The Witch People

By Sandra Hila

The year is 1397 and Linnea just lost everything. Exactly everything! The accusations of witchcraft force her to flee into the woods even though nothing scares her more than the forest. She has heard about everything that exists there. Sirens, ghosts and the Moss family - the most feared witch family of them all. The Mosses - the ones who trick

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sandra Hila Schmidt
• Release date: Jan 17, 2023
• ISBN: 9789198831412

Book preview

1

Linnea pressed her body tightly against the cold stone wall in the alley and made herself as small as possible. Crouched behind some large barrels, no one could see her in the dark. Frightened, she peered between the barrels. She knew very well what kind of horrible thing that was about to happen in the town square in front of her.

The light from the crowd's torches reflected in her dark brown eyes. The excited voices of the people echoed between the half-timbered houses that surrounded the square. She had heard about events like this, many times, but fervently hoped that she would never have to witness them. Yet here she sat now, huddled in the dark, with a numbing horror in her chest.

The man struggled as best he could. The watchmen, the ones in blue cloaks and shiny helmets, dragged him roughly towards the large stage constructed of logs. His hands were tightly bound behind his back. He begged and swore to them to let him go, but they did not.

Beads of sweat glistened on the man's forehead and his eyes expressed both fear and anger, the way an animal's eyes do when it is led to slaughter and it realizes that it will die.

A woman walked beside him. She had a small child in her arms. The watchmen hadn't tied her hands together, but they had a firm grip on her upper arms and pulled her heavy-handed towards the stage. She whimpered in pain and the man next to her struggled in an attempt to set himself free.

You are making a mistake! We have nothing to do with this! How could my wife be a witch? Just look at her! She is rather an angel! shouted the man with such desperation and anguish in his voice that Linnea's eyes teared up with pity.

The woman by his side said nothing, she only sobbed in despair and hugged the child tightly to her chest. The baby screamed, but it was barely heard over the deafening roar of the crowd. The people raised their fists, spat at them and roared with frenzy. The light from their torches made the shadows dance on their faces, distorted their features into something demonic.

The woman stumbled onto the stage. She begged for her life, desperately trying to make eye contact with someone, anyone in the crowd, who would want to help her. But no one wanted to.

Her hair was blonde and shiny like silver and reached her waist. The eyes were large and blue and filled with anxiety and despair. And yes, it was true what her husband had said. She looked more like an angel than a witch.

Linnea's hands were shaking, but she wasn't sure if it was because of the horror she witnessed or because her hands were frostbitten. She hadn't been able to warm herself or eat properly for nine days now. She had rummaged through things that had been thrown into the bins outside the inns and there wasn't much that was edible. Some nights she had hidden among rubble in some alley and tried to curl up as best she could to keep warm. Her thin autumn cloak did not provide much warmth in this hard winter and several nights she had been sure she would freeze to death.

She hadn't asked anyone for help. She didn't dare. She knew they were still hunting her, looking for her everywhere, and anyone could report her to the watchmen or the priest. Then it would soon be she herself who stood on that stage, she knew that.

Linnea didn't know the man and the woman who stood there and received the people's spit and slurs. She had never seen them before, but she felt a deep pity for them. They, like so many others in the city, had been accused of practicing black arts and nothing was more feared among people in those days than witches.

A well-dressed man in shiny black boots and a deep blue cloak stepped onto the stage. He stood at the front where everyone could see him and cleared his throat. Junakoping’s highest judge. He was certainly stylishly dressed, but that didn't help him much. He was very fat, looked theatrically important, and had small eyes that resembled the eyes of a pig. Behind him followed four tall men. All wore long black cloaks with hoods and their faces were hidden under black cloth masks with only holes for the eyes.

The men in the black hoods stood, arms crossed, behind the accused spouses. The judge raised his hand in a calming gesture and the roaring crowd fell silent almost immediately. He slowly and solemnly unrolled a document and read aloud in a nasal voice.

Ludvig Krans, fabric merchant. You have not been able to give a good explanation as to why all the babies on the street where you live have had blisters and then died. All the children on the street have been affected, except yours!

The crowd gasped in shock even though everyone already knew why Ludvig was accused.

When we have given you the opportunity to admit that your wife is engaged in black arts, you have come to her defense. You do know that whoever protects a witch is as guilty of a crime as the witch herself?

Ludvig tried to protest but one of the hooded men hit him hard in the back of the head. He stubbled and fell silent.

The judge took a deep breath and continued reading his document.

Katja Krans. You have, despite our valiant attempts, refused to admit your crime. You are guilty of witchcraft and you have cast sickness around you. It is obvious to everyone that it cannot possibly be anyone other than you who is behind this.

The beautiful fair-haired woman said nothing at all. She just held the baby closer to her chest and cried.

Another man stepped onto the stage. He had neither hood nor mask. Instead, he wore what normally belongs to a priest's robe. He approached the woman and made an attempt to take the small child away from her.

No no! she begged, first pleadingly and then furiously as he pulled the baby from her arms. She kicked and punched in an attempt to break free but the men in the black hoods stopped her quickly.

The priest stepped down from the stage and the judge didn't care much about the woman's hysterical behavior. She was silent now as one of the executioners held his hand over her mouth.

According to law, the punishment for witchcraft is the harshest possible. For this union with the blackest evil, Ludvig and Katja are both to be sentenced to death by beheading. The sentence is issued immediately.

The people cheered. The light of the torches flickered across the square as in an excited victory dance.

Linnea's heart was beating hard. She was glad that a horse-drawn carriage was standing in front of her. It obscured the view somewhat, so she could not quite clearly see the two wooden benches where the spouses were forced to rest their heads while awaiting death. The carriage stood ten or so meters in front of Linnea, and beside it stood a man with an unpleasant appearance, watching the spectacle on stage. He had his back to her, but she didn't need to see his face to know he wasn't a nice guy. It was almost as if his body was evaporating hostility. It was so clear that even a blind man would have known he was a villain.

He chuckled at the couple's despair and Linnea felt a wave of disgust wash over her.

She flinched as she saw a man move from the stage and approach the carriage. She didn't see who it was at first. She squinted at him and heard a small child whimper in his arms. She understood that it was the priest who had just stepped down from the stage. She could not grasp how a priest could do something so heartless as pulling a child from a mother's arms.

The priest greeted the man briefly and then placed the child in a basket on the carriage.

This is a witch's child. Therefore, it is very important that the body is burned when you are done, said the priest in a dry tone.

Linnea's heart was almost about to stop. She knew what happened to the witches' children. She had heard many stories about that. The fates of the poor children were similar to those of the mothers. The children were not executed in an open square in front of everyone's eyes. Such a scenario would probably have caused some drama. People pretended that the children were cured of witchcraft in special orphanages. But everyone knew, deep down inside, what really happened to the children. They were executed behind closed doors and no one thought it should be any other way. Because a child witch was no less a witch for being a child, everyone knew that. It was rather the other way around. The children were the most dangerous witches around. Born in magic and evil. If they were allowed to grow up, they would become a danger to everyone later.

The priest gave the man some coins and then disappeared into the darkness. On stage, the men in the hoods lifted their axes. The sharp and shiny edges were merciless and heavy against the spouses' necks.

Linnea closed her eyes tightly even though she couldn't see much because of the carriage standing in the way. The last thing she heard coming from the beautiful woman's lips was a cry for her child.

Tora! Beloved Tora!

Her cries stopped so suddenly. A dull thud was heard as the head rolled onto the stage floor. For a second there was complete silence in the square, like time had suddenly stopped moving forward. Then, almost as if on an invisible signal, the people exploded into deafening cheers and waved their torches.

The man at the carriage applauded and whistled as if he had just witnessed a great show. Linnea was gripped by dizziness and felt her stomach turn inside out. She had to swallow hard a few times to keep from throwing up what little she had in her belly.

The applause faded and the man muttered to himself as he fixed something on the carriage. He shot a quick glance at the child.

There is enough time for a small drink. You can wait a while before it's your turn.

He left the child alone in the cold winter night, whistling cheerfully as he walked towards an inn a short distance away.

Struggling to regain her composure, Linnea cast a quick glance at the scene. There, on the bloody stage floor, lay two heads with blank and staring eyes. One of them was completely tangled in shiny light blonde hair.

Linnea's stomach turned inside out again. The child in the carriage would soon meet the same fate.

Tora? Surely this was the name her mother had called? Yes, she was sure of that. She could not let Tora be killed.

The people in the square had begun to disperse and no one was moving in her direction. As fast as she could move her frozen feet she hurried to the carriage and looked down into the basket. The cute little face beamed at her. Linnea guessed that the child was barely a year old, maybe seven months, maybe less.

Linnea's hands were so bitten by the cold that she barely felt the baby in her hands when she picked her up. She quickly took a look around her and thanked God that it was dark where she stood. Then she tucked the child under her thin cloak, turned around and ran.

2

The witch hunt had neither begun nor ended with the man and woman executed on stage. The plague, which was called witch boils, affected small children and left them with large blisters all over their bodies. There was no cure for the high fever and the pain caused by the blisters, and within a few days the affected children died. The disease flared up sporadically here and there in the small town on the banks of Lake Vattern.

The priests were convinced that the disease was caused by malevolent women practicing black arts and spreading the plague out of pure evil. The priests and the watchmen were determined to find the witches and see that their bodies were burned. Every single one who was suspected of dealing in the black arts needed to die. It was the only way the magic could be undone, they said.

Anyone could be accused and convicted, whether she was a real witch or not. Nor were men spared from the hunt. Almost a quarter of those convicted of witchcraft were men, and often it was such men who came to the women's defense. Questioning the witch hunt was a sign that you were a witch yourself.

There were reporting boxes outside the church and the town hall. Anyone could drop a letter if there was the slightest suspicion that someone in the neighborhood, or even their own wife or daughter, was a witch. Shortly afterwards the watchmen came and took the women, and no one had ever returned home again.

Nine nights earlier, the plague had flared up again in a street on the outskirts of the town, and two young maids were accused that same evening. But the girls managed to escape the town before the watchmen came to get them. They ran out into the countryside, desperately looking for a barn where they could to hide. That was how Linnea's life had fallen apart.

The two maids had snuck in and hid in the barn on her father's big farm. Neither Linnea nor anyone else had noticed anything. The family sat and had their evening meal in the small house. Father, mother, Linnea and her five younger siblings sat at a long and sturdy wooden table that had blackened with age. Her father had read the prayer and they ate and talked about the farm and the animals.

Father was talking about the heifer that would give birth to her calf any day now, and he said they all needed to help looking after her. Linnea thought it was exciting.

She was too old to still be living on her father's farm. She was nearing her twenties and most young women her age tended to be married by then. But Linnea's father did not think there were any suitable men for her. He said that most men out here in the countryside looked like their father and mother were siblings. He wanted something better for his child. Linnea's husband would be orderly, strong and sensible, he said. If there was no such man, it was better that she remained at home. He needed her help on the farm looking after the animals and Linnea had no objections to that. She loved her father's farm.

Even though she was born and raised on the farm and had seen most things when it came to life and death, she was still fascinated every time one of the cows or sheep gave birth. Every time a little calf crawled out into life, Linnea stood and watched with warm tears rolling down her cheeks. She found it touching and solemn to witness when a new little life took its very first breaths.

After dinner she took the lantern, wrapped her thin cloak around her shoulders, and set out to visit the heifer in the winter darkness. For the moment, the heifer had been allowed to live in a small shed a short distance from the farm. Father did not want her to be disturbed by the other animals at such an important stage in her life. Father and Linnea had made a bed extra thick with straw for her and now she lay there, breathing heavily.

The heifer cheerfully flapped her ears when Linnea stepped inside. She crouched down by the large animal and chatted with her, patting her warm ears and brushing away a few straws that had found their way into her nostrils.

In the meantime, the watchmen had reached the farm. The five tall figures in shiny helmets tore open the doors of barns and stables and startled the animals. And there, in one of the barns, sat two young girls huddled together with their arms tightly around each other and their eyes filled with horror.

The men grabbed the girls and thundered into the dwelling house. Mother was surprised and dropped the wooden bowls she had in her hands and father was immediately furious.

What is this behavior supposed to represent?! Why do watchmen come here and disturb the peace? What do you want?

The man holding a crying girl's hair spoke in a condescending tone.

We found a couple of witches on your farm. In the barn. Did you know they were here?

He shook the girl so that her head bobbed and she whimpered in pain. Father took a quick look at the girls.

No. And it doesn't look like any witches. Two perfectly normal girls, if you ask me.

So you let them stay on your farm?

No.

He's lying, whispered a chubby watchman who was standing behind his boss.

Is it possible that farmer Arvid intentionally hides witches on his farm? Do you have more of them here?

Mother became so angry that she turned red in the face and took a firm step towards the men.

What kind of ridiculous nonsense is this? We are godly people who only mind our own business. Let the girls go immediately and leave our farm!

I interpret that as a defense of them. Don’t you know that she who defends a witch is equally guilty?

The younger siblings were still sitting at the long table, watching with wide eyes. They had heard of witches before. Especially about the Moss family, who were particularly evil and possessed great magic. The Mosses were the most feared witch clan of them all. Some of them could kill a man with a single look, that's what people said. But the girls who were now crying in the room didn't look like Mosses, just like ordinary maids.

In the shed, things suddenly happened very quickly. At first the heifer had just lay still and received Linnea's tender caresses. Without warning, she began to move convulsively and Linnea had to move quickly to the side to avoid getting the cow's leg in the face.

The heifer bellowed and tensed her body. Linnea understood that it was time. She wanted to run to get her father, but everything went so incredibly fast. The little calf's front legs were already out and Linnea had learned how to act if it was too difficult for the heifer to give birth. But she didn't have to pull the calf out or use the knife, because the heifer pushed a couple of times and suddenly there was a calf in the straw trying to figure out what to do with its legs.

Linnea, moved to tears, carefully approached the calf to check that it was healthy and fine. It sniffed her face. She caressed the little head and did not care that her face and her clothes got dirty of blood and mucus.

From the outside, the farm looked just as usual. Nothing indicated that five watchmen were standing inside the front door arguing with her parents. Therefore, Linnea just stood and stared stupidly when she opened the door to tell father about the calf. Her excitement at the new little life was immediately replaced by dumb surprise when she saw the watchmen and two crying and completely unknown girls in the hall.

The men turned and looked at her with surprised expressions. The blood from the calf and the cow had smeared on her cheek and stuck together some strands of her auburn hair.

It sure seems like there are more witches here. A true blood witch of the worst kind, indeed! said the watchman who seemed to be in command.

Linnea looked at him innocently and surprised.

Blood witch? It was a heifer that…

She didn't even have time to finish her sentence before one of the crying girls suddenly pointed at her and screamed.

It was her! She was the one who bewitched us and forced us to do things! With blood magic! You can see for yourself! Blood all over her! It was her!

The man looked at Linnea with a scrutinizing gaze. Father broke in, his voice sounding angry and desperate at the same time.

But please! It's just my daughter, Linnea. A completely ordinary peasant girl.

The men paid no attention to him and the one who was staring intently at Linnea continued to speak without taking his eyes off her.

It seems to me that this whole family is a bunch of witches. They try to make us look stupid and they are defending their offspring of satan! We cannot tolerate that.

Linnea met her father's gaze. His eyes were wide and startled, as if he realized what was happening. His voice was desperate and commanding.

Run, Linnea!

As if on pure instinct, she turned in the doorway and ran away from the house with two of the men right after her.

The girl, who in sheer terror and desperation had blamed Linnea, had surely hoped that the men would spare her if she confessed. Maybe it would save her if she blamed someone else. But she didn't have much for that. Because while Linnea ran as fast as she could from the farm, she heard the tumult and the horrible screams in the cabin. The heartbreaking and anguished yell of the little siblings filled the night. It was a sound that would haunt her for the rest of her life. Soon after she heard the crackle when fire is licking wood and the air filled with smoke and the stench of burnt hair.

She didn't dare turn around, didn't want to see. She rushed up the wooded hill behind the farm to hide. She had always been afraid of the forest and all the creatures that could possibly live there. But right then she was more afraid of the two men who were chasing her and who most certainly intended to kill her.

Linnea was small and flexible and the men were big and heavy. Running up a steep hill took more of their strength than hers. She managed to run away from them to rush into the dark edge of the forest and crouch behind a large rock. They didn’t see where she was going. She hadn't run very far into the forest. She didn't dare. If she did, she might be killed by other beings than watchmen, she thought.

She knew that if she looked up from behind the rock, she would be able to see the farm down there between the trees. But she didn't look up. She already knew what she was going to see. The air was filled with stinking fire smoke. She sat with her back against the stone and held her hands over her mouth to stop the sound of her panting breaths. She could hear the men some distance away. They had now reached the top of the hill and their steps crunched on the frozen grass.

She didn't dare to breathe when she heard them just on the other side of the stone. She held her hand over her mouth and nose to keep the sound from her startled squeals from seeping out into the night. She forgot to breathe and her vision began to darken as she heard them talking to each other. The watchmen’s breathing was loud and the chubby one panted and snorted like a pig.

It's no idea. She must be in the forest! It will be impossible to find her in this darkness. She could be just about anywhere.

She will show up, sooner or later. At some point she has to find food. Everyone in town knows that she is Arvid's daughter. We have to make sure everyone knows she's a witch too. We will get her, soon enough.

The men began to move down the hill. Through the roar of the fire, she could hear their voices fading away. The sound of their swords hitting the metal buckles of their belts faded. Even when she was sure they had gone out of sight, she didn't dare look up. She sat silent and mute, her eyes staring blankly into the darkness. She could neither cry nor move. Barely breathe. Everything inside her felt like a paralyzing storm that tore apart everything in its path. Everything that was in her was now broken. Everything that was Linnea was gone.

Not before the first light of dawn glimmered between the tree trunks did she slowly rise with stiff knees. She looked up over the large rock. Down there, the farm was still on fire, although not as violently as during the first hours of the night. The barn with all the animals, the barn where the girls had been hiding, even the shed with the heifer and the little calf was on fire.

The house was nothing but a pile of black ash and rubble and somewhere inside, in what had just been a kitchen, lay the bodies of her family, now badly burned and beyond recognition. The little siblings with their big round eyes. Her beloved mother and father. It was January 17, 1397 and everything Linnea had ever known and loved was gone. Exactly everything.

3

Just as the watchmen had said up on the hill, Linnea soon got cold and hungry and needed to look for food. But she didn't dare go to any of the neighboring farms to ask for help. Everyone now thought she was a witch and would immediately report her to the Watch, she understood that. If there was anything people were really afraid of, it was witches, and you could never tell who was a witch. Even someone as friendly and ordinary as Linnea could have an alliance with evil. People also said that it often was the girls who seemed the most friendly who were the worst witches and Linnea was undoubtedly one that people perceived as kind and humble.

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