying a flaming, six-winged beast was seen flying towards the sun after they noticed the building was on fire. They asserted the beast was using two wings to cover its feet, two to cover its head, and the other two to fly. Another villager upon hearing this joked and said, Aye, thats why ye dont be lookin directly at the sun. The entire thing was a mystery. All anyone knew was that the storage space of lamp fluid and the dryness of the wood only helped to coax and feed the fire. One thing also was certain; the people had lost something dear to them. Their hopes and wishes and prayers had gone up in flames with that building. All of the tithes and books and food that were stored in the church were gone too. It was in all, very detrimental to the town and its way of life.

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Upon this realization towns folk began to get angry. My father was one who spoke up saying how useless his donations were now that they had been burned to the ground. Other people openly shared his opinions.

V The next Sunday, church service was held at my house. People came and sat inside and when that was full they started to fill the lawn. It was the most people I had ever seen gathered together at one time in Ellenville. When Pastor Mark arrived he greeted his congregation in his normal joyful manner. Then when he took the pulpit that my mother had convinced my father to build for this auspicious event, his tone turned very grim. I had never seen the pastor this way before. In fact, I cant recall ever seeing the pastor without a smile on his face side from this occasion. People of Ellenville, my dear brothers and sisters in Christ, I am most solemnly afraid to say that we have been played victim of an old, dark magic that has long since laid dormant in our town. We will not stand for such insolence against the Church! Derek exclaimed, immediately demanding the attention of even the youngest of children in his audience. That witch who lies nigh within our town is the reason for our loss and there will be retribution! With this everyone cheered. That she-devil has not only threatened but executed sadistic acts against God by burning his house and putting the lives of his people at risk. We cannot stand idly by as she remains in our town threatening the lives of our young ones and the sovereignty and livelihood of Ellenville! He pounded his fists on my fathers podium and everyone screamed in agreement. Even I found myself yelling along with the adults. As a child I was susceptible to the excitement, when at the time I did not have a full understanding of what was happening. After the service the women went inside to gossip as they usually do, but the men remained outside for further meeting. I was drawn indoors with my mother and began to eavesdrop on the chatter. My husband told me theyre gonna kill that poor old woman, one began. No, no, no, theyre just gonna give her a good scare; try to make her leave, said another. Well I hope they do kill her, squawked one. She aint got no business bein so secretive up in that house a hers. Whats she got to hide? Thats right. I couldnt see but that voice sounded like my mothers. Pastor Derek said shes the one who burned down our church. Shes prolly up in that house castin all kindsa spells on Ellenville.

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I could vaguely hear the men shouting from outside. It sounded as if they were having a similar discussion. I wanted to go out to see what they were doing and to play by the wood pile but my mother retained me. After a few minutes the men dispersed. An hour after that they returned to my house with an assortment of weapons. Most men owned guns but those who didnt managed to find some gardening tools with which to defend against the devil-woman.

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It was mid-afternoon when the men began to venture towards the old, broken down shack of the witchdoctor. They chose our house as a rendezvous point because we lived the closest to the outskirts where she lived. The pastor recited some scripture to help protect them on their godly quest and they set off. Most men were on foot but two or three who owned farms brought their horses. The smith had made a sufficient length of chain with which to subdue the woman which he carried behind him in a wagon. Other men wielded ropes and crosses preparing to capture the witchdoctor. They marched along whooping and hollering as if they were going on a hunt. A few dogs flanked the group barking and howling along with the men. The pastor led the way, Bible in one hand, and a three-pronged hay bailing fork in the other. I was permitted to follow only a short distance but when I stopped I rested upon a small knoll that overlooked the womans house. The men approached warily and when they reached within a hundred feet of the shack they all seemed to hesitate for a second as if scared of what they were to encounter. Bang. Bang. Bang. Pastor Derek pounded the rickety door with his Bible. In the name of the people of Ellenville and the Lord God almighty, I demand you open this door. No answer. Again, he pounded the door this time harder. It cracked open with a squeak. The men gathered closer to try to peer in the abyss while others cupped their hands over windows trying to get a look at their enemy. Finally the door swung open, but with no one standing in its threshold. The abyss of the room was still captivating regardless of the afternoon sun. A torch was lit and held up the doorway to get a better look inside. Suddenly a strong wind overtook the house and the torch was put out. Three more torches were lit giving a sense of invincibility as the Lernaean Hydra. Show yourself or we will burn you to the ground as you did to our church! yelled Derek into the darkness.

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A slow shuffling was heard from inside the black room and little by little a figure began to appear out of the nothingness. The men held their breath and readied their weapons. Warily an extremely elderly woman in a dark robe began to appear in the doorway. Her skin was pale and almost deathly and her hair which fell halfway down her back had turned to silver in her old age. She moved very slowly with somewhat of a limp and her face and hands were covered with lesions and burns, possibly the result of some demon alchemy the men concluded. After a few seconds of staring at the mysterious woman whom they had only heard rumors about, the men pounced. The men with ropes suddenly began to bind her wrists and feet probably so she could not cast any kind of spells on them. Then they took to the chains binding and shackling her again for good measure then threw her frail body into the wagon they had brought along. My child eyes may have been mistaken but I could almost swear she was smiling when they began to bind her. She was held in a cell in town for two days while the people tried to decide what to do with her. Many suggested she be shot but others quickly mentioned that a witch could not be killed by mortal bullets. There was also a proposition to drown her but there was no source of water well enough within distance that was suitable for a drowning other than the wells and the towns folk decided they would rather not have a dead witch in their wells. The decision was then made to burn her. The following day the entire town of Ellenville was in attendance of the burning. The witchdoctor was brought out to the stake and tied firmly to it. This time I was sure she had a grin on her face. Her teeth were few and far between giving her an eerie look. The pastor approached the tired old woman. Have you any final words? She looked at him defiantly. Our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the burning fiery furnace, and He will deliver us from your hand. She spoke in a hushed and shaky tone. Her voice crackled as she spoke. Then she looked up at Derek and gave him a toothless smile. It was then that I realized her smile contained hints of joy. He drew close to her. Do you mock me, witch? He then smacked her across her scarred face with the back of his hand.

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The witchdoctor then seemed to become overwhelmed by some kind of force and started speaking in a tongue I did not understand but I gathered to be Hebrew from the quiet murmurs of spectators. Pastor Derek then grabbed her by the neck and slowly drew a necklace out from her cloak. When he saw it he was taken aback and was almost knocked off his feet by some invisible force. He ripped the leather chord off her neck and held the pendant in his hand and gave the order to light the wood. 8

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The stack of wood which had been doused with lamp oil quickly rose to a roaring flame. The witch continued to speak in tongues and looked towards the clear summer sky. The villagers began to gasp and point, but I did not know why. Then I looked closer. The old woman was not being harmed by the fire. She seemed to be perfectly untouched, though still in a state of hysteria. Then there was a shriek. I turned and my mother had fainted on the spot. Then others began to scream as well. I turned back around and Derek had caught on fire. This seemed impossible since he was nowhere near the inferno that trapped the old woman. He began to scream in a way that I had heard no man scream before. It was as if his very soul was burning. The town watched on in astonishment as Derek ran burning through the streets. No amount of water that was thrown on him could put him out. He finally collapsed in a burning heap in the street. By the time the fire went out, there was nothing left of him but ash. When the people approached his remains there was something lying on the ground next to his ashes; a simple wooden cross on a leather chord. But, Derek doesnt wear a pendant, one of the towns people noted. Even to this day, some of the townsfolk that were present for that event claim that after Derek burned, they saw a flaming, six-winged beast, flying off into the sun.

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