Read Online Apartment 7C by David Bernstein - Free Book Online

closed her eyes, feeling the anguish of losing him, reliving his death. The entire town had been involved. She had been witness to mob behavior before, when her kind were the focus, which was the reason she and her husband had moved out of Manhattan.
    Margaret’s people were misunderstood throughout Europe and America, having to exist in secret. Margaret and her husband had hoped that moving to a remote hamlet, combined with living on the outskirts of town, would have been acceptable to the townspeople, allowing them to live their lives, flourish, and do so without fear. But even in the remote countryside, living on the edge of town and minding their own business proved not to be enough.
    “What have you done with Father O’Brady, witch?” a rugged-looking man with a full beard asked. He stepped forward, separating himself from the four other people with him.
    “I’ve done nothing to no one,” Margaret said. “It is you that have wronged me.”
    “Tell us where Father O’Brady’s body is,” the man continued, “so that we may give him a proper burial.”
    Margaret spit at the man. “You’re animals!” she screamed, her fierce stare landing on the face of each person standing before her. “You’ll pay for this. Murderers!”
    A balding man with spectacles and a walking stick stepped forward. “Tell us where the good father is, and maybe the Almighty will have mercy on your soul.”
    “It’s your souls, and the souls of your children, that you need to worry about,” Margaret hissed. “I curse you all. Your god won’t save you from my vengeance.”
    “It’s no use,” said a woman with long blonde hair. “She’s in league with the devil. She’ll spew nothing but lies.”
    “You people are the devil,” Margaret said, trying to break free of her bonds. “Father O’Brady was—”
    The large man hurried forward and backhanded her across the face. “You shall not utter the good father’s name, witch.”
    Margaret raised her head, blood trickling from her mouth. “The father is a good man, unlike you all. I would never hurt such a person.”
    “Lies!” cried the blonde woman. “Burn her now, before she spells us and gets us under her control.”
    “Yeah,” said another man, holding his torch high. “Burn the witch and be done with her.”
    The burly man lowered his torch to the pyre, then backed away. “Now you can join Satan in Hell, witch.”
    Margaret cried out, her screams echoing far off in the distance. She prayed to the Good Mother, begging that her soul be absorbed into the forest and remain there until vengeance was hers. She had always practiced peace and harmony, to be one with the spirits of her ancestors, with nature, but her pain and fury were too great, and she wanted the murderers and their children to know of her suffering, of her loss, to know of her.
    The five villagers remained, watching Margaret burn alive. Her screams sent chills through them, even though the devil women deserved to die. When the flames began to falter, more wood was added to the fire, the flames burning higher and higher, until all that was left were the witch’s bones. The charred skull fell to the ground and rolled toward the onlookers. The jaw dislodged and tumbled away. The rest of the bones crumbled to the fire, where they lay until there was nothing but smoldering coals.
    “We’ll bury her here,” said the burly man, whose name was Kenneth Ryan.
    A four-foot grave was dug out of the earth in front of the stake. Margaret’s remains were tossed inside a burlap bag and buried.
    “We need a priest to bless this place and make sure the witch stays dead,” said the blonde woman named Jenna Mayfield.
    “Well,” said Kenneth, “we don’t yet have one, but first thing in the morning, we’ll go to Washingtonville and have Father Donovan take care of this. The sun will be up, which should keep the witch’s spirit, if she is still present, from rising, at least until nightfall. Then Father