The garrotting of Clarissa © Maiden On the Scaffold
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The garrotting of Clarissa
© Maiden On the Scaffold
Clarissa had been waiting since the morning. Today was the day set for her execution but
still they had not come for her. It was getting towards evening and she had no idea if they
would come or not. She had prepared herself the night before assuming that they would
carry it out first thing in the morning but come the dawn nothing had happened. Every
sound in the corridor had made her nervous.
When they brought her breakfast and lunch she had got to her feet ready to walk to her
death but the guard had just left the tray and gone again. The food was better than normal
but Clarissa could not bring herself to taste it. The thought of what would happen to her
when and if they came was filling her mind and making her stomach turn over.
The Garrotte. She had heard the name of course but she knew little about it. It was a collar
that strangled the condemned while they sat on a chair but that was all she knew. Did it take
long? Would it hurt? Were there witnesses? Would she die alone or would there be another
or others executed at the same time? She did not think she could remain calm if she had to
watch someone else die first. She had wanted to ask all these questions but her lawyer
whose English was not very good had only spoken of acquittal. Then an appeal and finally
clemency.
Perhaps that is it, Clarissa thought, they have give in to pressure and they are not going to
do it after all. The world opinion has stopped them. Although she had no access to
newspapers in prison she was still aware that they had given a lot of coverage to the 18 year
old girl awaiting her fate in a Spanish jail. While these thoughts were going through her
mind she continued to pace the cell as she had done since she got up this morning.
Then, thinking that they would arrive for her at any moment, she had quickly but carefully
removed her thin cotton nightdress and dressed in the prison clothes that had been her
uniform for the last 8 months. She had become used to the light cotton shirt, buttoned high
to the neck with its little collar and the matching skirt which zipped at the side and ended
further above the knee than she liked. The black slip on shoes with their low heels had
become almost comfortable after this time and she hardly noticed them as she paced the
floor. The only difference between the clothes laid out for her today and those of any other
day was the underwear. Her own bra and panties as usual, black this time, but also a
disposable nappy which the guard passing in the clothes had indicated with sign language
she should put on first. Perhaps it will not be needed now, she thought.
She was stirred from her reverie by sounds in the corridor outside. Keys scraped the lock
and the cell door opened and there was Marisol, her lawyer. Oh, thank God I am reprieved,
she thought.
- Clarissa, I have as you know made an appeal to the President for clemency in your case.
Because of your claiming innocence, your sex, your age and the fact that you are a
foreigner I was hopeful that it would be granted. I have just spoken to the Minister for
Prisons and it has been decided that your execution will go ahead. I am very sorry.
Clarissa felt numb. Surely this could not be. The wait most of the day and then seeing
Marisol at the cell door had convinced her that it was not going to happen. She opened her
mouth to speak but had not managed to get a word out before two guards entered the room
and began to chain her feet together and handcuff her wrists in front of her. The chain
joining her feet was then linked to that joining her wrists and she was led out of the cell
past Marisol with her mouth still trying to make the words. Clarissa's heart was pounding as
she was led slowly down the corridor shuffling slightly because of the chains and barely
hearing the cries of the other women on death row.
At the end of the corridor was a heavy red door with no spy hole in it and it opened inwards
as they approached. The room was small and had no windows, the only light coming from a
bulb in the ceiling. Standing in the middle was a short man with a moustache in his
shirtsleeves. IT was next to him. Clarissa could not help but shudder as she saw the
Garrotte for the first and last time. It was a thick wooden post with cross legs which were
bolted into the floor to keep it upright. There was a small seat, more like a bicycle seat than
anything else about halfway up but the thing that caught Clarissa's attention and held her
gaze was the metal collar swinging loose at the front.
The guards pushed her down onto the seat and the executioner checked to make sure that
the collar was at the right height for her neck. Once he had established this he said
something to the guards in Spanish and swiftly they released the handcuffs and the chain
joining them to the ankle chains. Moving with practised ease the executioner grasped
Clarissa's arms and pulled them back behind her. They were held there by one of the guards
as the executioner strapped them to the post at the wrists and the elbows. At the same time
the second guard was fixing the chain joining her ankles to a ring bolt at the base of the
post. The wrist and ankle straps were tight but the chains allowed Clarissa's legs a certain
amount of movement.
She realised that while this had been going on a number of people had entered the room
which was now quite crowded. There was a priest who seemed to be praying without
looking at her and the prison Governor who had Marisol standing next to him. The priest
went quiet and the Governor began speaking reading from a paper. As he spoke Marisol
began to speak too and Clarissa's fuddled brain realised that her lawyer was performing one
last task for her by translating her death sentence into English.
- Clarissa Clark, you have been convicted of murder and sentenced to death. All appeals
against conviction and sentence having been rejected and your plea for clemency having
been turned down you will now be put to death according to the law of Spain.
Two hands came from behind the dazed girl and swung the metal collar round over her
neck snapping it shut. She gasped as the executioner started to pull a hood over her head.
Marisol stepped forward:
- Have the hood Clarissa. It is better for all of us if you do.
The girl mumbled something and the hood was pulled down over her face, partly to spare
her the sight of the following events but rather more to spare the witnesses the sight of her
face as the Garrotte did its work. The governor had once had a female lawyer who vomited
and then fainted at the execution of one of her clients who had not been hooded and he had
no intention of repeating the experience. Clarissa sat, almost squatted, on the little seat with
her heart pounding and the blood rushing in her ears.
Suddenly from behind her she heard a clicking noise and the collar began to tighten on her
neck. The executioner was working fast at his lever and the collar pulled tight very quickly.
The hooded girl uttered a muffled cry from beneath the hood which became a groan and
then a gurgling gasp. Her body arched on the seat as much as the straps to her wrists and
elbows and the deadly collar would allow and her feet kicked out within the constraints of
their chains. For a short time the only sounds in the room were the clicking of the Garrotte
screw and the thumping of the young girl’s feet on the floor. With one final thrust her body
slumped down slowly on to the seat and the prison doctor moved forward to confirm that
justice had been done.
© Maiden On the Scaffold
Clarissa had been waiting since the morning. Today was the day set for her execution but
still they had not come for her. It was getting towards evening and she had no idea if they
would come or not. She had prepared herself the night before assuming that they would
carry it out first thing in the morning but come the dawn nothing had happened. Every
sound in the corridor had made her nervous.
When they brought her breakfast and lunch she had got to her feet ready to walk to her
death but the guard had just left the tray and gone again. The food was better than normal
but Clarissa could not bring herself to taste it. The thought of what would happen to her
when and if they came was filling her mind and making her stomach turn over.
The Garrotte. She had heard the name of course but she knew little about it. It was a collar
that strangled the condemned while they sat on a chair but that was all she knew. Did it take
long? Would it hurt? Were there witnesses? Would she die alone or would there be another
or others executed at the same time? She did not think she could remain calm if she had to
watch someone else die first. She had wanted to ask all these questions but her lawyer
whose English was not very good had only spoken of acquittal. Then an appeal and finally
clemency.
Perhaps that is it, Clarissa thought, they have give in to pressure and they are not going to
do it after all. The world opinion has stopped them. Although she had no access to
newspapers in prison she was still aware that they had given a lot of coverage to the 18 year
old girl awaiting her fate in a Spanish jail. While these thoughts were going through her
mind she continued to pace the cell as she had done since she got up this morning.
Then, thinking that they would arrive for her at any moment, she had quickly but carefully
removed her thin cotton nightdress and dressed in the prison clothes that had been her
uniform for the last 8 months. She had become used to the light cotton shirt, buttoned high
to the neck with its little collar and the matching skirt which zipped at the side and ended
further above the knee than she liked. The black slip on shoes with their low heels had
become almost comfortable after this time and she hardly noticed them as she paced the
floor. The only difference between the clothes laid out for her today and those of any other
day was the underwear. Her own bra and panties as usual, black this time, but also a
disposable nappy which the guard passing in the clothes had indicated with sign language
she should put on first. Perhaps it will not be needed now, she thought.
She was stirred from her reverie by sounds in the corridor outside. Keys scraped the lock
and the cell door opened and there was Marisol, her lawyer. Oh, thank God I am reprieved,
she thought.
- Clarissa, I have as you know made an appeal to the President for clemency in your case.
Because of your claiming innocence, your sex, your age and the fact that you are a
foreigner I was hopeful that it would be granted. I have just spoken to the Minister for
Prisons and it has been decided that your execution will go ahead. I am very sorry.
Clarissa felt numb. Surely this could not be. The wait most of the day and then seeing
Marisol at the cell door had convinced her that it was not going to happen. She opened her
mouth to speak but had not managed to get a word out before two guards entered the room
and began to chain her feet together and handcuff her wrists in front of her. The chain
joining her feet was then linked to that joining her wrists and she was led out of the cell
past Marisol with her mouth still trying to make the words. Clarissa's heart was pounding as
she was led slowly down the corridor shuffling slightly because of the chains and barely
hearing the cries of the other women on death row.
At the end of the corridor was a heavy red door with no spy hole in it and it opened inwards
as they approached. The room was small and had no windows, the only light coming from a
bulb in the ceiling. Standing in the middle was a short man with a moustache in his
shirtsleeves. IT was next to him. Clarissa could not help but shudder as she saw the
Garrotte for the first and last time. It was a thick wooden post with cross legs which were
bolted into the floor to keep it upright. There was a small seat, more like a bicycle seat than
anything else about halfway up but the thing that caught Clarissa's attention and held her
gaze was the metal collar swinging loose at the front.
The guards pushed her down onto the seat and the executioner checked to make sure that
the collar was at the right height for her neck. Once he had established this he said
something to the guards in Spanish and swiftly they released the handcuffs and the chain
joining them to the ankle chains. Moving with practised ease the executioner grasped
Clarissa's arms and pulled them back behind her. They were held there by one of the guards
as the executioner strapped them to the post at the wrists and the elbows. At the same time
the second guard was fixing the chain joining her ankles to a ring bolt at the base of the
post. The wrist and ankle straps were tight but the chains allowed Clarissa's legs a certain
amount of movement.
She realised that while this had been going on a number of people had entered the room
which was now quite crowded. There was a priest who seemed to be praying without
looking at her and the prison Governor who had Marisol standing next to him. The priest
went quiet and the Governor began speaking reading from a paper. As he spoke Marisol
began to speak too and Clarissa's fuddled brain realised that her lawyer was performing one
last task for her by translating her death sentence into English.
- Clarissa Clark, you have been convicted of murder and sentenced to death. All appeals
against conviction and sentence having been rejected and your plea for clemency having
been turned down you will now be put to death according to the law of Spain.
Two hands came from behind the dazed girl and swung the metal collar round over her
neck snapping it shut. She gasped as the executioner started to pull a hood over her head.
Marisol stepped forward:
- Have the hood Clarissa. It is better for all of us if you do.
The girl mumbled something and the hood was pulled down over her face, partly to spare
her the sight of the following events but rather more to spare the witnesses the sight of her
face as the Garrotte did its work. The governor had once had a female lawyer who vomited
and then fainted at the execution of one of her clients who had not been hooded and he had
no intention of repeating the experience. Clarissa sat, almost squatted, on the little seat with
her heart pounding and the blood rushing in her ears.
Suddenly from behind her she heard a clicking noise and the collar began to tighten on her
neck. The executioner was working fast at his lever and the collar pulled tight very quickly.
The hooded girl uttered a muffled cry from beneath the hood which became a groan and
then a gurgling gasp. Her body arched on the seat as much as the straps to her wrists and
elbows and the deadly collar would allow and her feet kicked out within the constraints of
their chains. For a short time the only sounds in the room were the clicking of the Garrotte
screw and the thumping of the young girl’s feet on the floor. With one final thrust her body
slumped down slowly on to the seat and the prison doctor moved forward to confirm that
justice had been done.
Very well-written. Clarissa Clark has appeared on this site 3 times: once being hanged, once being guillotined and now being garrotted. I'm getting more and more curious about this character.
to my knowledge Clarissa Clark was a character created by maidenonthescaffold. i think clarissa appears in a couple more stories, if i find it i share
Maidens on the Scaffold were a series of Yahoo groups which existed about 20 years ago. They were run by a French woman Jeanne (Maidenonthescaffold) who posted stills from movies very much like this site but far oless comprehensive. Jeanne also wrote execution stories and the Joan of Arc story that I posted here is one of hers. She sometimes wrote stories on request featuring real individuals. The Clarissa Clark series were written for one of her on-line friends (Clark was not Clarissa's real surname). My older sister, who was one of Jean's friends got a couple of stories written for me. I went to the guillotine once and the stake twice. I think that like mine most of the stories she wrote were private and only shared with the subjects, or were lost when the groups closed. There is at least one other member here who will remember being 'executed' by Jean in a threesome judicial hanging with Clarissa and another female. I'll leave it to them to decide if they wish to ID themselves.
Jean has a way with words that bring home the horror of the event in a way that pictures never can for me.
Kari
Jean has a way with words that bring home the horror of the event in a way that pictures never can for me.
Kari
I now remember those groups! Thank you so much for bringing back those memories. I think I read these stories there for the first time, as the people who made the requests posted them. Years later I again saw them circulating prison communities in Second Life.
Clarrissa still needs to go to the gas chamber and electric chair.
These stories are not mine, I just share them. my stories were usualy in spanish, i have written for ages now
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