Medium Daniel Watts explains: "It was written after a few nights at this place in Dunning known as Maggies monument. As a medium i was able to piece together the events that led to Maggies demise."

On a lonely Scottish field in the middle of the Dubcrab estate, north of Kinross and south of Perth, there lies a mystery, a deep dark mystery that has its roots in dark annals of 17th century Scotland. There at the edge of the field, now bounded by fields of livestock, protected from their hungry mouths by a mere wooden fence on three sides and the main road on the fourth, stands an old stone cairn, upon the cairn stands across, not a simple wooden cross but a well made cross, a cross fit for a Lord. The old stone cross rises up, almost twenty feet high. So who placed the monument there and why does the area harbour a dark secret? That the writing upon the cairn always looks freshly painted, yet there is never any telltale sign of over painting or another’s hand upon the daubing.

The following story, is fiction, some will say it has a ring of truth to it; others will laugh and say what a great story but could never be true. Whatever you decide, decide after reading it, and if you dare visit the site of the cairn in the dead of night then listen to moans and groans of the restless spirits who now traverse the empty fields of Dunning.

Scotland 1657

The night was dark; a moon full and bright had risen giving the land an eerie supernatural look. No man would be seen out wandering this night unless he had important business. The cold wind cut through the barren trees and small animals sought shelter where they could best find warmth. Those too large to find comfort in the nooks and crannies of the gorse, heather and hedges were forced to wander the barren land, shivering in the cold. Farm livestock slept or roamed the gentle slopes in search of food.

Nevertheless, few men would be seen, or should be seen. Nevertheless, this night was different; this was night that would remain in the minds of the local villages for many centuries to come. It would haunt them for as long as they were forced to remember. For this was a night that dark deeds would be carried out not by just one man but by a whole village. Not one person would be exempt from the terrible action. And the village would be cursed for all time until everyone repented the dark deed or the truth the whole truth and nothing but the truth was known to man.

The crowd shouted and yelled. Torches flamed and burned in the dark unlit sky. Even the moon had vanished from sight. Refusing to witness the debauchery and horrific event taking place in the harsh Scottish field north of Kinross.

The woman was being dragged by a roped tied to her wrists; her feet were dragging along the muddy field, women, children and men spat and kicked at her as she passed.

They cried “witch, whore, murderer and Satan’s daughter” but she was neither. This was just another innocent woman that had been caught up in the politics of the day and of course had rejected the lust of powerful men.

The woman was dragged to the pile of faggots and the large stake, her clothes were in tatters and ruins around her body, men leered at her semi nakedness, women the worst offenders of all threw rotten vegetables at her. Behind the stake and mound of freshly dried wood couples began to fondle each other, aroused by the on coming burning of a witch. Others had already begun their own licentious fornication.

The woman now tied to the stake looked down upon her torturers and murderers. The whole village had turned out for her, just to see a poor woman sacrificed in the name of a religion and politics that could not save them. They all knew the real reason for her death, every last one of them had been present at her arrest by the laird, for the call had gone out a witch lived in the village. Now she stood tied to the stake, and as she gazed down at her persecutors and executioners, she spoke. For the first time since her abduction.

“Too all here I call upon ye to witness my words.” The crowd jeered her but the priest held up his hands and all around her fell silent. “In your eyes I be a witch, but for many I have helped you have turned upon me. Mark my words, the name of this village shall be damned, history will remember you, and ye shall be accursed until my truth be told. Your sins shall be suffered unto your next generations and your children shall suffer!” A flaming torch flew threw the air as the words “Burn ya witch!” followed it and the crowd roared at her insolence and words. But her words had cut deep, but no one would remember them until a year and a day after her death. As the flames ate into the dried kindling and branches she cried out once more, “ the lairds family will dwindle unless he repents, his first born son of his new bride will be born unto death, no breath will it take and she shall whither ‘til he repents my pain. May god in heaven hear my words!

The flames moved over her body and she screamed in pain as her skin blistered and began to weep, no one saw her die for they turned away in horror. But the memory of her cries would ring in their ears for many a moonlit night.

But who was this poor woman and why did she die along with two others that night in the lowlands of Scotland? Why was she burnt as witch? This is her story.

Margaret Forbes was born into a poor family in the lowlands of Scotland, the year was 1627 and Scotland was in turmoil once again. Her father had worked all his life on a croft belonging to the laird, her mother had raised 6 children, 4 boys and two girls, Margaret being the eldest of all.

In her early years Margaret had shown an aptitude for reading and so her mother had insisted she study the bible, something which Margaret found tedious and boring but like a dutiful daughter after her chores she would sit down and read the bible to her siblings.

Margaret’s grandmother, a rather studious and disagreeable woman at most times was devoutly religious, but also kept to the old ways. Like most ancient Scots Martha MacConnell believed in the devil and his wiles, she also believed in the old ways of her grandparents in how to keep evil from the home. Even if these ways didn’t sit well with the church. And so Margaret learned the old ways from her Grandmother, how to use a poultice to cure an bee or wasp sting, what herbs to cut and when to cut them. She also learnt about child birth, when her young sister was born Margaret at the age of 16 helped her grandmother birth the babe.

Margaret had had many suitors, but she refused all advances until she met the man who would love her until her poor end. He wasn’t any one special and certainly not some one she could take home to her parents. For she had fallen in love with a highway man, wanted both north and south of the border he was a man who lived in the saddle and according to his own words had a woman in every tavern he stayed at but he only ever loved one woman, Margaret. Margaret was a very beautiful woman, her long auburn hair was rarely tied back for her mother loved the way it would frame her beautiful pale face. Her eyes were also dark and her lips were full. In many ways Margaret was a typical Scot, with dark hair and fair skin. The Celtic blood ran strong in her veins and if it hadn’t been for the troubles up north she would have been born a highlander like her mother and father, but fate had her own rules and decrees and so she was born in a small village just outside Kinross.

Margaret was walking back from the village when she caught the eye of an important man, one of the two important men that would one day contribute to her demise. For the moment let us concern ourselves with the first, he was the laird’s first born son and he was out to make droigt de segneur worked. And so he chose one of the prettiest girls in the village, Margaret. Not knowing the rules of the game he was at first polite and in turn so was she, for after all she was just peasant girl and he was the Laird’s son and the law of the land was clear. Ranalph Ross, was by all accounts a good looking man, like his father and father’s father before him he had inherited the Ross good looks along with the short fused temper. And, on this particular day, his good looks did not work on the young woman striding beside his horse. As he left the young woman, he knew he wanted her, his body ached for her even more as she bade him a cold and polite farewell.

Maggie had no idea that her coldness had touched a nerve in the young laird, he had had never been refused by a young lady in his father’s shire and suddenly he had a woman who was challenging his right. To the young laird the game was on and in his own time, he would run Maggie down and have his frolics with her. The laird’s son was not the only man who had taken a fondness for Maggie, the village priest had seen Maggie in church several times and against all his teachings and religion wanted her in his bed. After all his wife was no comfort when it came to the carnal pleasures, she was a skinny bag of bones and content to rule his house with her wooden spoon. He had given her a home, a bed and a kitchen a servant to rule over, her charity had been to share his bed as a lover for the first few months of their joining. Her legs had been shut tighter than a pirate’s treasure chest ever since. So it was to Maggie that his wanton and lustful eyes turned.

Martin Laws, the village priest, was a learned man, he knew the laws of the land and he knew of the changing ways. Scotland, his beloved Scotland was in constant turmoil, the English Civil War had reached its’ talons across the border and so now every one was affected. Soon he would be replaced; he knew it, the bishops in Edinburgh were unhappy with the religious changes in his region and so a letter had been sent along with an entourage to warn him of his removal. The priestly entourage had been turned back by a group of women led by his frigid wife, sadly the zealous women had their own agenda. If the priest was replaced then certainly his wife would lose her privileged position in society and her own household.

It was a Monday, a cold day in October, the feast of All Saints was still a few weeks away and Martin Laws had an itch, the itch that only the feel of a woman could cure. Laws watched Maggie as she made her way through the village. No one paid him any attention, after all he was the spiritual leader of the village and could go any where he wished. And so on this day he wandered around the village paying his respects to those he came across but still managing to keep a lustful eye upon his innocent quarry.

Laws knew of Maggie’s lover he also knew that he was a wanted man and so with careful planning he approached the poor lass. His offer was simple, sleep with him whenever he wished and he would not tell the authorities in Kinross of her lover and inform them of upon his next visit. Maggie laughed at the priest for the garrison had been watching for her man for many a time and still had not managed to catch him so why should she worry. Of course inside she was as worried as sin, but she was not going to let this lecherous and viperous priest know that.

Laws although slighted by this stupid girls’ attitude refused to give up and so with a deft scribbled note that was soon despatched to the garrison at Kinross, he sat and waited and watched. Laws didn’t have to wait long, three nights before the new moon on the 7^th of the month he spied the lovers together, carefully he watched as the pair met in the hayloft of her father’s croft. Laws’ saw Maggie the following day, his lust for her now increased after seeing her naked body and so his devious plan was hatched. If he couldn’t have her willingly then she would be his slave. And he knew exactly where she would be that night. Wiping his mouth of drool he cackled to himself. Life was good and soon his carnal lusts would be fulfilled.

That night Maggie went to meet her lover, she was met by two men, neither was her lover, both were hooded and there faces covered. Maggie tried to run but was caught by a third man, the priest. He smiled down at Maggie and threw her to the ground. He was unprepared by the sight of the two masked men but he seemed to know their minds. Maggie was used that night by the three men. Two would hold her down as one used her then another would take his turn.

She lay and hid her face in shame as she silently wept. It was as the two men removed their cowls that she knew that her plight was lost, for the two men revealed themselves to be the laird’s son and his man. The three men left the barn with their lusts fully satiated, they left a poor innocent woman cursed to shame. But already Maggie was brewing revenge. Little did she know that her revenge would not come from any living person but from her last words on this earth. She prayed to god that she could hide her shame from those she loved.

Maggie never knew the politics of the lairds family, she never knew that his son’s wife was a jealous woman who hated seeing her husband go a whoring when she was more than willing to pleasure him. They say that hell hath no fury like a woman spurned, and there is no truer word said. For the Laird’s daughter in law was feeling very spurned, what made matters worse was the conversation she overheard from her husband and his personal valet, the conversation was typical of her husband, always talking of women, horses and shooting. However, it was just as she was going to close the window of her bedroom that she heard a familiar name. It was Maggie’s and the talk of her naked body writhing with pleasure as the two men had their way with her brought on a rage that had to be dealt with very soon. But who to deal with and how.

Maggie’s time on this earth was marked, not by the normal span of years but by days, Eleanor Ross planned death and ruination. At first she told her husband she was not feeling too good and would he send to the village for the herbalist for a brew to help her malady. Maggie was the herbalist of the village when her grandmother was unavailable, and so in her innocence she visited the manor house, she found her lady in her bedroom, laying upon her bed. After a brief examination, Maggie discovered that her lady was in fact with child. Maggie gave Eleanor a concoction of thistle bark, sage and rosemary to help her rest.

Maggie left the manor house without seeing her lord and his son, a feat which pleased her as they were two people she did not wish to see ever again in her life. Even before Maggie had reached her home the rumours of her being a witch were spreading. Eleanor called her maid into her chamber and told her how Maggie had tried to poison her and had succeeded in killing off her unborn child. And the die was cast. That night the night of the full moon, the villagers led by the priest and his wife made gathered in force and attacked the croft of Maggie’s father. As he was dragged from his home he saw the crowd angry and yelling for his daughter the witch.

Maggie was dragged from her bed by large dirty hands, hands that enjoyed the soft flesh of her feminine body. Maggie screamed and kicked at the man holding her, she tried to beat at him but a slap across her face soon quietened her. The slap was no gentle tap but one that could have broken her jaw had she not been turning away from the strike. The poor woman found herself being dragged through the village by the crowd, her white shift was torn in places as were her feet as they scraped along the hard earth. She allowed herself to be dragged and manhandled; men would come up close to her and grope her scantily clad body. Women and children spat at her or threw vegetables or mud at her. And Maggie allowed it.

And now she stood tied to a stake staring at her captors and tormentors, her words and curses had been cast the flames began to lick at her torn shift. She could feel her flesh burning. It was then she allowed herself to scream, a final scream as the flames engulfed. Before her eyes boiled dry, her final sight was that of the laird, his son and daughter in law and the priest, all staring at her. Upon the face of Eleanor was a look of triumph and hatred. Maggie died an innocent woman. She was no witch, she was just a simple herbalist and helper accused by a jealous woman who had no knowledge of the truth.

And so a year and a day after her death in the dead of night men came, each man carried a well cut stone, slowly in secret they built a cairn over the dead ground. They waited until a well-dressed man came leading a cart. In the cart was a cross, well made of iron it was a cross-made by the rich for the rich. The cross was placed upon the cairn. And the men faded into the night. Nameless and faceless spectres who built a memorial to a woman who was burnt as a witch in 1657.

© Daniel Watts, Talkswithspirits

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