'Emails' from Mol's laptop - remote working
These Emails were written by Mol Smith to friends and associates during the week October 15th 1999 to October 22nd 1999.They form a 'field-record' of events which took place near Chelsham, on the Surrey, Kent, borders - England. Not all were received. I have indicated those emails written, and found on the recovered lap-top, which Mol was unable to send due to exhausted power supplies. Where he mentions digital 'stills' or 'video', I have linked to these from the email accounts! 
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Day 7 (Retrieved)
October 21st 1999
Day 7 -  Thursday  - October 21st  1999 - 6.00 am 
To friends.  

We never got out!  

I am alone and very scared. No sleep last night. How could I sleep..? Vanessa is missing. 
I believe both Larry and Vanessa, my two close friends, are dead - murdered by 
the beast! I  believe I'll fare no better. 

I try to understand the events of yesterday. I go over and over that terrible moment  
yesterday, playing back the clip in my video camera recorded by accident as we ran. 
I cry with fear and guilt for in that moment of terror, I failed my companion and left  
her to the beast! 

We had made good time, and I was certain our path was true, but the weather changed 
so rapidly as we picked our way through the words. We must have been half-way 
when almost complete darkness fell around us and dashed all hope.  

Then Vanessa started behaving strangely. She was just slowing down and falling behind. 
I turned to tell her if would b best to keep up. She started walking towards me very
provocatively me,  her face - the expression of one in a daze. I could have sworn, as I 
watched, it seemed to shift and alter for a moment. I don't know why but instinctively,
I raised my video camera and filmed her. The moment passed and she seemed to 
behave normally again - shaking her head the way a confused waking person does!

By strange coincidence, I stumbled upon something underfoot. When I looked, I was 
shocked to see it was a walking boot -Larry's! To see it there, discarded, like an object 
no-longer required... filled me with dread and worry for my missing companion. 

A thick mist came rushing towards us from all sides - an unnatural thing... as though 
we were in a vacuum that all else was drawn towards to fill! Pain came next -  
abrupt and intense - pressure on the ears...  

...then I saw it: a huge, shapeless, blackness pushing through the mist towards us. 

We ran... my god we ran...  

I could hear Vanessa's desperate sounds beside me, the whip and thrash of  
foliage as she and I crashed through bramble and sapling, like deer running 
before the lion... then a rush of noise - a different sound, unearthly - followed by a  
single scream. 

And then I ran alone. Her 'sounds', beside me - gone! 

In the panic I had left my camera running and recorded the terrible moment!

I am back at the tent. I have been here since that moment yesterday. 
I have not eaten. I have done nothing but endlessly flick through  
Larry's books and read about the witch of Chelsham and checked the
images and video in my camera.  I know now - 'tis not the witch to fear... 
but her unholy beast-child. 

I will finish recording here the accounts of 1640 to 1645  I have 
studied in these books. I will not survive this day and if my life is 
to be consumed - and this my last moment of awareness before 
succumbing to oblivion - then let it be one of worth... an understanding 
of events here so that truth be known! 

October 22nd 1640, Sarah Blacklocke entered these woods - blind, 
in fear, a hunted thing - the target of human ignorance and malice. 
She did not leave them for 6 months. When finally she emerged, 
naked in full view of a congregation leaving a Sunday service at 
St. Mary's, she was no longer blind, had aged ten tears, and was 
visibly pregnant. 

No-one discovered what events and traumas befell her during her time 
in the forest. Not a single villager would go near her in the months and 
years that followed. The fear of her was absolute! 

No child was born or ever seen - although when she was seen by those 
brave enough to still use the path beside her cottage, her pregnancy was  
over. She was frequently seen at night, by drunken locals returning from the 
White Lion, entering the woods at late hours. The years passed. Every 
misfortune that befell the village was squarely blamed on Sarah  
Blakelocke  "...she is a witch that goes to fornicate with the devil in the 
forest, to nurture her imps and familiars, and cast ill o'er all who spy her!" 

In 1645, half the number of people in the village of Chelsham, died! Plague 
was rife in Southern England.  

Who can understand the anger, fear, and misery of a village so frequently 
burying their loved ones? It is easy to see they sought an end to their misfortune 
and a cause to blame! When word spread that Matthew Hopkins, the most 
infamous witch destroyer in all of England, was 'at work' in nearby Essex - 
a sum of money was collected, and the witchfinder general was summoned! 

The subsequent torture, persecution, trial, and vengeance against Sarah was 
unprecedented in its level and scale.  

"...it was decided, by the general, that additional funds be collected 
from the village to pay wages for helpers to assist in the work. God-fearing 
men are needed and will be paid an honest sum." 

One can imagine the terrible ordeals this woman, still attractive in mid-years, 
must have suffered as this gathering of 'hired-hands' were let loose upon 
her away from public eyes and scrutiny.  

Few witches in England were actually 'burnt-alive'. Most never faced death by  
fire as 'hanging; was the normal mode of execution. Those, unfortunate enough 
to receive execution by burning, were invariably strangled before the fire was lit 
to save their further suffering. 

The night they burnt the witch of Chelsham, no such mercy was applied...  
nor - it seems - was mercy a factor in the terrible fate to befall on many of the  
locals gathered on the edge of the woods that fatal night in 1645. One such 
testimony was recorded :- 

"... the fire was lit. It was a cold night and we all moved closer to the flames 
for the warmth it gaveth. She, the witch, stared down at us. I must confess -  
I could see why the devil himself be attracted and smitten by her. She has 
shape and skin of a young lass - not that of her years. 

My god - the flames rose quickly! None of us had seen a 'burning' 'though 
rumour has it there'll be more soon in Essex. The heat scalded my face even 
at that distance from the fire. We moved quickly back - lest it be us that be 
consumed with the witch.  

Several next to me were shouting and pointing. 'Twas hard to hear their  
cry 'gainst roar and spit of the flames. I saw then - the cause of their excitement.. 
the witch's hair was ablaze... and her mouth wide open as though calling... 

I could see her flinching against the binding knot as the flames rose up around 
her. I watched her head turn as she looked into and towards the woods...  

We all heard it : her scream! It was louder than the fire and rushed like rolling 
thunder upon the ear - causing much distress to all.  

It 'twas then it happened  - a strong wind from where the forest lay... a sudden  
gust that made the fire roar faster and hotter... too quick... too quick for many 
to flee the flame which leapt wide and into the crowd. There was panic! Woman... 
man... child.. many running - most ablaze... and screaming... the wind fiercer... 
driving the flame like a living thing across their clothes, thwarting our vain 
attempts to help... 

I'd swear in the smoke and heat, amidst the screaming villagers, I saw a dark shape 
moving - and where it rested for a moment - another villager set alight! I ran. There 
was nought to be done but save oneself..." 

Sarah Blakelocke, the witch of Chelsham, was buried outside the church ground  
on a rough path crossroad "...that it might confuse her way - lest she wake and  
come in the dark of night with her demon off-spring - and seek revenge upon  
us  people of Chelsham" 

The crossroad is no-longer there, and the grave overgrown, but she is there...  
and this - without doubt - is her woods! 

There is a wind rising outside my tent. I hear its roar. The air is pressing against 
the canvas - invading my last and final space... it has come for me... there is no 
hope... but I must run and hide! 


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