The year is 1692 and the place is in and around Salem, a village of the Massachusetts Bay colony, located at the root of what would become an infamous scare for the ages. On a quiet and peaceful morning in early autumn, lathered in dew is the grass, with a cool and crisp feel and aroma blanketing the air. The slow turn of the color springing forth from the leaves has provided a picturesque Northeast landscape, with a descending dense and heavy fog serving as an exclamation point.

     Slowly curving throughout the village is a long and winding path leading right up to the church house, a small and simple sampling of architecture serving as the centerpiece of the area in terms of its geography, significance, and vitality. In contrast with the tranquility of nature outside, inside the hearts and minds of churchgoers are overflowing with anguish and anxiety, as harvest season is drawing near and the crops of several farms did not fair well over the previous summer. Growing levels of jealousy, envy, and general distrust and dislike for one another has turned the tempestuous village into a powder keg ready and willing to explode, much like a cauldron boiling and bubbling over.    

Explanations soon mutate and take on an accusatory tone, as the subject of witchcraft inevitably bubbles up from the underlying resentment festering throughout the village. With the approaching turn of the season, the winds of change are upon us, and will soon sweep in and begin their descent upon the shaken community. Color of leaf and season of Earth are only the beginning of this metamorphosis... 

2: Prologue

You are most likely familiar with the historical setting and all of its shameful repercussions. The infamous witch trials, a black eye on the early history of the American colonies. In those days life in and around the Salem area more closely resembled modern day Mecca than modern day Massachusetts, religious differences aside, as daily life was rigorously controlled by the Puritan church, which enforced a strict grip upon its followers.

     This does not forgive or excuse the actions taken yet they must be placed in the proper context, as the British Crown was merely pregnant with its American offspring. Three hundred years later, the term witch-hunt is primarily left to sensationalist caricature. Progress in justice and due process has been made, but ask yourself, have envy and prejudice, along with rushing to judgment and condemnation lessened any since those days of yore? Whether colonial times or contemporary, they may just comprise a bad habit that this young nation is yet to outgrow. Time has a way of exaggerating some aspects of history, yet it also has a way of mitigating and diminishing them just the same. Please keep an open and focused mind, as we blend seventeenth century spiritualism with twenty first century logic into a bowl, or is it a cauldron? Stirring it with a spatula, but it may be a broomstick. See for yourself...

3: Chapter 2

Three hours pass and the church service reaches its conclusion, as the village folk are urged to go in peace, a peace that was drifting like the aforementioned green from nature. Inside the Holdsworth home, housewife Abigail, after weeks of worry at long last admits her fears to husband William, the most prominent farmer in the entire village.

     “I know not what has befallen our village, of what scourge has ravaged our crops. What I do dare speak of, is that summers of old have denied us rain twice as badly, while summer sun has burned thrice as angry, with nary a plant spurned as brown as we hath hold.”

     Peeking out the window, husband and wife look upon where their slave is eating lunch while telling stories to their daughter and other children.

“Adjubah is quite adept and popular with spinning yarns at schoolchildren, harmless I’d reckon, what say you?” asks William.

     “Nay, she is but a polestar of superstition, and hath told many a story in between her tending to the fields, one night her words flooded my ears from yonder, she told the schoolchildren whimsical tales, speaking of magic and flying. I spoke unto thee to desist from speaking to our Helen, and the servant spat before me, uttering, cursed thou gardens,” replies Abigail.

     “I shall banish you to the fields for not being forthright with I of this for which you speak,” responds William, slapping his wife in the cheek. “Fetch me the servant,” he says eyeing the window.

     Circled on the calendars of all in the village the following Thursday evening is the annual Celebration of the Harvest, the social event of the season serving as an annual gathering of food and drink to christen the solstice and bask in the coming of autumn. Nearly the entire village is present, including most of the notable players, Minister Leonard Sankey, Blacksmith Gordon Chatham, Judge Oliver Thatcher, schoolteacher Sarah Townsend, and the Holdsworth family, among others.

     Of particular interest to the village people are two new faces, the minister and schoolteacher. Forty-five year old Minister Sankey has arrived from Concord, New Hampshire to replace a recently deceased head of the church, and is delighted to be a part of this community after having been drawn to the region because of its strong religious values. The fair-haired lovely young schoolteacher, Ms. Sarah Townsend, has recently completed her schooling in Providence, Rhode Island, and is looking forward to her first job working with the Salem schoolchildren. The focus of the evening soon turns to her, as some in town are not pleased with the compassion she exhibits towards Ms. Gertrude Hampton, a poor old woman who had become an ostracized outcast in the community due to a rift she once had with the church.

A pleasant, well-meaning young woman, Townsend is educated and enlightened, a combination that is indeed a rarity in this area. It was her visit to the picturesque landscape and its quaint schoolhouse that made her fall in love with the locale. A visit to an area that soon enough, she will have wished she would never have made...

As the Harvest celebration continues, fervor develops as talk of witchcraft afoot takes center stage between the masses of revelers. In turn, William Holdsworth begins speaking about his slave Adjubah.  

“This woman from the Spanish Caribbean has told my daughter and other children stories of black magic and sorcery, later cursing the crops,” he explains.           Uproar develops, as Holdsworth and others demand to the magistrate in attendance that she must be brought up on charges.

Children are often wiser than their elders give them credit for, and a slew of school children stand in attendance, with two eyes and two ears open, doing the one thing that parents almost always ask of them and almost rarely punish them for-—listening.

The following day in school, one child brings up the subject of witchcraft, a dark and eerie subject as frightening to the youth of this era as much as ghosts or homework would cause alarm to modern children. Ensuing discussion spreads and rankles the classroom, growing the ire of the young schoolteacher. Responding with a declaration of how the notion of witchcraft is preposterous hogwash, and has no scientific basis, Sarah Townsend announces that they will waste nary another minute discussing such rubbish.

The occasional child may be a brilliant prodigy, but as smart as some children are, very few have ever attained the rank of lead detective or district attorney, in part due to a child’s overactive imagination and lack of reducing an event to a specific list of details. Many a child came home that day from school, and told of a teacher spreading ideas of witchcraft, a teacher mind you that some had already looked upon with disdain.

     An emergency town meeting is called as Salem is desperate to put a stop to a problem that is now feared to have multiple sources, as many believe that in addition to Caribbean slave Adjubah, the new schoolteacher may be impure. Noticeably absent is Sarah Townsend, drawing the ire of all in attendance. Nearly everyone present has something to say at the meeting, casting as wide a net as possible to include as many scapegoats as they can, as accusations and finger pointing begins to run rampant. Despite the overwhelming mediocrity in farming conditions, some residents of the village enjoyed a surplus of bountiful, valuable crops while their neighbors did not, although they were clearly in the minority. Some families of seven, eight or nine strong that had never lost children managed through the previous cold and brutal winter with nary an illness, while other families of generally strong health lost multiple children who succumbed to disease.

     As neighbors continue turning against each other in anger and desperation, mass hysteria soon grips the village by the throat. Word spreads about similar happenings in nearby towns, fueling the fire and leading to further delirium about witches. Attorney General Franklin Windsor of the Massachusetts Bay Colony is summoned to serve the village and provide swift justice against the devil and all those who worship him. Charges are formally declared against Adjubah, who becomes the first defendant in Salem charged with witchcraft, although she would be far from the last. The village folk go on their way that evening, returning to their family lives but doing so not in peace. The seeds had been planted, and before long the weeds of witchcraft would stifle what had remained of goodness and decency from the small and formerly sleepy village...

The hated Gertrude Hampton will soon become the second to be charged, with Blacksmith Chatham fabricating a false allegation after witnessing Hampton trespassing across his property for the second time in less than a week. Her actions may not warrant a death sentence, but the powers of vigilantism are on the upswing, as her disobedience does deserve punishment in his eyes, and this will be a means of keeping her forever off his property and ridding the town of its most hated citizen.

     The following Sunday, all eyes turn angrily towards Sarah Townsend as she makes her way into the church, albeit tardy by a span of fifteen minutes. Remaining headstrong in her defense and justification for being absent from the previous meeting, maintaining that her evenings are full to tender towards her garden of fruit and vegetables, as opposed to partaking in such trivial nonsense as a witch-hunt, she denies the existence of witchcraft, admitting how she has shared her thoughts with the schoolchildren. After completing her sentence, much to the chagrin of everyone, she begins to cough, and cough some more, unable to control herself. The calming cool of water pouring down her throat from large gulps brings no satisfaction in scratching the itch, leading her to continue hacking before leaving the church. The disturbance results in the interruption of the sermon, as many immerse themselves in conversation, leading many to argue that the coughing was an adverse reaction for entering the temple of God.

During this time, one of the schoolgirls in attendance begins hyperventilating in fear, a scene drawing the attention of concerned onlookers.

“What is going on here, did your teacher do this to you?” calls out a voice, and then another, as all eyes turn to the girl, nodding her head yes under the intense pressure and scrutiny descending upon her as the church people believe the child to be under the control of the witch. Before long this girl is not the only one reacting wildly, as an assortment of afflictions begin spreading throughout the church amongst the schoolchildren, panic erupting among the elders as Minister Sankey carefully removes his spectacles, and does not help matters with the following statement:                

“My God, my people, I have witnessed this before, this is the disease of astonishment at play, the calling card brought forth from the touch of evil. Our community is undoubtedly plagued with witchcraft. I deserted my hometown of Concord on accord of witchcraft, the devil was upon us there, and he is upon us now!” he declares, raising his arms high into the air, as churchgoers shift their attention back and forth between him, and the various children going crazy. 

4: Chapter 3

Rumors will continue spreading, like a viral or bacterial infection disseminating in closely confined quarters with unsanitary conditions and a collection of people lacking understanding. School children begin pointing to their teacher in droves, as Sarah Townsend is doomed to become the third to be brought up on charges, joining the ill-fated Adjubah and Gertrude Hampton.

“Duly presented to the jurors of our sovereign Lord and Lady, the King and Queen doe present that servant Adjubah, of William Holdsworth of Salem, on charges of witchcraft, in the County of Essex in the Province of the Massachusetts Bay in New England, on this 29th day of September, the year of our Lord, one thousand six hundred ninety two. All shall cometh to order, court is now in session,” declares Judge Thatcher to a courthouse where not an empty seat can be found.

Called to testify is Helen Holdsworth, recalling the mischievous and magical stories of sorcery banded about from the servant tending the fields to her children. Attorney General Franklin Windsor asks if the servant has ever confessed to being a witch, glaring at the witness with a look in his eyes short of patience and heavy with duress. Nodding slowly, the crowd gasps as Adjubah interrupts the questioning, stringing together sentences of broken English in her own defense. Adjubah is later refused the opportunity to testify upon her behalf after she refused to swear upon the Holy Bible, citing her religious differences—-regardless of her ancestral heritage, this rejection of Christ does not reflect well upon her image in Puritan society.

The children of the courtroom exhibit various manifestations of the so-called disease of astonishment, flailing their limbs and crying out in pain, contorting their bodies in agony. Yelping like dogs, they begin dropping to the floor on all floors like raging animals, casting their tongues about, and biting whatever flesh presents itself in the nearby vicinity.

“The disease of astonishment experienced in our sacred sanctuary hath returned, now present unto us in our court of law. Enough, hath thou seen enough to reach decision of unanimity?” asks Judge Thatcher to the jurors, many of them weeping and in shock at the events inside the courtroom as they nod before solemnly bowing their heads in anguish.

To the surprise of no one the verdict reached is unanimous, Adjubah is found guilty of witchcraft and sentenced to death by hanging. Clamoring for leniency given her pregnancy, her plea for appeal is promptly rejected by the court. With a stern gleam in his eyes, Judge Thatcher delivers the affirmation of her verdict.

“Servant of Holdsworth, you are also a servant of the devil, carrying upon thee Satan’s child, spreading your filth and varsy, the remains of your soul a hearth of embers.”

The second trial soon commences, involving the poor beggar Gertrude Hampton, indicted on account of baseless accusations. Formerly a woman whom had always been very nice, well meaning and churchgoing, her husband fell stricken with consumption, perishing and rendering her lonely and penniless, leading to her reclusive state.

Attorney General Franklin Windsor begins ridiculing this poor, aging woman strife with insolvency, insisting that she too is acting in concert and cooperation with this conspiracy of witchcraft.

“Gertrude Hampton is also a link in the chain of this conspiracy of evil and is to blame, her face wrinkled, this wretched hag scorn from the claws of the beast,” describes Windsor continuing his mudslinging, dousing her character through the fire.              

“I would rake thee over the coals but the heat of hell would no doubt provide comfort to thee as opposed to the cold truth of God. How many spells have you cast upon ye good people of Salem, how much havoc have you wreaked upon their crops, their children, their being?”

“I...I...hath done nothing of the sort!” cries Hampton.

“Tears of remorse!” exclaims Windsor to the jury, an audience baited hook line and sinker in his delivery.

Taking the stand to testify as a witness is a neighbor of Hampton’s, beginning to scream as she sees the defendant transforming before her eyes into a green monstrosity, her pale skin slipping off of her face, lips curling to reveal a line of rotting teeth smiling upon her. Hampton looks the witness in the eyes, with pupils that have turned blood red, and delivers a wink.

“Doth thou see this monster?” cries the witness, pointing to the defendant, although nobody seems to notice what precisely she is referring with her initial description.

Instructing Hampton to turn around and face the courtroom audience, she does as she is told, leading to further screaming as the crowd witnesses the same rotting, ghastly green disturbing image of this witch as the witness spoke of. Needless to say, Gertrude Hampton is found guilty and sentenced to be hanged, a verdict unanimous throughout both the jury and the town for that matter, one that even resisted the heartstrings of Ms. Sarah Townsend, struggling to come to terms with just what she had witnessed inside the courthouse.          

“If not for risk of unearthly flight, we shall have hurled thee off a rocky cliff. This beggar before us hast not worthy of the fiber cloths comprising the noose,” explains Thatcher in a demeaning manner.

Gertrude Hampton and Servant Adjubah were mere appetizers for the main course that was Sarah Townsend, and a hungry Salem was ready to feast. Rumored to be the leader in the conspiracy, a standing room only crowd provides an electric atmosphere in the courtroom as the trial of the schoolteacher is set to begin.

     Sarah Townsend, accused of corrupting youth and poisoning their impressionable young minds with witchcraft and devil worship, places her hand atop the bible and pleads not guilty to the charges. Attempting to quell the ordeal with rational thought and logic—-two ideas lost on a village ignited in the frenzy of the witch-hunt, is of no help. It is the explanation of her teaching methods however, that ultimately fans the flames of the village folk, leaving them skeptical and critical of her ideas that are deemed remarkably radical for such a conservative village. Despite teaching biblical theology, science has also been taught, leading many to believe that she is spreading heresy.

      “Of course! The devil has taken possession and set loose this wicked fawn upon our most valuable assets, his claws scratched up and down this one whom is with our children! She is unmarried, one of Satan’s servants carrying out his deeds, she is but a mouser treating the children like vermin in her paws. When were you tempted by the devil, concocting your unholy unity with the serpent?” asks Attorney General Windsor, condemning the embattled teacher.

     “Never! My heart and soul belongs to the church!” she screams in response.

The child that had bore the brunt of her punishment for his classroom malaise seizes an opportunity to seek retribution, doing so in a vengeful manner. Complaining of being “touched by the witch” and made to feel ill, he blasts the teacher for her devilish endeavors. Within seconds, the children in the courtroom begin pointing their fingers towards her as well, some screaming and contorting themselves like they had done earlier, flapping and flailing arms like chickens, hissing like snakes and barking like dogs, throwing objects and refusing orders to obey.

     “Stop this instant!” demands Townsend, ordering that the children cease and desist in their activity, as she chalks the incidents up to adolescent tomfoolery and misguided groupthink.

Taking the stand is an expert, claiming that witches can send venom unto the victim by means of the stare they cast forth upon them. This is the evil that causes the fits, according to the expert, and it may be triggered by the powers of the wicked one at any time that he or she pleases. Court soon recesses for the day, with a doctor examining the children that evening, preparing to testify as to his findings the following morning.

     As court resumes the doctor takes the stand, explaining how he has found nothing physically wrong with the children, no signs of any epileptic episode or any other ailment, psychological or otherwise, concluding that the children are most likely bedeviled by something.

     Most any birthmark, scar, mole, or series of freckles were said to amount to de facto evidence of witchcraft, thus many a woman throughout the village would be de-frocked before the saliva dripping mouths of the court officials. Curiously enough, the pregnant slave and the aging eyesore each managed to escape this test while the young, virginal Sarah Townsend was not so lucky, paraded around the courtroom and examined from head to toe as each and every assortment of naturally occurring details of the anatomy were under investigation.

      “She sinned in a most unholy matrimony with the serpent, selecting damnation over the path towards salvation!” screams Windsor, as doctors and others point out various witching marks throughout her body.                   

“Enough!” cries young Eleanor Bailey, the fifteen-year old teacher of the nursery school neighboring the schoolhouse.

“Ms. Sarah is an honorable, God-fearing young woman, whom has done many a fine thing for thou community in the short while she has hath been here. I know not of the likes of foul witchcraft or of any sorceress afoot, but let I place thine hand on thou holy sacrament before thou hath condemned an innocent to death,” cries Bailey between sobs.

     “That is enough, young lady!” shouts Judge Thatcher, slamming his seventeenth century gavel into the oak wood below.

     Just then, a most peculiar incident occurs, as Sarah Townsend begins floating in mid air like a feather riding along the breeze, slowly rising to the ceiling like a hot air balloon. Unable to speak, her frightened eyes look around in consternation, as nary a word is spoken by a gasping courtroom. My God, something supernatural must be afoot after all, she thinks to herself.

     Slowly descending back to her seat, she begins crying and shouting in a terrified panic, opening the floodgates of her emotions as she knows this incident will not go unscathed in the court records or ignored by the bloodthirsty village folk, and she best drown in her own tears as opposed to the murky, savage waters of a nearby river.

“Care to explain yourself, your failed attempt at escaping justice from God? Perhaps the time is nigh to subject thee to the swim test, or would the river refuse to accept thee?” asks Windsor.

     It is at this moment that the gravity of reality fully immerses itself around the mind of the young schoolteacher, knowing that there is nothing more she can do in order to spare her life. A slanted courtroom and due process rights loosened up as they were had likely been enough to seal her fate, but this unexplained phenomenon has been the nail in her coffin. Glancing at the cross towering high above the courtroom, Townsend ponders for a moment, eyes welling up as she attempts to save the life of others and end the panic.

     “If I deliver to thee a full confession, will thou release Ms. Servant Adjubah, and Ms. Gertrude Hampton?” she asks to Judge Thatcher.

     Looking sternly below his bench, the curmudgeonly judge delivers his response. “Nay, although if ye admit your central role in the conspiracy, rest assured I shall suspend the witch-hunt indefinitely,” replies Judge Thatcher.

     “As long as thou save from future torments Ms. Eleanor Bailey, my students and others whom fly in the flock of the lord. Very well. I confess,” declares Townsend to the court in an effort to help end the madness, tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Confession accepted. Therefore, by the power invested and established by this court I sentence you, Ms. Sarah Townsend to death by hanging,” announces Judge Thatcher, with a look of disgust painted across his face as he casts a stare down upon the soul of the damned.

5: Chapter 4

Roughly half of the village arrives at the gallows on the date of execution, while the other half remain at home, afraid that the convicted witches may lash out in one final, awesome display of power and vengeance. The scene has turned quite shameful and disturbing, as the village folk excitedly gather and watch as the condemned are trotted out and rounded up together before they are to be hanged.

“Why hath thou not push me off a cliff, if indeed a witch I am, fall I shall not, fly I shall,” asks Townsend, hoping to prove to the village people her claim that she is not a witch, nor are any of the others.

     “Risk allowing thou witches a chance to flyeth away? Nay,” declares Judge Thatcher.

Praying for God to help guard over their souls, the villagers fail to mention a word in prayer for the alleged practitioner of witchcraft, convinced that their willful descent into darkness has branded them unworthy of any light of grace from the Lord. The Sheriff begins the noose fitting procedure as the convictions are read aloud to the growing crowd assembled before him.                            

“Duly presented today on this 13TH day of October, in the year of our Lord, one thousand six hundred ninety two, under the jurisdiction of our sovereign Lord and Lady, the King and Queen, doe present the proclamation of death unto three subjects, Ms. Servant Adjubah, Ms. Gertrude Hampton, and Ms. Sarah Townsend. The former two hath been convicted of witchcraft, the latter convicted of covenanting with the devil himself, in the court of the Honorable Judge Oliver Thatcher. May God hath nay mercy unto thou souls for their treacherous actions and complicity binding into this most notorious devil’s conspiracy against Salem, Massachusetts Bay, our King and heavenly father,” proclaims the Sheriff. “Any last words?”

     Two of the condemned stand silently, choking back the tears that have gathered in their eyes, much too afraid of what is to come to extract a final thought from their quivering lips. Ms. Sarah Townsend, on the other hand, was a far different story.

“Fare thee well, Salem. Forgive them God, for they hath been blinded, yet I shall curse thee, for their foul transgressions,” declares Sarah Townsend, with a menacing look emblazoned in her eyes as her gaze turns upon the crowd.

     Moments later, the floor is released from underneath them, and the three women are hanged as they fall to their deaths. The necks of the first two are broken instantly, producing a loud snapping crack whose sound carries and reverberates through the throngs of witnesses. Meanwhile the vertebrae of Townsend remains intact as she struggles, choking for about five seconds before falling silent, her corpse bobbing softly in the wind with the others, looking into the crowd with dead, tormented and suffocating eyes. Her gasping struggle and final act serves to validate her role as the lead witch in the conspiracy, a fact that was to be denoted in the record books.

     The bodies of the deceased are cut down and thrown into shallow graves as the raucous crowd began to filter out. The custom at this time was for families of the departed to retrieve their loved ones and bury them in separate and unmarked graves. Ms. Eleanor Bailey waited for nightfall to unearth the body of her friend and colleague Sarah Townsend, opting to bury her in the vicinity of the schoolhouse, as she believes that is what she would have wanted.

     Had she been able to see beyond her time, she surely would be rolling in her grave and left to weep, for the dearly departed Sarah Townsend has died in vain as the witch-hunt continues over the ensuing weeks. The hysteria blanketing the village is showcased as the groupthink essentially takes hold, with one baseless accusation leading to another in an endless maze of absurdity. Casting out the names of all whom they despise, arrests develop swiftly as the progress of the magistrates crawls to a snails pace. Why were children, teenagers, and even adults so willing and eager to turn on their friends and neighbors? Some did it for attention—-narcissism is not confined to the twenty-first century, and it was not quite as readily achievable in the late seventeenth century as it is today. For others it was born out of jealousy and envy, on account of property rights, church standing, or miscellaneous reasons even more ridiculous. One woman accused another whom had married the man she had loved, and as that man’s wife was pronounced guilty, the accuser could only smile widely from the audience as the condemned was dragged off on the path towards her inevitable demise. Truth be told, the only “right” enjoyed by the accused or any defendant at this time was the right to a “speedy” trial.

     Defendants put on trial and ultimately cleared of the charges or found not guilty were an exceedingly rare occurrence. This is a bastion of good fortune that befell upon Blacksmith Gordon Chatham, whom had been the most prestigious and high-ranking citizen to date to be charged. When his child to be had died unexpectedly, succumbing to a stillbirth, gossip spread that Chatham did not wish to care and provide for yet another child. Why, Felicity Chatham was as healthy as a thoroughbred, with a pure soul to match, having previously given birth to six perfectly healthy children. How could she have lost this child, lucky number seven? Dovetailing off that point, was it possible that Gordon Chatham not the father, and could he have requested the help of the devil in a pact to thwart a sinful birth, fighting unholy evil with unholy evil? That line of thinking was what many were led to believe in the weeks to come.

     Fortunately for the blacksmith, evidence was hard to come by at trial, as children in the audience sat quietly and tight lipped throughout. These facts, along with his charitable attributes to the community and most importantly his value thereof, led to the granting of his release by Judge Thatcher. 

     Yet as prominent as blacksmith Chatham had been, a soul of far greater significance was soon to be placed upon the wake of death. After all, the black cloud of witchcraft had lingered stationary over the village in the aftermath of the initial and subsequent hangings. The true culprit had remained at large-—until now that is. The magistrates took in this most vital formal complaint, meticulously combing it and had it signed off by the judge.

     So it began, the final trial. Good seeking justice over evil, one that would divide the town between skeptics and believers—-regarding the guilt of the defendant, that is. Between the face of Gertrude Hampton and the magic floating act of Sarah Townsend, along with her struggle at the gallows, there were no skeptics of witchcraft remaining at this point-—at least none that were publically vocal about it.

     As the ultimate trial commences, Attorney General Franklin Windsor delivers his opening statement: “Be it said, that the clutches of witchcraft have spread like wildfire, not unlike the flames of hell! The searing, blistering warmth that you should be quite familiar with, you sly, slithering serpent! Even some of the most religious and devout amongst the village folk here and across the colonies have proveth to be deviant fowl of Satan and conductor of witchcraft. We hath cleansed Salem of countless swine, yet the foremost leader championing this savage battle stands before us today, and how often it is that the true miscreant is the one whom thou would least suspect? Good morrow Minister Leonard Sankey, of what hath Lucifer command upon thee on this day?”

     “Pray pardon me?” responds the minister.

     “You cometh to our village by way of Concord, speaking of having witnessed such calamity firsthand and possessing knowledge thereof. Before your arrival, Salem was but a peaceful community, now it lay tattered in ruin, soiled by darkness. While the crops of your parishioners’ fail and rot in dankness, thou hast sported a garden of such lush and green as to resemble the Garden of Eden. Nay, thou are no gardener or farmer, thou art allegedly a man of God. Thus, how is it that your crops blossom within but a day, a feat only possible via means of black magic? Thou may trick Adam or Eve, but not Salem village!” insists Windsor, as the crowd roars in approval.

     As the trial continues one child testifies, pointing to the defendant, and claiming that his apparition had appeared before him, frightening him in the night. Against this allegation of spectral evidence the defendant Minister Sankey presents an alibi defense that is ironclad, for he was at the home of Blacksmith Chatham at said time. Yet the alibi is ridiculed and ignored by Windsor, even when Sankey’s friend, Blacksmith Chatham, rises to his feet to interrupt the cross examination, claiming that he was indeed with Sankey at the time of the alleged vision experienced by the child.

     Carefully removing his spectacles, Judge Thatcher clears this throat. “Citizen Chatham, the devil can be in multiple places at once. Channeling this power through witchcraft, anyone under this spell possesses the power to do likewise.”

     “Then, thou ought explain anything by this black magic,” declares Chatham.

      “The devil could theoretically then take the shape of anybody! What could I possibly say to appease thou?” chimes in Minister Sankey.

     “Minister Leonard Sankey, established legal precedent provides for the admittance and authenticity of spectral evidence, as well as the fact that the devil cannot appear in the shape of one without their permission. These are the barriers of protection that are established by God, not of this court. As a minister of the church, you should be more familiar with this than anyone,” explains Judge Thatcher.

6: Chapter 5

Stating his affinity for the lord and the church, the accused places his hand atop the thick cover of the bible, conveying a recitation of the Lord’s Prayer. This was a test administered to defendants as it was believed any underlings of evil could not properly put the prayer into spoken language, whereupon any mistakes, however slight, would be used against them as evidence of witchcraft. While past defendants had faltered under the intense scrutiny of tremendously heavy pressure, Minister Leonard Sankey delivers a magnanimous, brilliant rendition that is linguistically executed to perfection, free from mistake, pause, or trembling of the vocal chords.

     Agitated with the response and unconvinced for the record, Franklin Windsor surmises a further test. “This cross, I shall place atop the heads of random members of the community, and then of thou, Minister Sankey. The cross cannot touch a minion of evil without causing an adverse reaction.”

     Revealing a crucifix, Windsor waves it to the crowd, resting it on the heads of three very nervous bystanders in attendance. Each is afraid deep down of something occurring and drawing attention by random chance, luckily though, there are no incidents. Minister Sankey calmly smiles and closes his eyes, as the cross is placed on his forehead, unfazed and unafraid of the veiled threats of any hocus-pocus. His serenity is shattered by a loud scream emitted from the pit of his soul as a thick cloud of black steam rises from his crown, the shape of a crucifix burned into his forehead as the cross is removed.

     “The devil is amongst us!” reveals Windsor to a terrified crowd. The exclamations of unbridled shock inevitably subside, giving way to a mob scene en masse, leading to chants of “hang the heretic!” and “burn the warlock!” which promenade through the courthouse rafters.

     “What was that crucifix composed of? Tis laced with fire, such was tempered so hot as to brand thine bones,” announces Minister Sankey, attempting to rationalize the situation as Thatcher bangs away at the gavel in effort to silence the defendant.

     The figurative torches and pitchforks slowly are silenced as a child in the courtroom begins shaking violently and shouting incoherently and uncontrollably, as if the words are being squeezed and shaken out of from his mouth.

“Jonathon? What is wrong? Jonathon?” asks his mother, as each pair of eyes in the courtroom attach themselves upon the child stricken by the witch. A plume of smoke soon emanates from his eyes, ears, nose and mouth as he begins moaning in distress. Anguishing for another several seconds the boy erupts in an explosion of flames, spontaneously combusting for no apparent reason and roasting alive for all to see, his sharp cries of agony melting away to silence, burning with the rest of his body as his mother screams horrid outbursts of unrestrained passionate sorrow.

     “Our children are not safe in the presence of the devil!” shout concerned parents who rush to exit the courtroom.

     “Never in my life have I seen such a violent outburst of deviant barbarism! Minister Leonard Sankey, I shall lay down upon thee the only punishment I see fit. Thou burneth an innocent child alive, and just as the cross of our lord hath burneth away at thou blackened soul, thou too will suffer said fate,” declares Judge Thatcher.

     Unlike the excessive crowd that had descended upon the gallows to witness the hanging of the first three convicted of witchcraft, Salem was overcome with fear when it came to the sacrilege displayed by Sankey, the thought of a wicked pawn walking in the holy sacrament of the righteous was enough to frighten every man, woman and child walking the grounds of Salem in 1692. Due to the crucifix burning away at his traitorous flesh and the blazing murderous inferno exhibited for all to see, the scene was bereft of witnesses as the copious stacks of wood were assembled for an old-fashioned ritualistic burning.

     The limited number of souls in attendance that do make their way to the location will soon experience a most ghastly and grisly sight, but first they are treated to the following declaration by the town Sheriff: “For committing such abominable blasphemous actions of disgusting wickedness upon the village, and harboring such an invisible perversion in the house of God, it is clear beyond a shadow of a doubt that your heresy transcends all bounds of earthly conduct and rises, or shall I say falls, in to the degree of treason against God, surpassed only by the supreme sin committed by your worshiper Lucifer himself as he sinned in rebellion against our heavenly father. As opposed to the standard method of execution conducted here in the colonies, the gravity of your callous actions deems you unworthy the dignity of hanging lifelessly at the end of a rope. Therefore by the power conveyed to me by his Excellency the Governor, it is only proper that an exception shalt be made incorporating the method utilized by our French cousins, as thou shalt be burned alive at the stake, leaving Earth just as you shall enter upon your fiery eternal punishment in hell.”

     Pleading for his life is Minister Sankey, begging, repenting, crying and praying to the heavens above, his praying falling unanswered and leading to insults, rocks, and other objects hurled at the tormented and desperate man from the shallow crowd. Blacksmith Chatham was in attendance and watched the process unfold before his eyes, and would later describe the scene to William Holdsworth.        

“The fire was set, and in minutes the wailing and piercing shrieks grew louder in conjunction with the tenacity of the flames and the ever-rising cloud of smoke, it were as though he continued screaming while the skin of his face shriveled up and gave way to the bones of his jaw and skull. Thou could hear, but could no longer see what was transpiring before us as the smoke blackened into a thick cloud, and soon forth thou too lay us in silence, as the charring subsided and we were left to nothing but cinder and ash.”                                   

With that, the final execution was complete, as the witch-hunt seemed to die along with Minister Leonard Sankey. There would be no further accusations made, as they fell from the scene like the leaves that have long disappeared from the now barren trees. There would be no more charges filed that were dipped in black magic, as the courthouse would be free of any further trials involving witchcraft. Minister Sankey’s death had released the deathly grip of evil that had sunk its teeth upon the village, and within weeks neighbors began slowly trusting each other once again, as the former wrath and envy gave way to an unfamiliar peace that cooled throughout Salem much like the coming cold of winter. It appeared, and all throughout the village were convinced, that the witch-hunt in Salem was at long last a thing of the past...

     Entering the courthouse that evening in order to reveal an item to Judge Thatcher is the nursery school teacher, Ms. Eleanor Bailey.

“Ah, Ms. Bailey, please join us if you will,” announces Thatcher, as she finds that Franklin Windsor has congregated along with Thatcher in his chamber.

     “After hours, is it not? Doth thou hath a complaint or allegation to be made?” he asks.

     “Nay,” she replies.

“Good, than perhaps you wish to join us in a drink?” he asks.

     “What beverage do you offer?” she asks.

“Whisky, heavy on content, light on eye of newt, with a splash of fox blood and a pinch of eagle’s talon,” replies Thatcher.

     “Praise onto thee!” replies Bailey cheerfully.

“What a coincidence Sister Eleanor, for I was just discussing with Brother Oliver how I am going to miss indulging my sweet tooth,” declares Windsor.

     “Yes, trampling upon the prayerful, pious, pretentious, sanctimonious spiders tangled in this ecclesiastical web has been most satisfying,” replies Thatcher.

     “Oh, Ms. Sarah Townsend, how I once loved thee,” explains Windsor with a heavy sigh. “She had once been a cunning, inconspicuous hag whom had sinned with many a man in her younger days, though she mixed with the enemy and ultimately became a thorn implanted within thine ass.”

     “This was why I stood up for her! The hag was not all bad, she had fought to protect me,” declares Bailey with a snicker, slapping Windsor.

     “Unfortunately there are no more worth doing away with here, for there be nay a soul in the village without whom possesses a skeleton or two in his closet. Why, look no further than our friend hath spared, blacksmith Chatham, also a blackmailer, accomplished adulterer, and one who murdered a man once upon a time in the countryside--a true servant spreading our Lord’s work,” explains Windsor.

     “Huzzah, I say to thee, as we move about from village to village throughout the new world, spilling the blood of the righteous and cleansing out the sheep that remain fleeced in his flock. The days of witch trials may be coming to a close, but there are other ways in which we shall conduct our operation!” boasts Judge Thatcher.

     “Huzzah!” All three emphatically shout, raising their drinks in a toast.

     “What village be next?” asks Windsor.

“It matters not,” replies Thatcher.

      “Carry on Sister Eleanor, one more drink, and we shall be not far behind you,” explains Thatcher.

     “See you both soon,” replies Bailey with a cackle as she departs, opening the heavy courthouse windows, flying upon her broomstick and meandering off into the dark of the night, eager to bring forth torment along with her colleagues to a new village, wherever that may be.

7: Epilogue

In all over twenty souls were put to death during the Salem Witch Trials, others were imprisoned while countless others bandied about over two hundred baseless allegations or stood idly by between the commencement and climax of the madness, many doing so not out of fear or ignorance. Among the hallmark principles championed by mankind is the concept of justice, although this noble purity of righteousness is often diluted and distorted, perverted into a perspective more reminiscent of an individual point of view as opposed to any objective measure. This regrettable fact of life is far more frightening than any secret coven or compact with the Devil.

     Agenda driven miscarriages of justice fueled by fear and hysteria were not born in Salem nor did they die there, and to experience them firsthand you would not need to take a time machine and travel back to 1692. Keep the preceding in mind should the winds of change sweep on through your town, or conversely if the stagnant air mass of the status quo remains intact. In any event, a coming calamity steeped in preordained judgment with the momentum of a runaway freight train bringing about a bandwagon of barbarity may come rumbling through your city, perhaps parking in your neighborhood. Keep a keen and close eye out, as the riders aboard will not come dressed in black with pointed noses, wearing pointy hats or riding on broomsticks. Then again, it may be wise to leave nothing to chance under the imagination as anything is possible, and historical records are inaccurate and sketchy at best...

 

END