Close to the Bone

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She holds up the book of matches. Licks her lips. She’s practised the words a dozen times till they’re perfect. ‘Do you have anything to say before I carry out sentence? ’

The man kneeling on the floor of the warehouse stares up at her. He’s trembling, moaning behind the mask hiding his face. ‘Oh God, oh Jesus, oh God, oh Jesus. .’ The chains around his wrists and ankles rattle against the metal stake. A waft of accelerant curls through the air from the tyre wedged over his head and shoulders. Black rubber and paraffin.

‘Too late for that.’ She smiles. ‘Thomas Leis, you-’

‘Please, you don’t have to do this!’

The smile slips. He’s spoiling it. ‘Thomas Leis, you have been found guilty of witchcraft-’

‘I’m not a witch, it’s a mistake!’

‘-condemned to burn at the stake until you be dead.’

‘I didn’t do anything!’

‘Coward.’ The lights are hot on her back as she strikes the first match, then sets fire to the rest. They hiss and flare, bright and shining. Pure. Glorious.

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