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“It were not Sarah Carter that aided the Devil, good sir. Nay. It were that man yonder!”
wanton
“Do you confess, Sarah Carter … to the charges brought against you this day?” Sarah sucked in a few more breaths, coughed violently. “Yes,” she sobbed. “God forgive me … I confess.”
“I am the shepherd and I am the slayer. I am life and I am death!”
“There is another choice. You could take my blood and walk by my side.”
“I’ve no soul left,” she growled. “They’ve crucified my fucking soul!”
“If it is a witch they want,” she hissed, “then a witch they shall have.”
“You killed my Booka,” she hissed. “I loved my Booka.”
“I think I’ll be all right,” he said, sounding unconcerned.
the bugs returned, setting to the captain, crawling beneath his clothes, into his eyes, his nose, his ears, into the deep wound across his stomach, squirming their way into the stinking pile of his intestines, biting and stinging and pinching.
Wallace nodded as he forked a large portion of goat meat onto his plate.
“Where will you put my chair?”
Someone fired at it, the shot going through the creature and hitting Goody Dibble in the chest.
