The Haunting of Mary King's Close (No longer writing)

BOOK ONE: Chapter Three

Thomas stared at the Judge with hatred in his eyes. "Why would I kill someone I loved?"

 The Judge stood up sharply and signalled the masked men to release the screws. He turned away from Thomas and walked towards the priest, whispering into the man's ear. When the Judge pulled away, the priest had a sour expression on his face.

The taller masked man unhinged the screw. One would hope with the released pressure on the thumbs, Thomas would smile and take pleasure in no more pain. But this is when the real pain started. The crowd cheered, this was the best part of the thumbscrews. This is where they would take great delight in seeing the accused feel desperate pain.

Thomas looked down at his thumb as the blood painfully rushed back in to the tips. He could hold his long overdue screams in no more and cried out: ''Make it stop! Make it stop! I beg of you to make this end!'' over and over again, holding his thumbs in the palms of his hands. He curled up into a diminutive ball on the ground; he rocked back and forth as a tear formed in the corner of his eye.  "If there is a God above, He will know I am innocent! Please, stop this barbaric act!" He wept into his chest as he called the judgment of God upon him.

The Judge once again lowered his head to the level of Thomas and spoke, "if torture was good enough for Wallace, you will live with it or die; it is your choice."

"I did nothing wrong," Thomas spat back to the ruthless Judge.  He dug his thumbs into the centre of the opposite hands palm, leaving small, bloody nail imprints.

"The tongue that lies!" the Judge cried and as if on cue the shorter man, took a knife off of the table.  The taller man lifted Thomas back to his feet, while the shorter man thrust his hand into Thomas's mouth grabbing for his tongue.

Swinging his strong muscular arm down, he severed Thomas tongue in half. The blood filled Thomas's mouth, poured over his teeth and dripped in curling clumps to his clothing and onto the wooden platform.  It was more blood than Thomas had ever seen and, unable to control himself, screamed a muffled sound. But no dignified consonant could be formed.

The shorter, nameless man, flung the tip of Thomas's bloody tongue into the crowd. A scattered line of blood soared across the sky and fell on top of heads.  The people hollered in amusement and those near the tongue, scrambled to catch it as if a gold pound was tossed to them.

Splat.

Splat.

Splat.

The blood made circular patterns on the floor as it dripped from Thomas's mouth that was ajar "Such a pity," The Judge said with no emotion.  He made eye contact with the priest and, without words, asked him something.

The priest was a kind, older man and looked upon everything with disdain that took place upon the platform.  He was there to bless the victims and help them take the next step to the afterlife, but he was not there to witness their painful torment and death.  With every cry of Thomas's pain, he cringed and looked out to the crowed, trying to escape the glimpses of blood. The priest slowly and reluctantly nodded his head as if to say 'if you must'.

The Judge smiled a sick, bastardly smile as he turned sharply on the heel of his shoe and faced the crowd. "The moment you all have been waiting for, is here!" he announced to the roaring audience. The people threw fists in the air and clapped; all too excited for the best part to have arrived.

The taller man of the two, grabbed Thomas by his soft neck and heaved him into the air only to slam Thomas's body onto the cross-table. The man bound Thomas's hands and legs to the spokes of the cross.  Taking a knife from the table of weapons, he dug it under Thomas's shirt and with a swift motion, he cut open the shirt. A small trail of blood oozed out on the right side of Thomas's ribcage, where the knife knocked Thomas. Thomas's shirt fell away from his chest in preparation for the next part. 

The shorter unidentified man walked to the fire in the corner, carrying a long metal stake in his callous hands. On the bottom of the stake, a paddle with spikes spread out.  The man dipped it into the blazing fire and when the hot metal reached a searing sunset yellow, he removed it with care.

He brought it over to the cross in a fast, swift movement, but screeched to a stop above Thomas. He let it hover above the wide eyed Thomas, taunting him with time. The man's small beady eyes held a flicker of lighted excitement and the bags corners around his mouth, seemed to curl up. Raising his large muscular arms, high above his head with the paddle facing downwards and the spikes aliening with Thomas's centre, he drove the spikes into Thomas's chest just below the rib cage.

                    The bloody pool grew larger as the man sharply turned the paddle, so that it ran perpendicular to Thomas's spine. The blood freely rushed out of his body. It streamed down his shirtless chest in pouring lines and flowed to his outstretched neck.  The liquid curled around his neck and dripped in straight streaks down his sides. It pushed against the curve of his chin, fell to the arc dribbled behind his ears with gravity pulling red closer to his mouth. 

His mouth hung ajar and exhaled sharp extended cries. His chest heaved up and down in quick little motions, gasping for sweet air and relief of pain. His screams of horrible anguish were swallowed by the cheers of the boisterous crowd and they carried on for what seemed like an eternity.  His eyes were wide open as they darted between the masked man and his chest. 

Suddenly, his screams stopped, his chest fell and his head dropped to the right. The speed of the flowing blood slowed. His eyes stared into the crowed and seemed to fall directly upon a redheaded girl, who was holding a young boys hand.