A Single Mother's Tragedy
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This is my first attempt at this kind of story, please let me know what you think. Inspired by many similar stories found on ThemisCollection and TheDarkSpot.
As the hangman approached the condemned cell for the first time, flanked by two imposing prison guards, a flicker of unease crept over him. It wasn’t very common nowadays that the prison saw a new death row inmate - let alone a young woman. Did he still remember the precise steps of his grim duty? Would he be able to bring himself to kill a woman? He quickly shoved these doubts aside, straightening his posture as he neared the heavy steel door. With a deep breath, he inserted the key and pushed it open, trying to maintain an air of professionalism.
When he entered the cell, a small figure seated on the bed turned to face him. It was here that he crossed eyes with Annabelle Lynn Taylor, the notorious English murderess, for the very first time. In one of the most sensational court cases of the generation, she had been found guilty of the double murder of her two young twin daughters. In an even more shocking turn of events, she was sentenced to death by hanging, the first time such a sentence had been passed down to a woman for decades. In spite of widespread public opinion that she would be granted clemency due to her gender and young age of 25, she had exhausted all her appeals due to the violent nature of her crime. She had been transferred to the death row block to await her execution, which was to take place on the following day.
As the two made eye contact, Annabelle immediately looked down in fear and began shuffling into the corner, making a pitiful effort to avoid him. She was dressed in the standard white prison smock, wearing a simple pair of slippers, with her strawberry blonde hair neatly tied up into a ponytail. Despite the dullness of her attire, he could still make out the same alluring beauty which had captured the hearts of an entire country. As he stared into her despondent eyes, a wave of sympathy washed over him. She looked so innocent… Suddenly, visions of her crime depicted in such vivid and horrifying detail in the numerous newspaper articles documenting the trial flooded his mind, sharply contrasting with his earlier thoughts. He wondered what could possibly drive such a petite, young woman to commit such a heinous crime against her own family, her own flesh and blood.
The hangman’s mind jumped back to reality. It didn’t matter. The judicial system had already determined her guilt and her fate. His job was only to carry out his superior’s orders. Regaining composure, he spoke firmly, “Stand up and turn around to face the wall. Put your hands behind your back. We’ll have to take your height and weight.” After a short pause, Annabelle complied, gradually rising to her feet. With a fearful look at the face of the man who would kill her, she turned around quietly. Promptly, the hangman fastened a pair of handcuffs around her wrists and led her out of the cell, the two guards following closely behind.
People often joke about how a woman’s weight is her most closely guarded secret, and yet here she was, the mystery about to be laid bare by the unfeeling, indifferent weighing scale. Annabelle’s cheeks flushed with colour as she took a languid step on the machine. The numbers flashed: 158cm (5’2) tall and 48kg (106lbs) - the second figure slightly on the lighter side. The hangman would have to adjust the drop accordingly to ensure a clean fracture of the spine. With the day’s duties finished, he guided her back to her cell. Deliberately avoiding eye contact, he unclipped the handcuffs and stepped away, shutting the door behind him. This left the condemned prisoner to despair in the darkness and total isolation of the deserted death row block, soon to be purged of its temporary resident…
As night fell, with whatever energy she could muster, Annabelle pressed herself against the thin cell window, sticking her arm out as if to try to grasp the very freedom she had been forced to leave behind. As a stream of tears inched down her cheeks, she thought back to the day she had made the worst decision of her life. The day she had been fired from her job. The day she knew it had become financially impossible for her to continue supporting her two young children, the result of a one-night stand with a young punk who had vanished as soon as she gave birth. The day she had decided to permanently free herself from the burden of motherhood. In a fit of intense frustration, overcome by stress, she had taken a kitchen knife and plunged it deep into her daughter Sarah’s chest as she was sleeping, again and again until she was sure she was dead. When her other daughter Clara had tried to escape, she viciously slit her throat, emotionlessly watching her death throes as she exsanguinated. She was guilty in every way imaginable. There was no doubt about it. A victim of circumstance, trapped by her inability to meet societal expectations, but guilty nonetheless. Lost in her thoughts, she curled up into a fetal position, drifting off into sleep, knowing very well it would be her last.
Annabelle was jolted from her sleep by the creaking sound of her cell door swinging open. It was the prison matron, accompanied by the same two guards from earlier. Her gaze frantically darted around the small cell as she murmured, “Is.. Is it time already? I thought it was at eight…” With a reassuring tone, the matron softly spoke, “No, it’s not time yet, but we do have to make some preparations before you hang. It might hurt a bit, just please, please remain calm, I don’t want to make this harder than it already is.” As the matron spoke, the two guards stepped in front of her, advancing towards the cornered prisoner. Now feeling incredibly anxious, she stood up and made a desperate attempt to escape, but was swiftly grabbed and restrained by the two guards. “It’s regulation that we insert a plug into your rectum to prevent you from emptying your bowels while suspended. It’s happened far too many times in the past. Just trust me, it’s for your own good.”
Annabelle stared wide-eyed at the plug that the matron was holding, and cried, “Wh… What are you doing?? No, please! I’ll do anything! Don’t do it, please! I can do without it, I promise!” Her pleas falling on deaf ears, she began one last futile effort to wrench herself away from the guards. Responding with brutal efficiency, the guards seized her by the hips and spun her around, sending her tumbling onto the bed. As one guard ruthlessly pinned her down with his arms, the other forcibly spread her legs apart, causing the fabric of her smock to flare out around her. With a rough, powerful tug, he yanked her panties down, exposing her genitals completely. Now, effectively immobilized, all she could do was to close her eyes and brace herself for the incoming attack.
With one smooth motion, undoubtedly gleaned from many years of prior experience performing such an unpleasant act, the matron pushed the plug all the way into her rectum, the special shape of the cap creating a suction force that sealed it into place. As Annabelle gave a high-pitched squeal in pain, the guards abruptly released their grip on her. She slid to the floor, a dull discomfort sweeping through her lower body. When the intruders finally left the cell, she immediately tried to tear the plug out, but the suction force and the angle at which it was inserted made such a feat impossible. Frustrated, she jumped up and pounded on the cell door, shouting, “Please take it out, take it out! It really hurts! It’s not right, you can’t do this to me!” Her hysterical cries echoed around the walls, but there was no answer - just the heavy, suffocating silence that followed.
After somewhat regaining her composure, Annabelle looked up and detected the first hints of the light of dawn filtering through the cell window, casting long, silvery shadows on the floor. It was 7AM. One hour left. She fell into a trance-like state, deep in her thoughts, trying her best to come to terms that it would soon be over. She would never laugh again. She would never love again. All she had ever longed for was the warmth of a loving family, a place where she could belong. Maybe, in another life, she would have settled down with that deadbeat asshole and raised her kids to adulthood like a real mother. She knew that wouldn’t be possible now. She took the easy way out. She couldn’t bear to deal with the consequences of her own actions, and she would pay the ultimate price for it. Engulfed by emotions, she stared forlornly into blank space, as tears blurred her vision, silently trailing down her face.
Annabelle’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a sharp rapping on the door. As the door swung open, she instinctively retreated into the corner, expecting to have to endure another immoral, dehumanizing procedure. Instead, it was only the matron, who was carrying a small box. The matron placed it down and remarked, almost matter-of-factly, “Here are the clothes you were wearing when you were arrested. You will wear them to your execution. Hurry up and get dressed.” As the matron slammed the door behind her, Annabelle lifted the box, and opened it. Inside was her old makeup kit, a pair of heels, as well as the yellow sleeveless sundress she knew all too well. She had worn that dress in an attempt to pass off as a naive and innocent girl on vacation, but her story quickly unravelled when the authorities discovered the contents of the suitcase that she had wanted to dump into the town river. With a long sigh, she took off the prison smock and began applying her makeup and donning her final outfit. It seemed a little too big for her now. She must have lost some weight in the prison. The meals were never enough… Once she was done, she slid on her heels and sat back on the bed while gazing fearfully at the cell door, fully aware that the next time she passed through it would be on her way to an untimely demise…
Flanked by the two prison guards, the hangman urgently twisted the keys in the cell door and shoved it open. The woman inside rose to her feet and inhaled sharply, trying to stay collected. With a firm voice, the hangman asked, “State your name and age please.” The woman struggled to get the words out. “A.. Annabelle Lynn Taylor, 25.” Now that she was rid of that ugly prison smock, the hangman could truly appreciate the beauty of the woman standing before him. She had the most delicate facial features, solid and perky breasts, as well as silky smooth skin that seemed to glow with a natural radiance. The fitted top of the A-line sundress, although seemingly half a size too large, still accentuated her curves well, showing off a slender waist that flowed effortlessly into her well-rounded hips, with the v-neck showing off a sliver of cleavage. The pleated skirt extended down past her thighs, ending above her knees.
The hangman could have admired Annabelle’s form for hours, but he knew he had a job to do. “Please place your hands behind your back.” With fear consuming her, the woman’s breaths quickened and deepened, causing her chest to heave erratically. She trembled uncontrollably, unable to mask the desperation beneath her fading attempt at courage. Reluctantly complying, she clasped her hands together behind her back. The hangman moved silently behind her, drew a leather strap from his belt, and with a swift, well-rehearsed stroke, pinioned her wrists tightly together. “Follow me.” He walked briskly out of the cell, followed closely by the condemned woman, who was being subtly nudged along by the two guards. As the procession made its way through the death row block, her eyes skimmed hastily from left to right, seemingly without focus, as if to observe her surroundings for the final time.
As the two large steel doors at the end of the hallway slid open, Annabelle glimpsed the death chamber for the first time. There were a few officers standing watch near the corners of the room, including the prison warden and his deputies. The noose was operated by some sort of pulley system, with the condemned serving as a counterweight to pull the remaining length of rope over the pulley. Threatening to swoon at the sight of the noose, the frightened woman was rapidly dragged up and forcefully marched forward by the guards, who were well prepared for such an occurrence. The trapdoor was adequately demarcated, with a big letter X marking the point that she was to stand on, a simple wooden lever nearby to control it. “Stand on the X please.” Annabelle, now in a state of considerable distress, had to be carried onto the trapdoor by the guards. Struggling to hold it together, tears streaked down her face, displacing the meticulously applied mascara. Thick, ugly smudges of black accumulated below her eyes, leaving a messy, blemished trace.
Watching the miserable scene unfold before him, the hangman paused for a fleeting moment, as if he was feeling an ounce of compassion for the young murderess’ plight. Yet, he was keenly aware that showing even the slightest sign of weakness in front of his superiors was unthinkable. He first wrapped a large belt around the shivering woman’s chest, fixing her elbows and shoulders in place, which had the inadvertent side effect of embarrassingly pushing her breasts outward. Next, he wrapped a smaller leather strap around her thighs and pulled it tight, pinning the hem of her dress to her legs, preventing it from flaring up once she was dropped. Finally, he crouched down, reaching out for her feet with yet another strap. Sensing this, she tried to lift her legs up off the floor to prevent the hangman from applying the restraint. In response to this subtle act of defiance, he simply grabbed both ankles and wrenched them to the floor, instantly securing them together with the strap. Her legs were now completely immobile, which induced a soft moan of discomfort from her.
Rising back to his feet, the hangman read out the charges against her in a solemn voice. “Annabelle Lynn Taylor. You have been found guilty of the double murder of Sarah and Clara Taylor. A court of law has sentenced you to be hanged by the neck until dead. Do you have any last words before the sentence is carried out?” Hearing the names of her departed daughters, she was filled with a deep sense of sorrow, letting out a heart-rending sigh. Eventually, she managed to find the strength to reply meekly, “I’m sorry…” Satisfied with the response, the hangman brought out a white cotton hood from his shirt pocket, displaying it in front of her. Seeing it, she whimpered softly, looking down and closing her eyes as he gently slipped it over her head, drawing it down over her head and neck…
As her vision was obscured, Annabelle began hyperventilating, sobbing quietly to herself as she awaited the inevitable drop. The noose was suddenly pulled around her neck, jolting her with a shock of terror. This made her instinctively lean back, throwing her off balance. She teetered dangerously, on the brink of falling, but a guard managed to catch her, steadying her just in time. Determined to avoid any more such incidents, the two guards began to hold her tightly from behind, ensuring her stability. Feeling the noose tighten around her neck, a cry of fear escaped her lips. As she wildly spun her head from side to side, looking for any possible escape from the cruel rope, the warden gave the hangman the go-ahead signal. Without warning, she heard the guards stepping away, followed swiftly by the distinct screech of the lever being pulled. Letting out a piercing scream, Annabelle freefalled into the open trap, with her momentum being sharply arrested by the rope reaching its end. Her heels were pulled out from under her by the force of the drop, sending them clattering to the floor.
When she was still conscious after the drop, she immediately sensed that something was not right. She had been told it would be instant, that it would be lights out the moment her body hit the end of the rope. Abruptly, a sharp pain coursed through her neck as the rope squeezed against it with a ruthless grip, causing her to start gasping and wheezing as her lungs were suddenly deprived of air. Fighting desperately against her restraints, she continuously raised her knees to her chest in an attempt to gain some relief from the searing pain. She was faced with the terrifying revelation that instead of the promised instant death by fracture of the spine, she would die a slow, painful death by suffocation. In her helpless frenzy, she felt a warm sensation slowly spread beneath her crotch…
The hangman, horrified at the sight of the woman writhing and gagging at the end of the rope, rushed towards the trapdoor to try to identify the problem. As he looked up to the pulley, his worst fears were confirmed. The rope had gotten stuck against the edge of the pulley in such a way that it had not fully stretched out, causing Annabelle to only drop around a metre and a half (5’0) instead of the calculated two and a half metres (8’0). As a result, the drop had failed to break her neck, and she was effectively being strangled to death by the noose. Rushing down the stairs to the drop room, the hangman was met with a horrific and gruesome scene.
Annabelle was flailing and thrashing at the end of the rope, her painful shrieks muffled by the thick hood. She was visibly incontinent, as a steady stream of urine trickled down her legs into the drain at the centre of the room, drenching the hem of her dress. As he watched the wriggling figure, a sense of shame overcame him. This was entirely his fault. He had botched the execution, and the poor woman was now painfully asphyxiating before his eyes, humiliatingly soiling herself in her panicked battle with the noose. Unable to fully comprehend the gravity of the situation, he entered a momentary trance-like state where all he could do was stand and watch the macabre spectacle unfold…
Seemingly never-ending waves of pure, unadulterated pain swept through Annabelle’s body. It seemed as if her lungs were on fire; they felt like they were gradually melting, disintegrating piece by piece. Furiously struggling to breathe, she tried to use her momentum to kick herself up to temporarily release the pressure of the rope, only for gravity to pull her back down onto the rope with even greater intensity. By this point, her incessant wails had been reduced to a sort of gargling noise, as a deluge of urine gushed freely down her legs. Her mind was filled with haphazard and erratic thoughts, begging for death to take her and to relieve her from her agony. Blood began to rush into her brain, causing her to feel light-headed…
The hangman was pulled out of his trance by two hands grabbing and firmly shaking his shoulders. He whirled around in surprise, only to come face-to-face with the warden, his expression reddened with a mix of anger and disgust. “What are you doing, for God’s sake? Grab her and pull her down!” The hangman stumbled over his words, “Sir, isn’t it against protocol to-“ “I don’t care about the protocol! Can’t you see how much she’s suffering? Do it now, that’s a direct order!” Not needing any more persuasion, the hangman nervously staggered up to the dying murderess. Mouthing an apology under his breath, he jumped upwards, grabbed hold of her legs, and used the combination of his full strength and his body weight to jerk her body down. Almost immediately, the remaining portion of the rope that was stuck on the pulley was released, sending her crashing down the remaining one metre (3’0) of the drop…
All of a sudden, Annabelle felt a strong force tugging her downwards, hurling her neck violently to the side. The sickening crunch that followed reverberated around the room, elucidating a collective gasp from the spectators upstairs. All the pain she was experiencing had disappeared in a fraction of a second. She was no longer able to move or feel anything below her neck, no longer able to make any noise. In spite of her paralysis, overwhelming feelings of relief and tranquility washed over her. As her view of the thick cotton hood faded to nothingness as she lost consciousness, all she could focus on was the thought of seeing her daughters again, perhaps in a place where they wouldn't have to follow society's rules, a place where they could live without the constant pressure of needing to secure shelter and provide for themselves...
The hangman looked on as Annabelle’s squirming and kicking subsided to a few sporadic twitches of her feet, which were merely the effect of post-mortem involuntary muscle contractions. Small droplets of urine trickled down from her legs into the drain, the sound of each droplet splashing against the cold iron grills now fully perceptible amid the newfound silence. After five gruelling, excruciating minutes, Annabelle’s tortured body would finally rest. Filled with shame, the hangman noted down the time of death and promptly turned around to leave the room, unable to bring himself to take even a fleeting glance at the hanging corpse. All that was left was to leave her body hanging for the regulation hour to ensure death, and take her down for burial.
9:05AM. Wheeling a gurney in front of him, the hangman walked back into the drop room, ready to conduct the grisly procedure of taking down Annabelle’s body and preparing her for burial. She was slowly swinging and swaying back and forth, as if she was caught in the eerie rhythm of a hideous puppet show. The grotesque sideways angle of her head was clearly visible, despite it being partially masked by the white hood. Eyeing the still discernible dark stain spreading down the front of her dress, he could still detect the faint scent of dried urine wafting through the air around him.
Ignoring the stench, the hangman headed to the back of the corpse and undid the body belt and wrist pinions, placing them onto the gurney, releasing her arms to fall freely to the side. As he did this, he noticed the pair of heels strewn across the floor. Heaving a short sigh, he plucked them from the floor and arranged them neatly on the gurney. He moved on to the thigh strap, which was smudged with urine. Muttering in disgust, he undid it and placed it next to the body belt, resulting in her dress billowing outward. This movement caused more urine to spill out onto the floor, much to his chagrin.
Keeping the ankle strap on for now, he proceeded to reach up and lift the bottom of the hood in order to grasp the zipper on the back of her dress, carefully pulling it down to loosen it. As he guided her arms through the armholes of the dress, one on each side, the garment fell to the floor, revealing her elegant black lace bra and sheer, white seamless panties. Next, he reached up to her bra and unfastened the back closure, pulling it through her arms and off her body, placing it and the dress beside her heels. Notwithstanding the fact that she had been dead for an hour, and that her arms and legs had become noticeably discoloured from her blood pooling near her extremities, he was still captivated by Annabelle’s naked form. He admired her voluptuous breasts, their delicate and inviting curves mesmerizing him. Disregarding his attempts to suppress his sensual desires, the salacious temptation overwhelmed him momentarily. Interrupting his duties, he drew closer to the hanging body, raising his hand to lightly caress her breasts. Despite the salient icy feeling from her lack of body heat, he marvelled at their fullness and softness, the sensation sending shivers down his spine. Surprisingly, they were still plump and supple, smooth to the touch.
Instantly recognizing his mistake, he recoiled and muttered a hasty apology. He winced at the thought of exploiting a woman to whom he had just inflicted so much pain and suffering, even if her soul had already departed her body. Frantically resuming his work, he pressed a stethoscope up against Annabelle’s chest to confirm that there was no heartbeat. As expected, there was none. His attention was then shifted to the last piece of clothing, her urine-soaked white panties. Gingerly, he grasped their sides and pulled them down to her ankles, exposing her clean-shaven vulva and the black anal plug still intruding into her rectum. After briefly wiping her pubic area with a spare rag to clean up any excess urine, he positioned the gurney beneath the hooded corpse and released the pulley, cautiously guiding her onto it.
Tenderly lifting the back of her head as though she could still feel pain, the hangman loosened the noose and removed it from her neck, leaving Annabelle sprawled fully naked on the gurney with only the white hood obscuring her face. It was this view of the beautiful corpse that once again overcame him with lust and carnality. With trembling hands, he undid the ankle strap and pulled the white panties off her feet. Ensuring that he wasn't being watched, he slid the panties into his pocket as a morbid keepsake, once more attempting to somehow justify his depraved act by fervently apologizing to her. As his mind began to clear, he fixated on the black plug protruding awkwardly out of her anus. Spreading her legs to each side of the gurney, he used a pair of tweezers to raise one side of the plug to let air rush back into the cavity, thus removing the suction force and allowing him to easily withdraw the object. It was caked with faeces and emitted a disgusting odour, leading to its unceremonious disposal in a nearby garbage bin.
There was only one item left to remove, and he had purposely saved it for last so as to not disturb himself. It was the grim task of removing the hood and witnessing her final facial expression, undoubtedly contorted into a horrific, mangled form. He inhaled deeply, mentally preparing himself for the dreadful sight he was about to face. With one rapid motion, the hangman pulled off the hood, uncovering Annabelle’s face. Her neck was twisted at an impossible angle and stretched at least 5cm (2”) longer. Deep, ghastly red marks inflicted by the rope on her tender skin were visible throughout her neck. Her lips had taken on a sinister shade of bluish-purple, with a trail of dried saliva visible on her cheek near the corner of her lower lip. Her tongue stuck partially out of her lips, displaying the same harrowing discolouration that marred the rest of her face. Her eyes were bloodshot and half open, locked in an unsettling upward gaze. Clutching her head using both his hands, he gently rotated it from side to side. There was a complete lack of resistance from her neck, confirming the fracture of the spine.
Despite her gruesome and shocking crimes, the longer the hangman stared at Annabelle’s bruised and disfigured face, the more he couldn't rid himself of the regret for subjecting such a young, beautiful woman to such a violent death. Trying his best to pry his eyes away, he laid the hood on the gurney and moved on to his next task. He crossed her arms together over her chest and used a piece of string to crudely bind her wrists together, repeating the same process with her ankles, so as to prevent her limbs from sliding off during transport. Plagued by remorse, he took the white sheet that had been placed on the gurney and draped it over Annabelle’s corpse, mercifully shielding her face from view.
The hangman wheeled the gurney into the prison courtyard, where the infirmary employees were waiting to assist him. With their help, he rolled Annabelle onto her side, enabling him to wrap the white sheet fully around her body, leaving only her feet exposed to the open air. Lifting the shoddily concealed corpse up from the gurney, they carefully lowered her into the waiting coffin, which was already positioned inside a pre-dug grave. Upon placing the restraints and clothing items into the coffin beside her, the workers screwed on the lid, enveloping her in eternal darkness.
Thus, the tragic tale of Annabelle Lynn Taylor came to an end, her once-beautiful body resting in an unmarked grave within the prison courtyard, at long last reunited with her beloved children.
- Fin -
As the hangman approached the condemned cell for the first time, flanked by two imposing prison guards, a flicker of unease crept over him. It wasn’t very common nowadays that the prison saw a new death row inmate - let alone a young woman. Did he still remember the precise steps of his grim duty? Would he be able to bring himself to kill a woman? He quickly shoved these doubts aside, straightening his posture as he neared the heavy steel door. With a deep breath, he inserted the key and pushed it open, trying to maintain an air of professionalism.
When he entered the cell, a small figure seated on the bed turned to face him. It was here that he crossed eyes with Annabelle Lynn Taylor, the notorious English murderess, for the very first time. In one of the most sensational court cases of the generation, she had been found guilty of the double murder of her two young twin daughters. In an even more shocking turn of events, she was sentenced to death by hanging, the first time such a sentence had been passed down to a woman for decades. In spite of widespread public opinion that she would be granted clemency due to her gender and young age of 25, she had exhausted all her appeals due to the violent nature of her crime. She had been transferred to the death row block to await her execution, which was to take place on the following day.
As the two made eye contact, Annabelle immediately looked down in fear and began shuffling into the corner, making a pitiful effort to avoid him. She was dressed in the standard white prison smock, wearing a simple pair of slippers, with her strawberry blonde hair neatly tied up into a ponytail. Despite the dullness of her attire, he could still make out the same alluring beauty which had captured the hearts of an entire country. As he stared into her despondent eyes, a wave of sympathy washed over him. She looked so innocent… Suddenly, visions of her crime depicted in such vivid and horrifying detail in the numerous newspaper articles documenting the trial flooded his mind, sharply contrasting with his earlier thoughts. He wondered what could possibly drive such a petite, young woman to commit such a heinous crime against her own family, her own flesh and blood.
The hangman’s mind jumped back to reality. It didn’t matter. The judicial system had already determined her guilt and her fate. His job was only to carry out his superior’s orders. Regaining composure, he spoke firmly, “Stand up and turn around to face the wall. Put your hands behind your back. We’ll have to take your height and weight.” After a short pause, Annabelle complied, gradually rising to her feet. With a fearful look at the face of the man who would kill her, she turned around quietly. Promptly, the hangman fastened a pair of handcuffs around her wrists and led her out of the cell, the two guards following closely behind.
People often joke about how a woman’s weight is her most closely guarded secret, and yet here she was, the mystery about to be laid bare by the unfeeling, indifferent weighing scale. Annabelle’s cheeks flushed with colour as she took a languid step on the machine. The numbers flashed: 158cm (5’2) tall and 48kg (106lbs) - the second figure slightly on the lighter side. The hangman would have to adjust the drop accordingly to ensure a clean fracture of the spine. With the day’s duties finished, he guided her back to her cell. Deliberately avoiding eye contact, he unclipped the handcuffs and stepped away, shutting the door behind him. This left the condemned prisoner to despair in the darkness and total isolation of the deserted death row block, soon to be purged of its temporary resident…
As night fell, with whatever energy she could muster, Annabelle pressed herself against the thin cell window, sticking her arm out as if to try to grasp the very freedom she had been forced to leave behind. As a stream of tears inched down her cheeks, she thought back to the day she had made the worst decision of her life. The day she had been fired from her job. The day she knew it had become financially impossible for her to continue supporting her two young children, the result of a one-night stand with a young punk who had vanished as soon as she gave birth. The day she had decided to permanently free herself from the burden of motherhood. In a fit of intense frustration, overcome by stress, she had taken a kitchen knife and plunged it deep into her daughter Sarah’s chest as she was sleeping, again and again until she was sure she was dead. When her other daughter Clara had tried to escape, she viciously slit her throat, emotionlessly watching her death throes as she exsanguinated. She was guilty in every way imaginable. There was no doubt about it. A victim of circumstance, trapped by her inability to meet societal expectations, but guilty nonetheless. Lost in her thoughts, she curled up into a fetal position, drifting off into sleep, knowing very well it would be her last.
Annabelle was jolted from her sleep by the creaking sound of her cell door swinging open. It was the prison matron, accompanied by the same two guards from earlier. Her gaze frantically darted around the small cell as she murmured, “Is.. Is it time already? I thought it was at eight…” With a reassuring tone, the matron softly spoke, “No, it’s not time yet, but we do have to make some preparations before you hang. It might hurt a bit, just please, please remain calm, I don’t want to make this harder than it already is.” As the matron spoke, the two guards stepped in front of her, advancing towards the cornered prisoner. Now feeling incredibly anxious, she stood up and made a desperate attempt to escape, but was swiftly grabbed and restrained by the two guards. “It’s regulation that we insert a plug into your rectum to prevent you from emptying your bowels while suspended. It’s happened far too many times in the past. Just trust me, it’s for your own good.”
Annabelle stared wide-eyed at the plug that the matron was holding, and cried, “Wh… What are you doing?? No, please! I’ll do anything! Don’t do it, please! I can do without it, I promise!” Her pleas falling on deaf ears, she began one last futile effort to wrench herself away from the guards. Responding with brutal efficiency, the guards seized her by the hips and spun her around, sending her tumbling onto the bed. As one guard ruthlessly pinned her down with his arms, the other forcibly spread her legs apart, causing the fabric of her smock to flare out around her. With a rough, powerful tug, he yanked her panties down, exposing her genitals completely. Now, effectively immobilized, all she could do was to close her eyes and brace herself for the incoming attack.
With one smooth motion, undoubtedly gleaned from many years of prior experience performing such an unpleasant act, the matron pushed the plug all the way into her rectum, the special shape of the cap creating a suction force that sealed it into place. As Annabelle gave a high-pitched squeal in pain, the guards abruptly released their grip on her. She slid to the floor, a dull discomfort sweeping through her lower body. When the intruders finally left the cell, she immediately tried to tear the plug out, but the suction force and the angle at which it was inserted made such a feat impossible. Frustrated, she jumped up and pounded on the cell door, shouting, “Please take it out, take it out! It really hurts! It’s not right, you can’t do this to me!” Her hysterical cries echoed around the walls, but there was no answer - just the heavy, suffocating silence that followed.
After somewhat regaining her composure, Annabelle looked up and detected the first hints of the light of dawn filtering through the cell window, casting long, silvery shadows on the floor. It was 7AM. One hour left. She fell into a trance-like state, deep in her thoughts, trying her best to come to terms that it would soon be over. She would never laugh again. She would never love again. All she had ever longed for was the warmth of a loving family, a place where she could belong. Maybe, in another life, she would have settled down with that deadbeat asshole and raised her kids to adulthood like a real mother. She knew that wouldn’t be possible now. She took the easy way out. She couldn’t bear to deal with the consequences of her own actions, and she would pay the ultimate price for it. Engulfed by emotions, she stared forlornly into blank space, as tears blurred her vision, silently trailing down her face.
Annabelle’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a sharp rapping on the door. As the door swung open, she instinctively retreated into the corner, expecting to have to endure another immoral, dehumanizing procedure. Instead, it was only the matron, who was carrying a small box. The matron placed it down and remarked, almost matter-of-factly, “Here are the clothes you were wearing when you were arrested. You will wear them to your execution. Hurry up and get dressed.” As the matron slammed the door behind her, Annabelle lifted the box, and opened it. Inside was her old makeup kit, a pair of heels, as well as the yellow sleeveless sundress she knew all too well. She had worn that dress in an attempt to pass off as a naive and innocent girl on vacation, but her story quickly unravelled when the authorities discovered the contents of the suitcase that she had wanted to dump into the town river. With a long sigh, she took off the prison smock and began applying her makeup and donning her final outfit. It seemed a little too big for her now. She must have lost some weight in the prison. The meals were never enough… Once she was done, she slid on her heels and sat back on the bed while gazing fearfully at the cell door, fully aware that the next time she passed through it would be on her way to an untimely demise…
Flanked by the two prison guards, the hangman urgently twisted the keys in the cell door and shoved it open. The woman inside rose to her feet and inhaled sharply, trying to stay collected. With a firm voice, the hangman asked, “State your name and age please.” The woman struggled to get the words out. “A.. Annabelle Lynn Taylor, 25.” Now that she was rid of that ugly prison smock, the hangman could truly appreciate the beauty of the woman standing before him. She had the most delicate facial features, solid and perky breasts, as well as silky smooth skin that seemed to glow with a natural radiance. The fitted top of the A-line sundress, although seemingly half a size too large, still accentuated her curves well, showing off a slender waist that flowed effortlessly into her well-rounded hips, with the v-neck showing off a sliver of cleavage. The pleated skirt extended down past her thighs, ending above her knees.
The hangman could have admired Annabelle’s form for hours, but he knew he had a job to do. “Please place your hands behind your back.” With fear consuming her, the woman’s breaths quickened and deepened, causing her chest to heave erratically. She trembled uncontrollably, unable to mask the desperation beneath her fading attempt at courage. Reluctantly complying, she clasped her hands together behind her back. The hangman moved silently behind her, drew a leather strap from his belt, and with a swift, well-rehearsed stroke, pinioned her wrists tightly together. “Follow me.” He walked briskly out of the cell, followed closely by the condemned woman, who was being subtly nudged along by the two guards. As the procession made its way through the death row block, her eyes skimmed hastily from left to right, seemingly without focus, as if to observe her surroundings for the final time.
As the two large steel doors at the end of the hallway slid open, Annabelle glimpsed the death chamber for the first time. There were a few officers standing watch near the corners of the room, including the prison warden and his deputies. The noose was operated by some sort of pulley system, with the condemned serving as a counterweight to pull the remaining length of rope over the pulley. Threatening to swoon at the sight of the noose, the frightened woman was rapidly dragged up and forcefully marched forward by the guards, who were well prepared for such an occurrence. The trapdoor was adequately demarcated, with a big letter X marking the point that she was to stand on, a simple wooden lever nearby to control it. “Stand on the X please.” Annabelle, now in a state of considerable distress, had to be carried onto the trapdoor by the guards. Struggling to hold it together, tears streaked down her face, displacing the meticulously applied mascara. Thick, ugly smudges of black accumulated below her eyes, leaving a messy, blemished trace.
Watching the miserable scene unfold before him, the hangman paused for a fleeting moment, as if he was feeling an ounce of compassion for the young murderess’ plight. Yet, he was keenly aware that showing even the slightest sign of weakness in front of his superiors was unthinkable. He first wrapped a large belt around the shivering woman’s chest, fixing her elbows and shoulders in place, which had the inadvertent side effect of embarrassingly pushing her breasts outward. Next, he wrapped a smaller leather strap around her thighs and pulled it tight, pinning the hem of her dress to her legs, preventing it from flaring up once she was dropped. Finally, he crouched down, reaching out for her feet with yet another strap. Sensing this, she tried to lift her legs up off the floor to prevent the hangman from applying the restraint. In response to this subtle act of defiance, he simply grabbed both ankles and wrenched them to the floor, instantly securing them together with the strap. Her legs were now completely immobile, which induced a soft moan of discomfort from her.
Rising back to his feet, the hangman read out the charges against her in a solemn voice. “Annabelle Lynn Taylor. You have been found guilty of the double murder of Sarah and Clara Taylor. A court of law has sentenced you to be hanged by the neck until dead. Do you have any last words before the sentence is carried out?” Hearing the names of her departed daughters, she was filled with a deep sense of sorrow, letting out a heart-rending sigh. Eventually, she managed to find the strength to reply meekly, “I’m sorry…” Satisfied with the response, the hangman brought out a white cotton hood from his shirt pocket, displaying it in front of her. Seeing it, she whimpered softly, looking down and closing her eyes as he gently slipped it over her head, drawing it down over her head and neck…
As her vision was obscured, Annabelle began hyperventilating, sobbing quietly to herself as she awaited the inevitable drop. The noose was suddenly pulled around her neck, jolting her with a shock of terror. This made her instinctively lean back, throwing her off balance. She teetered dangerously, on the brink of falling, but a guard managed to catch her, steadying her just in time. Determined to avoid any more such incidents, the two guards began to hold her tightly from behind, ensuring her stability. Feeling the noose tighten around her neck, a cry of fear escaped her lips. As she wildly spun her head from side to side, looking for any possible escape from the cruel rope, the warden gave the hangman the go-ahead signal. Without warning, she heard the guards stepping away, followed swiftly by the distinct screech of the lever being pulled. Letting out a piercing scream, Annabelle freefalled into the open trap, with her momentum being sharply arrested by the rope reaching its end. Her heels were pulled out from under her by the force of the drop, sending them clattering to the floor.
When she was still conscious after the drop, she immediately sensed that something was not right. She had been told it would be instant, that it would be lights out the moment her body hit the end of the rope. Abruptly, a sharp pain coursed through her neck as the rope squeezed against it with a ruthless grip, causing her to start gasping and wheezing as her lungs were suddenly deprived of air. Fighting desperately against her restraints, she continuously raised her knees to her chest in an attempt to gain some relief from the searing pain. She was faced with the terrifying revelation that instead of the promised instant death by fracture of the spine, she would die a slow, painful death by suffocation. In her helpless frenzy, she felt a warm sensation slowly spread beneath her crotch…
The hangman, horrified at the sight of the woman writhing and gagging at the end of the rope, rushed towards the trapdoor to try to identify the problem. As he looked up to the pulley, his worst fears were confirmed. The rope had gotten stuck against the edge of the pulley in such a way that it had not fully stretched out, causing Annabelle to only drop around a metre and a half (5’0) instead of the calculated two and a half metres (8’0). As a result, the drop had failed to break her neck, and she was effectively being strangled to death by the noose. Rushing down the stairs to the drop room, the hangman was met with a horrific and gruesome scene.
Annabelle was flailing and thrashing at the end of the rope, her painful shrieks muffled by the thick hood. She was visibly incontinent, as a steady stream of urine trickled down her legs into the drain at the centre of the room, drenching the hem of her dress. As he watched the wriggling figure, a sense of shame overcame him. This was entirely his fault. He had botched the execution, and the poor woman was now painfully asphyxiating before his eyes, humiliatingly soiling herself in her panicked battle with the noose. Unable to fully comprehend the gravity of the situation, he entered a momentary trance-like state where all he could do was stand and watch the macabre spectacle unfold…
Seemingly never-ending waves of pure, unadulterated pain swept through Annabelle’s body. It seemed as if her lungs were on fire; they felt like they were gradually melting, disintegrating piece by piece. Furiously struggling to breathe, she tried to use her momentum to kick herself up to temporarily release the pressure of the rope, only for gravity to pull her back down onto the rope with even greater intensity. By this point, her incessant wails had been reduced to a sort of gargling noise, as a deluge of urine gushed freely down her legs. Her mind was filled with haphazard and erratic thoughts, begging for death to take her and to relieve her from her agony. Blood began to rush into her brain, causing her to feel light-headed…
The hangman was pulled out of his trance by two hands grabbing and firmly shaking his shoulders. He whirled around in surprise, only to come face-to-face with the warden, his expression reddened with a mix of anger and disgust. “What are you doing, for God’s sake? Grab her and pull her down!” The hangman stumbled over his words, “Sir, isn’t it against protocol to-“ “I don’t care about the protocol! Can’t you see how much she’s suffering? Do it now, that’s a direct order!” Not needing any more persuasion, the hangman nervously staggered up to the dying murderess. Mouthing an apology under his breath, he jumped upwards, grabbed hold of her legs, and used the combination of his full strength and his body weight to jerk her body down. Almost immediately, the remaining portion of the rope that was stuck on the pulley was released, sending her crashing down the remaining one metre (3’0) of the drop…
All of a sudden, Annabelle felt a strong force tugging her downwards, hurling her neck violently to the side. The sickening crunch that followed reverberated around the room, elucidating a collective gasp from the spectators upstairs. All the pain she was experiencing had disappeared in a fraction of a second. She was no longer able to move or feel anything below her neck, no longer able to make any noise. In spite of her paralysis, overwhelming feelings of relief and tranquility washed over her. As her view of the thick cotton hood faded to nothingness as she lost consciousness, all she could focus on was the thought of seeing her daughters again, perhaps in a place where they wouldn't have to follow society's rules, a place where they could live without the constant pressure of needing to secure shelter and provide for themselves...
The hangman looked on as Annabelle’s squirming and kicking subsided to a few sporadic twitches of her feet, which were merely the effect of post-mortem involuntary muscle contractions. Small droplets of urine trickled down from her legs into the drain, the sound of each droplet splashing against the cold iron grills now fully perceptible amid the newfound silence. After five gruelling, excruciating minutes, Annabelle’s tortured body would finally rest. Filled with shame, the hangman noted down the time of death and promptly turned around to leave the room, unable to bring himself to take even a fleeting glance at the hanging corpse. All that was left was to leave her body hanging for the regulation hour to ensure death, and take her down for burial.
9:05AM. Wheeling a gurney in front of him, the hangman walked back into the drop room, ready to conduct the grisly procedure of taking down Annabelle’s body and preparing her for burial. She was slowly swinging and swaying back and forth, as if she was caught in the eerie rhythm of a hideous puppet show. The grotesque sideways angle of her head was clearly visible, despite it being partially masked by the white hood. Eyeing the still discernible dark stain spreading down the front of her dress, he could still detect the faint scent of dried urine wafting through the air around him.
Ignoring the stench, the hangman headed to the back of the corpse and undid the body belt and wrist pinions, placing them onto the gurney, releasing her arms to fall freely to the side. As he did this, he noticed the pair of heels strewn across the floor. Heaving a short sigh, he plucked them from the floor and arranged them neatly on the gurney. He moved on to the thigh strap, which was smudged with urine. Muttering in disgust, he undid it and placed it next to the body belt, resulting in her dress billowing outward. This movement caused more urine to spill out onto the floor, much to his chagrin.
Keeping the ankle strap on for now, he proceeded to reach up and lift the bottom of the hood in order to grasp the zipper on the back of her dress, carefully pulling it down to loosen it. As he guided her arms through the armholes of the dress, one on each side, the garment fell to the floor, revealing her elegant black lace bra and sheer, white seamless panties. Next, he reached up to her bra and unfastened the back closure, pulling it through her arms and off her body, placing it and the dress beside her heels. Notwithstanding the fact that she had been dead for an hour, and that her arms and legs had become noticeably discoloured from her blood pooling near her extremities, he was still captivated by Annabelle’s naked form. He admired her voluptuous breasts, their delicate and inviting curves mesmerizing him. Disregarding his attempts to suppress his sensual desires, the salacious temptation overwhelmed him momentarily. Interrupting his duties, he drew closer to the hanging body, raising his hand to lightly caress her breasts. Despite the salient icy feeling from her lack of body heat, he marvelled at their fullness and softness, the sensation sending shivers down his spine. Surprisingly, they were still plump and supple, smooth to the touch.
Instantly recognizing his mistake, he recoiled and muttered a hasty apology. He winced at the thought of exploiting a woman to whom he had just inflicted so much pain and suffering, even if her soul had already departed her body. Frantically resuming his work, he pressed a stethoscope up against Annabelle’s chest to confirm that there was no heartbeat. As expected, there was none. His attention was then shifted to the last piece of clothing, her urine-soaked white panties. Gingerly, he grasped their sides and pulled them down to her ankles, exposing her clean-shaven vulva and the black anal plug still intruding into her rectum. After briefly wiping her pubic area with a spare rag to clean up any excess urine, he positioned the gurney beneath the hooded corpse and released the pulley, cautiously guiding her onto it.
Tenderly lifting the back of her head as though she could still feel pain, the hangman loosened the noose and removed it from her neck, leaving Annabelle sprawled fully naked on the gurney with only the white hood obscuring her face. It was this view of the beautiful corpse that once again overcame him with lust and carnality. With trembling hands, he undid the ankle strap and pulled the white panties off her feet. Ensuring that he wasn't being watched, he slid the panties into his pocket as a morbid keepsake, once more attempting to somehow justify his depraved act by fervently apologizing to her. As his mind began to clear, he fixated on the black plug protruding awkwardly out of her anus. Spreading her legs to each side of the gurney, he used a pair of tweezers to raise one side of the plug to let air rush back into the cavity, thus removing the suction force and allowing him to easily withdraw the object. It was caked with faeces and emitted a disgusting odour, leading to its unceremonious disposal in a nearby garbage bin.
There was only one item left to remove, and he had purposely saved it for last so as to not disturb himself. It was the grim task of removing the hood and witnessing her final facial expression, undoubtedly contorted into a horrific, mangled form. He inhaled deeply, mentally preparing himself for the dreadful sight he was about to face. With one rapid motion, the hangman pulled off the hood, uncovering Annabelle’s face. Her neck was twisted at an impossible angle and stretched at least 5cm (2”) longer. Deep, ghastly red marks inflicted by the rope on her tender skin were visible throughout her neck. Her lips had taken on a sinister shade of bluish-purple, with a trail of dried saliva visible on her cheek near the corner of her lower lip. Her tongue stuck partially out of her lips, displaying the same harrowing discolouration that marred the rest of her face. Her eyes were bloodshot and half open, locked in an unsettling upward gaze. Clutching her head using both his hands, he gently rotated it from side to side. There was a complete lack of resistance from her neck, confirming the fracture of the spine.
Despite her gruesome and shocking crimes, the longer the hangman stared at Annabelle’s bruised and disfigured face, the more he couldn't rid himself of the regret for subjecting such a young, beautiful woman to such a violent death. Trying his best to pry his eyes away, he laid the hood on the gurney and moved on to his next task. He crossed her arms together over her chest and used a piece of string to crudely bind her wrists together, repeating the same process with her ankles, so as to prevent her limbs from sliding off during transport. Plagued by remorse, he took the white sheet that had been placed on the gurney and draped it over Annabelle’s corpse, mercifully shielding her face from view.
The hangman wheeled the gurney into the prison courtyard, where the infirmary employees were waiting to assist him. With their help, he rolled Annabelle onto her side, enabling him to wrap the white sheet fully around her body, leaving only her feet exposed to the open air. Lifting the shoddily concealed corpse up from the gurney, they carefully lowered her into the waiting coffin, which was already positioned inside a pre-dug grave. Upon placing the restraints and clothing items into the coffin beside her, the workers screwed on the lid, enveloping her in eternal darkness.
Thus, the tragic tale of Annabelle Lynn Taylor came to an end, her once-beautiful body resting in an unmarked grave within the prison courtyard, at long last reunited with her beloved children.
- Fin -
very good description of the events and procedures well written indeed.
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