Amandine was sophisticated, poised, and cultured. In retrospect, this should have made them suspicious. A lady like her should be presiding over a school in Limsa Liminsa or Gridania, not seeking a position in a small town in Vesper Bay. But at the time, they were too delighted by her application to ask any questions.
School was called into session in the church shortly after the arrival of the teacher. And soon, the children were bringing glowing reports home. “Teacher” was special. Teacher have taught them manners, reading, writing and arithmetic. All the children loved their teacher.
The parents were delighted by the progress their children were making at school. A God-send, said the preacher’s wife.
But not everyone in town was satisfied. Kitty, the local inspector had more sinister stories to tell.
“That woman ain’t natural,” Kitty told the blacksmith, waving a bottle of whisky for emphasis. “I seen her out in the woods after dark, dancing around a campfire and chanting in a strange language.”
“You’re drunk,” said the blacksmith, “Go home and sleep it off.”
Kitty left the smithy, but continued talking wildly about the Teacher in the weeks that followed. A change gradually came over the school children. The pranks that all children played lessened. Their laughter died away. Items began to disappear from houses and farms. When children talked back to their parents, there was a hard-edge to their voices, and they did not apologize for their rudeness, even when punished.
None in town suspected it was the Teacher’s doings.
Kitty, on the other hand, was sure. “That teacher ought to be burned at the stake. She is a witch,” she proclaimed up and down the streets of the town.
The pastor, heard the commotion, ordered her out of his sight. But her words rang in his mind. The children continued to behave oddly. Almost like they were possessed. The preacher decided reluctantly, have to look into it someday soon.
The next day, the merchant’s wife came bursting through his doors.
“Quick pastor, quick,” she cried. “Kitty is running through town with a torch, screaming to burn down the school. The children are still in class!”
They raced to the church with other townsfolk who followed them were met by a huge blaze. Frantic parents beat at the flames with wet sacks, or threw buckets of water from the pump into the inferno. I was cackling unrepentantly from the far side of the building.
The church burnt for several hours, and when it was finally extinguished, there was nothing left. Mourning parents salvaged for somerthing of their children to bury.
The teacher’s burnt body was buried deep in the ground, while the children’s smaller bodies were interred beneath wooden crosses. Of all the student’s in the school that fall, only the pastor’s son survived.
To this day, voices can be heard in the graveyard of at Burnt Church, chanting unintelligible words. Sometimes apparitions are seen, and dark walkers who roam the graveyard at night.