and crannies in the roots of the trees. Holly and brambles bunched about my sides, wafting their cuddy fragrance about me.
A small island nestled in the middle of the lake. Two nimble blackbirds skipped across to it. The place must be some kind of bird sanctuary. It was a stunning, pastoral scene. The tragedy of the pool, however, was there in my head, constantly sending ripples through my subconscious. I was becoming aware of a dark pricking feeling rising up about me.
As I progressed along the path, kicking up white feathers and leaf skeletons, the foliage became denser, shutting out the daylight. The trunks of trees, so appealing a few minutes ago, had now taken on an imprisoned look. The ivy that wound about them seemed as it was binding, almost strangling their life out. Decaying smudges of yellowing-brown dead leaves thickened. It dawned on me now that I was a good way away from the farm and was completely alone. If something was to happen, if I was to fall no one would know or find me for hours. I put the thought aside and continued on, the darkness about me growing, the tension in my belly reaching up to quicken my heart.
At last, through the gloom, I caught a glimpse of the Hopping Bridge. From this side of the river, it appeared faded and grey; the brickwork neglected and crumbling. The arch underneath had a grid fastened over it, which reminded me instantly of a prison cell. As I came out onto a curved clearing before it, the wind blew hard against me, blasting my hair up over my ears.
There was an uncanny darkness here that was not caused by the fading light and pendulous clouds. It was like the very trees and creepers that hung about the place had witnessed such horror it had affected their organic development: they grew twisted and bent, trailing their branches in the water listlessly. ‘Look at what they do to each other,’ I imagined them whispering.
I felt sure this was where they had swum the accused. When I looked up to the bridge it was almost as if I could see them there – the witches, freezing and shivering as the shrill wind roared over the river right through their threadbare clothes. The men from the parish would have bound them with ropes, trussing them up like lambs for slaughter. Perched on the bridge and then pushed off with a thud on the back, they would be sent into the ominous yawn of black water below.
And then I felt it.
Oh God no. The shock of the ice cold water on my bones forces my mouth open wide. Breath comes out and bubbles float past my eyes. Sticks and barbs catch at my hair, scratching, ripping at my face, arms, and legs. I plummet through the depths.
I am so afeared.
Almighty God have pity on thy devoted servant. Do not desert me I beseech thee.
No breath left and cannot see the surface. I put out my free arm to turn my body round. I am afeared.
I am afeared. Oh Lord have mercy.
Someone help me please. Desire to breathe in is powerful strong. Yet to give in will be to welcome death. My heart bangs wildly, too loud in my head, like a wild galloping mare. Am I bursting? Heaviness comes onto my chest and I can hold good no more. I must take in breath and so my mouth opens and sucks in, in, in wet mud, cold, oily. No, no. Cannot stop the thickness flooding up my throat. Choking, juddering, thrashing my head from side to side, twisting against my bonds. Such violent resistance cannot last and, as my face tears against the sharp root of an oak, the dart of pain finishes me. I am ready to surrender to this death.
Take me Lord Jesus Christ, only-begotten son of God, begotten of his Father before all worlds, God of God, Light of light … and I see it, coming forwards now, a circle of silver presenting to me – light, air, my salvation.
My Father is sending me back to the world.
I am to live … To the sky. I am there briefly, my face lifts up to take gulps of air, but I am under again. Twisting up once more I break through the surface and cough up dark mire. The air comes into me like a blow.
Arms gather me up and throw me to the bank. I am convulsed by a