Plagued Decisions

1.

The rattle of my shackles echoes through the town square as I walk to the executioner’s block. The headsman points at me and then to the block of oak that lay across the cobbled road. It’s covered in old blood, which doesn’t bother me—a childhood of birthing lambs on my father's farm would remove squeamish tendencies from any man.

I keep my eyes on his face, which is shadowed under his hood, in the hope he will sympathise and finish me in one. I’m shoved to my knees and he lines my neck up for his swing. The unnecessary weight of his fist on the back of my head grates my cheek along the rough wood. It’s sticky with stale blood, and the sour smell of the wood forces my breath to shorten.

“Stop yer squirmin’” The headsman says, pushing my head back down and walking over to his axe.

A guardsman with a scarred right eye stands on a platform beside the executioner and loudly clears his throat to garner attention. There is a notable drop in volume, and for the first time, I notice the crowd standing around me in a circle. Not a single person here knows me. When signs of the plague started spreading, I homeschooled my daughter and completely locked down the farm. It led to a reclusive life, but I don’t regret it.

I recognise some shopkeepers from trades many moons ago, but it’s the plague doctor who causes my body to tighten. His dark eyes drain any hope I had for a painless death. I met that man four summers ago, and today, he collects his final bounty. The doctor clenches his bony hand as he mutters under his breath. I become faint, gasping for breath, but nothing happens.

The guardsman stops introducing my execution and turns to me. Irritated that my coughing and spluttering had interrupted his flow.

My vision becomes two pinholes of light as someone grabs the back of my neck, their voice underwater. The doctor's tongue falls out of his mouth, and I wince in anticipation.

My hand burned as the fifth circle on my palm turned black.

2.

“I pray thee pops, can we not keep ‘im?” Rose said, tugging on my overalls.

“We can’t, my sweet, we need the silver for leech-craft.”

She hugged the lamb around the neck, unperturbed by the coating of amniotic fluid.

“Not this one as well! How much medicine d’we need?”

I release the lamb from her protective grasp and it runs off, bleating and tripping over its own legs. I scoop her up, turning to the city walls and mountains along the horizon.

“There is a great sickness in the town yonder. We need the remedies to keep the rot from our own bones.

“That why they burn all those folks?”

She is far more observant than I realise. “Aye, my sweet…but you don’t fret on that, Gods always watchin’.” I set her down and knelt so we were eye to eye.

“Member, it’s just you n me, whatever it takes.” I said, rubbing our noses together.

“Whatever it takes.” She repeats.

“Now, go check the stew pot for me?” I asked.

Skipping away, she turned back; the sun silhouetted her pigtails. “Surely we can keep ‘im, we got enough medicine for the whole valley and townsfolk.”

I chuckle as my chest tightened. “How bout this… We keep ‘im, but only if you don’t go speakin’ no news of our leech-craft to nobody… Deal?”

“Deal.” Smiling she turned and started testing out different boy’s names.

3.

“Not today, Hugo.” I said, pushing the lamb away from Rose’s bed. Every time I visited her room, he screamed at me and tried butting my shins. Holding a vinegar-soaked rag to my mouth, I sat down on her bed, placing a steaming bowl of medicine on her lap.

Rose’s eyes peeled open and a small smile coated her face. She looks so innocent. I don’t want her to panic, but inside I’ve lost all hope. She winces in pain, so I try pouring some of the medicine into her mouth, but it only caused her to sputter and choke.

“I’m hurtin’… pops” she said. Her arm gently rests on my arm, pushing the bowl away.

“Y’must- it’ll keep yer fightin’ spirits. Hugo even had his.” The lamb screams in acknowledgement of his name and we both laugh. Her laughter immediately turns into aggressive coughing, and lumps of blood speck her gown.

I used the rag covering my mouth to dab away the blood. The putrid smell of pus combined with the sweetness of my daughter's breath hit the back of my throat. She tilted her head to redirect her breath and I left her for the night.

A thud echoed through the stone hallways of the cottage, as the front door shook. Hugo responded with a solitary bleat from Rose’s room. I take no heed of the noise. If I responded to every noise coming out of the cottage, I’d never find peace.

A high-pitched tapping came from the kitchen window behind me. The silhouette of a plague doctor peers in from the darkness, lit only by the moonlight. They tapped again.

I walked to the front door; eyes fixed on the masked figure. Their head slowly following me. I slid across the bolt of the front door and swung it open.

“Jesus!” I said. The bird mask now only inches from my face. I glance back at the window, and there is no one there. It’s as if they just vanished and reappeared.

“Forgive me, who are you?” I asked. The dark eyes drawing me in, the pain behind them raised the hairs on my neck.

Hugo was going crazy. The door to Rose’s room banged over and over.

“Let me help you.” The man said in a guttural tone. I stand there, distracted by the warmth of his breath and the stench of death. His accent sounded ancient. He reaches out and grabs my forehead. For a split second, my vision becomes fire; I hear screaming, people pleading for a second chance. I pull away and stare at the man. He tries to speak to me again.

“I’ve come to help,” he said. “I’m a plague doctor, and I heard from the townspeople you may need assistance.”

I instinctively shielded my body behind the door, my head still burning from his touch. “What kind of Devil worship was that?!” I asked, grabbing the rosary beads around my neck.

He pulled his hood back, revealing a head of patchy thin hair, skin wrinkled and torn in parts, exposing the tendons in his cheeks. Black teeth with tar-like spittle dribbled down his chin. “I said I’ve come to help! You look unwell… Rest.”

He waved his hand in an arch; my legs became weak, my eyes heavy, and no matter how hard I fought, my body started shutting down. The last thing I heard was the plague doctor's heels clicking down the hallway.

“ROSE!” I try to scream, but nothing happens.

I woke up in a pool of sweat. I’m tucked into my bed; a plate of eggs on the table beside me. My heart drops.

The Doctor!

“Rose?!” I shouted from my bed. I pinched my face to make sure I’m not dreaming. This is definitely real. A high-pitched giggle comes from her room.

“Rose?” I said again. Tiptoeing down the hallway.

“Pops, come ‘ere quick.”

I ran to her door bursting it open. Rose was sitting on her bed, a beautiful peachy colour to her skin, no bedsores and full of energy. The smell of rot and decay was non-existent.

The doctor was sat at the foot of her bed, no mask, no ripped skin. Just a healthy-looking man with a perfect smile. I called Rose over to me. I gave her the biggest hug I could muster, taking in a deep breath of her hair. How is this possible?

“Find Hugo and see ‘im fed, I must speak to this nice man alone.”

“What’ve you done to ‘er?” The shaking in my voice was clear. As the smiling man stood up I backed away, knocking a picture frame off the wall. It smashed on the floor but my eyes remain fixed.

“Please relax,” He said. “I’ve given Rose a chance; it just depends on how this next conversation goes.”

Through the bedroom window, Rose was running around the fields, laughing with Hugo.

“How is she running yonder? She was days away from the grave.”

“The how matters little,” He said, laughing it off as a trivial question. “What are you willing to do to make it permanent?”

I was stunned to silence, the sense of everlasting torment rife in my chest.

“I want one soul for the next five summers. Then, and only then, will Rose become free of her ailments.”

“Five souls?” I said, not fully understanding the ask.

“On this night, for the next five summers, I will pay you a visit.” He reached out and grabbed my hand. “Have someone stay in your guest room and by morning they will be gone.”

“You’d have me slay five folk?” I asked. “There ain’t no manner of way I can do that.”

“You’re simply giving someone refuge for the night; I will do the rest.”

My palm began to scratch. “What if I say no?”

He clicked his fingers, and outside the window Rose dropped to the ground lifeless. Hugo screams and frantically nudges her head.

“Stop that! I yield… see it done. Just don’t go hurtin’ her.” The tears streamed down my face.

As I accept, there is a burning sensation on my hand, causing me to yelp as I pull it away. I look down and there are now five hollow circles burnt onto my palm. I look back up and he is gone.

Rose continued to run around with Hugo, oblivious to what had just happened.

4.

The first summer was the hardest. He was a barn hand I hired to help with the maintenance of the tools. His name isn’t important, but I first met him at the market in town. He was begging for food. A few weeks later he was sleeping with the pigs, so I hired him. Completely innocent were my intentions at the time. With both of his parents dead from the plague, I would think to myself, "What if that were Rose?” He stayed with us for six months until I decided that he was to be my first sacrifice.

The guilt I felt in the days leading up to it was almost unbearable. I spent entire days in the forest convincing myself it was a worthy sacrifice to keep my Rose alive. Besides, his family had passed, so he wouldn’t have survived long on the streets—not with the plague and scavengers about. I gave him a comfortable last six months. Yeah, I did an honourable thing.

When night came, I couldn’t sleep. I heard nothing; but a waft of ammonia came with a notable drop in temperature. I pulled my knees up in my bed and stared toward the door, muttering a prayer to keep us safe. Rose was asleep beside me, peaceful and oblivious.

My hand seared with pain. Looking down one of the hollow black circles was now filled in.

Rose grew suspicious of why her friends always disappeared, especially after the second and third, both orphans, vanished. Stories started spreading in the city about the mad child-eating farmer and his witch daughter, which only furthered her suspicions. We became pariahs, and finding a sacrifice became difficult. Even those without homes chose the filthy streets over a night in my cottage. People would shield their children from me when I’d walk past, and Rose noticed people avoided eye contact with her. Filling the last two black circles was going to be impossible.

I was supposed to be happy. Rose was alive and healthy; we had everything we needed. However, each time I caught my reflection, my skin was weary and my eyes vacant. My hair, dry and receding, started turning grey at least ten years before my father's.

That wasn’t even the worst part; my sweet had lost her spark. She moped around the farm, never spoke to me. We argued all the time about the stories and why people kept vanishing. She may have been alive, but I still lost her that day; I just realised it too late.

Last summer was when it really ended.

She came in from playing with Hugo. He was the stockiest sheep I’d ever seen and defended her as if it were his solemn duty. I envied their bond. She was brushing her shoes off at the door when a yelp came from my cart. The cover sheet started bulging and popping as something alive wriggled inside.

I saw it all unfolding through the kitchen window. I gave her a double dose of dwale; there is no way she should be conscious.

I ran outside in time to stop Rose investigating, but my protests for her to leave it alone further cemented my guilt. She looks terrified for the first time in her life. Even on her deathbed all those years ago she looked happy.

Scooping her up, I carried her to her room, kicking and screaming, and locked the door.

“I promise you my sweet, I’ll explain everythin’ come morn.” I said. My head was resting on her doorframe.

How did this get so out of hand?

“Have some faith in yer father, you hear?”

There is no reply, only gentle sobbing.

I carried the lady into the guest room which is now dilapidated after years of neglect. I only open this door on the night of the sacrifice, I’m too much of a coward to enter it any other day.

She begged me to let her go but wouldn’t stop fighting.

“Please, alls okay. Fight me not. Needs must n’all” I said to her.

It ended with me striking her unconscious with a candle holder and I tucked her in.

I woke to Rose kicking her bedroom door and Hugo bleating at her window. I ran from my bedroom to shut her up until I realised, I could see my breath. A feeling of guilt and sadness overwhelmed me; the weight on my chest was unbearable.

He was here.

The guest bedroom door was slightly ajar, and I peered in. The lady was floating in the centre of the room, bones breaking in all directions, each one coupled with a disgusting, wet crunch.

I gasped, and my vision began to blur.

The plague doctor moved over the lady's body and began devouring her as she wailed like a banshee.

With each bite he took, his eyes would roll back in his head, his tongue wrapped around her whole body like a constrictor holding her still.

I remained in place, unable to think or move. I wanted to turn my head away, but something kept me transfixed.

Just like that, he was back to the smiley man from our last encounter.

“Hello friend, you have done great work so far. She was my favourite.” He opened the door fully and touched my shoulder, unlocking me from my stupor.

Rose was still kicking and screaming at her door, attracting the doctor’s attention.

“We could make it five tonight and call it good.” He winked at me as he nodded his head towards Rose’s room. His tongue came out, cleaning his cheeks of any blood.

“Get you gone!” I said. “If you lay so much as a finger on her head, you’ll be the fifth.” I tried to shove him, but as I touched his skin, I became unconscious.

5.

When I woke that morning, both Rose and Hugo were gone. Her bedroom window shattered, and her bare feet marked the field in the direction of the town.

The only person I wanted to protect all this time hates me. I only hope someone kind picked her up along the way. Her footprints are faded, so she must have fled many hours ago.

As I left my cottage to begin my hunt for Rose, the tumult of many horses and screams at the bottom of my hill flooded the valley.

I’m surrounded by guards from the town and a mob of villagers, some of whom I recognised from neighbouring farms.

Then I see Rose hugging the back of the guard on the lead horse. The man looks serious and has a scarred right eye, which only adds to his demeanour. My body becomes faint as blood drains from my face.

The lead man, wearing a red surcoat embossed with a roaring lion, dismounts his horse. Removing his helmet and tucking it under his armpit, he began reading off a warrant.

My eyes remain fixed on the tired eyes of my daughter as I sob.

“Greetings Francis Atwood, We, the guardsmen of Ardenwood, on behalf of the King, command that you do not omit, on account of any liberty.” Two guards grabbed my arms and held me in place.

“I’m sorry Rose I was tryin’ to protect—”

“Your body is to be seen in front of the Magistrate on the morrow, to answer for any trespass committed against the souls of: William Hill. Mark Cooper. Norman Fletcher and Agnes Edwards.”

I tried to break free and give Rose one last hug, but I was stuck with the pommel of a sword.

My next memory is entering the gates of the town, lying over the back of a horse.

It wasn’t until the next summer I’d walk to the headsman.