The Confession of Sarai Mocksley
by Jonathan McAnulty
“Come in, Come in…
“The weather is beastly I am afraid but I am glad you could make it. May I take your hat? And Your coat? Thank you… I will just hang them here… they will be quite safe.
“How was the drive? I am afraid that my rather peculiar interest of necessity demands isolation, but surely you understand that? Yes, I thought you would. Would you like any refreshments? A little tea? Coffee? … perhaps something stronger? No?
“The library is this way… I am rather proud of my little collection though perhaps you will have seen better…
“Servants? No, I had servants for many years but they are… no longer with us.
“No. I am not always alone. I get visitors upon occasion and have many an interesting discussion. You are here for instance. There are others… And of course I get out of the house too… There is the market of course, one must eat, and then I still manage to go on…excursions. Just up this way if you will.
“Yes, It does get harder with age. I must admit that digging is a young man’s work and it is harder to be unseen when you move slower and the joints creak, but one must have a hobby I always say. Watch that last step please. The board is rotted I’m afraid.
“Oh that. It is Ruxious you hear. He is my pet. I let him have free reign of the house and he can make quite a racket at times. But he is really just like a big kitten with me. And so clever, perhaps you can meet him after we look at the books. Down this hall…
“Two doors down and then a sharp turn to the left… sorry, I am perhaps too much alone after all. It is a habit of mine, talking to myself… Do you notice the paneling? Yes I thought you would.
“No, I did not carve those, I found them in Tibet, rather gruesome but then they add character to the place… and they serve other purposes as well.
“Yes, I keep the library locked. My collection is small and not as prestigious as some, but it is my bread and butter so to speak, though in a literal fashion I must confess much of my money comes from investments made earlier in life, but then you know what I mean, heh… yes, I thought you would. And I have found other ways to keep the books safe as well. There are more than just locks about if you take my meaning. Come on in then. Look around.
“There are about a hundred books in here as you see, many of them quite old… I actually have another room downstairs in which I keep my more mundane books, cook books, fiction, the like, but these are the books you want to look at I will warrant. Some of them are fairly commonplace. Here is a Malleus Maleficarum, in the latin, a horrible book, but I keep it for sentimental reasons. And here is a 1575 edition of Daneau. Quite valuable but again, mostly rubbish. Trite sentiments of a misinformed clergyman. Now here is one I warrant you have not seen before, it is a pamphlet written by Pascual de Andagoya. It contains things he did not share with the public at large, things he found too horrible. He knew more than he let on, that one did… There are one or two interesting facts in there…
“Yes that is Cotton Mather and here is a latin copy of the Key of Solomon…
“That small one there is a rather obscure play, you would be better off not reading it, heh…
“Now on this shelf are three that I am rather proud of and I will warrant you have not read any of them… though you may have heard of two of them…This octavo is the Cultus Maleficarum by Baron Frederic, a translation really of a quite older work. Yes I thought you might have heard of it,… your knowledge does you credit…
“And this one I am very, very proud of. Yes, it is bound in what you think it is bound in… De Vermiis Mysteriis,… It was quite a chore digging this one up I tell you… hehe… No. I will not tell you where I obtained it, at least not until we have known each other better,… You wish to read it? I thought you might… I can see that gleam in your eye… You would do better to hide it you know… your ambition that is. It gives you away it does… One must have ambition, but subtlety is often just as val…
“Ah… the last one, yes it is rather small, only 67 pages but in some ways it is the most practical of all the books I own… It is called the Confessions of Sarai Mocksley… written by hand by one Samuel Wainswright, a witch hunter in England. There are only four copies in existence that I know of… yes… I do know where two of the others are as a matter of fact,… though I believe that this copy is the original. It is in quite good shape considering it was written in 1656… all except for this stain on the corner of the cover. One of the previous owners was a bit careless I am afraid, but things like that add character to a book in my opinion, give it a story and this book has quite an interesting story behind it…
“Would you like to hear the story? …Excellent… One does enjoy having others to talk too. Let me tell you then about Sarai Mocksley and Samuel Wainswright…
“Samuel Wainswright was a witch hunter in 1656 and Sarai Mocksley was a witch… I gather that both were unscrupulous and wicked in their own ways. Sarai, I know, made no attempt to hide what she was but I imagine Samuel took pains to be thought of as pious and godly. But I daresay he did enjoy what he did, the torturing, the raping, the smell of burning flesh and fresh blood… And by 1656, the courts were becoming a bit more meticulous in England as to evidence and so Samuel had to put on quite a front I am afraid. Yes, I daresay he was very likely something of a hypocrite…
“Sarai Mocksley on the other hand was said to be a terror to her neighbors, not that anybody lived within three miles of her cottage all alone in the moors there. She was no pretender nor was she an innocent accused by enemies. I tell you the truth, she was the real thing! A sorceress… a consorter of demons and worse… There are no records of her birth but local legend placed her age at well over a hundred. She spoke French and Hebrew. She could read Latin, Greek, Arabic and other more dread languages. I do not know what books she had but I know that she brewed potions of sublime effect. There were tales of those who had heard her laughing voice speak to them from far up in the very air and it was said that she could curse a man with a touch. But yet what truly terrified her neighbors was her familiar. Her pet was a great lizard, as long as a man but far heavier, with great teeth and a spike tipped tail… No. It was not a crocodile I assure you… It was something far older… and yet it was not so old… hehe…
“How do I know for sure? Well, have I not read the book? …And there is more… let me continue and then perhaps you will see for yourself…
“The story goes that Sarai had often been seen with this creature and that on at least two occasions it attacked and killed sturdy men who crossed her. It was obviously a meat eater and it seemed to delight in the flesh of men. The country-folk called it a dragon or a demon and the fear of it kept men from harming Sarai for many a long year while all over England and Europe other, more harmless women, were being tortured and maimed and hung until they were dead. But not Sarai. She dwelt alone and removed from others and none dared turn her in to the witch hunters.
“That is, not until Samuel Wainswright rode into town in 1656 on his well bred horse and while inquiring after witches, as was his wont and trade, he heard from one drunk about the awful old witch who lived alone on the moors. This man confessed that he had seen things flying to the desolate house out of the heavens and he had heard sounds that weren’t human and he had seen the witch’s familiar. This accusation was all that Samuel needed and he set out the next day with a half dozen hired men to arrest the woman. Several of the village leaders, including the mayor, begged him not to go and told him about the familiar and the men it had killed but Samuel would not be stayed. I suspect he did not believe the stories. How many times had he himself forced such confessions, though he knew them to be lies, from the mouths of innocents? I don’t doubt but that he was a greater skeptic at heart than those who decried his work.
“The men made their way through the moors until at last they espied the house. There was no sign of the dread familiar as they made their way towards the lonely structure, but they did see Sarai Mocksley. She was locking the door of her little house when they first saw her and as they rode closer she strode purposefully towards they men.
“It was Sarai who spoke first. ‘Hello my brave Mr Wainswright,’ she is reported to have said with a smile, ‘You now know of me and I have known thee for much longer. Let us not waste time for we have much to do thee and me.’
“When Samuel saw Sarai for the first time he was much taken aback for he had heard that she was over a hundred years of age and yet to his eyes she looked to be no older than thirty or forty. And he was, of course, startled that she, who he had never seen, seemed to know him so well…
“‘Silence witch,’ commanded Samuel, trying to take control of the situation. I would guess that He had never had an accused act quite this way before, though he had personally sent over thirty women to their deaths. Dismounting from his horse he continued, ‘You stand accused of witchcraft and whoredom, idolatry and all manners of diverse wickedness. Do you acknowledge before God and man that these accusations are true.’
“Samuel’s introduction at the front of The Confession says that Sarai Mocksley laughed at his speech and boldly walked up to her accuser. ‘I do confess. I confess that I have danced with the black man and flown in the sky with nameless and faceless demons. I confess that I have spoken with the elder things and dreamed of R’yleh under the sea where no man may dwell. I confess that I have paid homage to Dagon and to he who walks upon the wind.’
“‘I confess all this and more,’ said Sarai Mocksley with a wry grin. ‘Oh, Mr. Wainswright, I am most anxious to make a full confession, for I do further confess that I have not much longer for this world and I want certain things to be set aright afore I take my leave. But I must warn you Mr. Wainswright’ and now one gathers from the way Samuel records the following that she became more earnest and sinister, ‘that the first man to lay a hand on me shall be cursed. He shall be cursed and shall become a byword and a curse in the mouth of his countrymen. Be forewarned, Mr. Wainswright, be forewarned.’
“At hearing her bold statements and upon hearing her warning of a dire curse, the men with Samuel grew afraid and would have left then and there if not for the fact that their leader was made of sterner stuff. It takes a strong stomach to be in the business he was in and it takes a cold heart. I would guess that he had seen so many women killed so easily that he was not going to allow himself to be afraid of this one female. Seeing his men step back, he turned and struck her on the jaw with his gauntlet-covered fist. It was a hard blow that should have laid her cold, bleeding and broken. But the story goes that she scarcely flinched and laughing she made as if it were nothing, merely noting in a sing-song voice, ‘As it was spoken so shall it be, cursed be the first that touched me.’
“After this, they took her back to town with them, indeed she came eagerly and they placed her in the small dungeon of the local magistrate. Despite her confession, Samuel was determined to treat her as a common accused witch and torture her for information. But in privacy she spoke to him slow and carefully of deeds he had done, naming names and telling how in each case he had fabricated the evidence that condemned the accused. She spoke of his spring-loaded knife with which he could prick a supposed witch mark and draw no blood. She told him quietly of those women he had done it to and where and when. She detailed the lies he had planted in the mouths of men and women and children as he twisted their thumbs under the thumbscrews. She told him the secret workings of his heart and threatened to tell others if he did not take her confession in the manner she desired. He began to notice too that the hand with which he had struck her felt numb and cold. He began to grow afraid of this woman who did not flinch, who did not bleed when struck, and who was clearly unafraid of him. He did not torture her but sat with her for a solid week transcribing word for word her confession.
“And what a confession. She described in detail her activities and how she had accomplished them. She told of her travels through the colds of space on the back of the Nightgaunts. She told of the angles and dimensions that she had learned and what they did. She told him the truth of the black man who screamed aloud at the moon without a face. She told him all this and more. And she forced him to draw diagrams and charts, to list the ingredients for her potions, to make it simple and easy for others to follow in her footsteps. Oh yes, it was a very practical confession, a sublime cookbook of ancient truths and diabolical evils. Oh, and she told him one other thing…
“She told him the truth about her familiar, explaining what it was, where it had come from and how she had obtained it. And as she described this to Samuel, his cold heart melted and he trembled at her words for it was too horrible for him to contemplate.
“Samuel Wainswright sat for a week and dutifully recorded every word that Sarai spoke. No other was allowed into the chamber where they labored over her confession. And though Samuel Wainswright would not speak to any other of what she had told him nor of what he had written, all could tell it was terrible for they could see the effect it was having on him. His face was becoming haggard and his eyes sunken. His hair thinned day by day as if he had been pulling it out in horror. Some claim that they could hear him screaming from behind the locked doors of his room at night. Others said he was crying and still others claimed that he was praying.
“Finally, the week was over and the confession was complete. But no trial was held nor any execution. Dumbly Samuel led Sarai out of the doors of the prison and let her go. He seemed to be drained and for the first time others noticed that his skin was peeling, almost as if it were becoming scaly.
“‘Goodby, Mr. Wainswright,’ the witch is said to have said, and then ‘but not forever I am glad to say.’ Laughing gaily she left. No one stopped her as she walked out of town. Samuel’s men had spoken in hushed tones to all who would listen of the curse she had called forth on the head of the witch hunter and all eyed him with pity for they felt they saw now the end of that curse. They were sure that he was to die.
“But he did not die that day nor the next. Instead he mailed the written confession to a certain man as instructed by Sarai. This man in turn made three copies,… No I will not tell you his name… Let me finish my story.
“Samuel, having sent off the confession locked himself in his room in the inn and would not come out. Days passed and people began to wonder. They knew he was not dead for he prayed and he shouted and he wept. He called out strange names that they had not heard before but which filled them with trembling. He pleaded with Nyarlathotep, and called after Hastur and even shouted to blind and idiotic Azathoth. He ranted and raved behind his locked door. But none dared open it until at last all was silent one morning and they figured him to be dead.
“They opened it then but he was not dead. The truth was worse. He tore out the throat of one villager before escaping into the moors and he ate another. But the villagers would not speak to any officials of what they had seen. But they do tell that for a time Sarai Mocksley was seen walking with two familiars, both great lizards with sharp teeth and spiked tails. She left this earth soon after that and never returned. They eventually torched her lonely house in the moors and forgot about her except as a warning to the children. But she left her confessions behind so that others might follow her… so that others might follow her…
“…did I tell you that I am so glad you have come? I must make a confession myself. It does sometimes get lonely here with just me and Ruxious.
“What? You laugh…?
“Really sir? A gun?
“Yes I know these books are quite valuable. Indeed, I know it better than you. You are not the first you know… Others have heard about my books and tried to take them from me. I had hoped you would be different. The letter you wrote made me hope almost that you might be one I could take under my wing for like Sarai, I must say, I am not much longer for this world and one does want to have others that will follow…
“You think to threaten me? Heh! Have you not listened? Did I not tell you that I have read Sarai’s confessions? Did I not make plain to you how simple and practical they were? Are you so dim! I see I had misjudged you. You think me a common grave robber like so many others.
“But let me tell you. I too have flown in the depths of the abyss. I too have danced with the black man who howls at the moon. I have seen the Shoggoths and have talked to those who have gone before. Did I tell you that Sarai comes every now and then herself? No! I am not mad! Soon I know I shall depart with her and not return!
“Ah, here is Ruxious… I think you should meet him… A cat? Whatever made you think I kept a cat? Look at those teeth! See how those muscles ripple under his scales. I am afraid that he is partial to flesh….
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