by J. Thorn
“But I think you do,” he replied.
Mary shook her head; her hair coiled like snakes.
“Look.”
Mary lifted her head from her hands and looked to the left of the Black Man. At first, she thought he hung lanterns in the trees. Halos of meager light hovered in the air, no longer pursuing her through the forest. She counted dozens of glowing orbs until she realized they were not lights at all. They were the eaters of light.
“What?” she asked.
“Gakis. The hungry ghosts doomed to wander for all time in search of that which will not satiate.”
Mary stood and the gakis remained where they were. The Black Man put his hand out to her.
“They will not harm you unless I command it.”
Her lips trembled and the chill of the night returned now that she stopped running.
“You want to know what they are? You want to see them?”
Mary nodded even though every fiber of her being cried out against it.
“Come,” he said.
On his command, the gakis stepped from the darkness and toward Mary. They hissed and spat, bringing the pungent reek of death and decay. Mary put a hand to her mouth and gagged. The bodies of the creatures were long, but not tall. Their gray, bluish skin stretched over thin bones, looking like it was about to tear in places like the elbows and knees. Not only were they blue, but the skin was greasy and it attracted whatever filth the creature crawled through. Their arms and legs were twice what a normal man’s might be, but they had half the muscle of a child. They all had a distended belly that jutted out from below thin ribs and their necks stretched upward like an ostrich. There was no hair left on their heads, and their eyes sat deep in the skull like chunks of coal. There were two holes where a nose may have been, and then that slit for a mouth. The creatures were shoving blood and excrement into the maw on their face, sallow cheeks smeared with feces, and they had a low moan like a rat.
“They’re hideous,” she said.
“They are you. They are human. It is nothing but greed and unfulfilled desire.”
“Why are they here?” Mary asked.
“It is almost time to open the Portal. They are here to guard it.”
“What is a Portal?”
The Black Man waved his hand and the gakis stepped back into the darkness. Mary could no longer see them, but she could feel their sorrow in her own heart.
“I don’t understand.”
“I have chosen you, Mary Walcott. You shall be my queen on a dark throne, to rule through time. In order to establish our court, we must destroy this one.”
The Black Man removed his hat and turned his face toward her. Mary looked into the eyes of despair, into the face of Gaki.
***
Tituba sat in the cell and waited. She had been in shackles her entire life, some of them made of iron and others composed of threats. She never trusted the white man, although she had to admit a fondness for the girls. Until their first bleed, they were innocent and curious, and Tituba fueled their curiosity of the black arts. Of course, she never called them such nor suggested their origin. In Barbados, she discovered that the will of the children was much more powerful than those of a blatantly insidious nature. She stood and looked out of the hole in the cell wall that functioned as a window. It was large enough to help dispel the stink in the pen but not big enough to tempt escape. The villagers ran from house to house and Tituba could hear the frenetic cries for help. She saw the constable run past as well as Reverend Parris. She even spotted Reverend Hale and wondered how long it would be before he arrived at her cell with his stack of books and promises of eternal salvation.
She sat back down in the dirt that stank of dried piss. Tituba’s fingers traced the scars on her arms, and she felt as though the scar tissue on her back was on fire.
“Tis the time of the reckoning,” she said to the empty cell. “The Black Man has come to pry open the Portal and claim his right to the dark lord’s throne.”
She smiled and giggled until the laughter was so hard that it forced her to double over. She cackled and rocked back and forth while pulling her knees to her chest.
“Ain’t nuthin’ to be done, ain’t no way of protectin’ the white folks from the Black Man’s clutches.”
Tituba wailed and the laughter turned to sobbing. She shook her head back and forth.
“Now da masters gonna feel what it’s like to be the slaves.”
***
“You must have proof.”
“No, I do not,” replied Reverend Parris. “That is for the judge to decide. The judge and the Almighty.”
“I cannot serve the warrant on this,” said the constable.
“His Majesty’s courts have used spectral evidence before. There is precedent.”
“I thought you were a man of the Book, not of the Law.”
“I am well learned in many ways.”
The constable looked at Reverend Parris and could not ignore the determination in the man’s face.
“If you do not take action, Lucifer’s minions will run rampant over our land. The Black Man will corrupt and the red devils will rise up to slaughter our babies in their swaddles.”
“The Witches Hammer. It provides process for evidence gathering, I presume?”
The Constable’s question knocked Parris from his intellectual perch. He removed his spectacles and sat back in his chair, laying his hands on the table between them.
“You have seen the Malleus Maleficarum. I did not expect you to be a Latin scholar.”
The constable nodded and leaned closer to the Reverend.
“I have the slave woman shackled. She shall hang for the Venus glass.”
“Nothing but child’s play. I’m grateful she has been taken into custody, but she is not at the left hand of the Black Man,” said Parris, pausing.
“Should I issue the warrant and the hanging, what if that isn’t the end of the terror? What if the Black Man wants more?” asked the constable.
“That is God’s worry, not yours. You serve the book of law and I’ll serve the book of the Lord,” replied the Reverend.
The constable sighed and grabbed a piece of parchment and his quill.
***
The screams could be heard throughout the village. The sun barely crested the hills dusted with the season’s first frost. Mary’s eyes fluttered and, for a moment, she saw his hideous face. The Black Man now had a name and it felt as disgusting coming from her lips as it did in her head. She stood and walked to the main room where the rest of the family sat around the table.
“There is wailing,” she said to her uncle.
“Aye,” he replied. “Something terrible has happened.”
“What?” Mary asked.
Bridget sat with her head down, unable to look at her cousin.
“The devil is in Salem.”
Mary thought about her conversation with Abigail Williams and she felt like vomiting.
“The children—” Mary’s aunt began before collapsing into a sobbing shamble.
“We feared you had a similar sickness. Word has come that many of the children have been lost during the night.”
“Lost? Where?”
“Dead, Mary. Daddy means they’re dead.”
Mary glanced at Bridget and she thought she could feel her own heart breaking.
“Last night the devil came to Salem and stole the breath of our children. For some reason he has spared our house. Do you know why he would do that, Mary?”
She turned her head sideways at her uncle’s question. Mary tried to lock her emotions and keep them hidden.
“I do not, sir.”
Mary’s uncle looked at his wife and then back to Mary, an unspoken communication common amongst married couples.
“The Reverend says the Black Man was afoot last night, that he sent familiars to kill. He is trying to chase us from the Garden of Eden so that the red devils may rule the profane soil. The Reverend says some folks saw the Black Man last night. O
ther say he had a left hand, that someone of corporal form was with him. Do you know of this, young Mary?”
“I know nothing of which you speak,” replied Mary.
The wretched dreams of the past night returned to her conscious mind. Mary’s face contorted as she tried to determine what was a dream and what was real. She could not lodge Gaki’s hideous face from her mind.
“Liar,” Mary Sibley said. “Tell her, Jonathan. Stop protecting this wicked child. Tell her what hath been seen by the man of God.”
Bridget stood and stormed from the house while Mary clutched the apron around her waist.
“Several villagers came to the Reverend at first light. They knew not to bother Dr. Griggs as their children were already dead. They said they heard filthy noises in the night, and when they looked out of their shutters, they saw the Black Man. He moved through the village with another by his side,” said Jonathan.
“Tell her,” Goody Sibley said. She stomped a foot into the earthen floor.
“The villagers told the Reverend that you were with the Black Man, Mary. They’re saying that you murdered the children.”
“That’s impossible,” Mary said to Jonathan. “I have not left the room since sundown last night.”
“Look.”
Aunt Sibley pointed at Mary’s apron, covered in dark, moist dirt and dead leaves.
Before Mary could say another word, the door thumped from the other side.
“The constable of Salem in service of His Majesty hereby serves a warrant of arrest for one Mary Walcott.”
Mary looked at the door and then into the faces of her uncle and aunt as the constable spoke again.
“The warrant is served. The charge is witchcraft.”
Before the Realm: Degeneration, Act II
Salem 1692
“You know that the devil cannot overcome a minister. You know this?”
Mary Walcott nodded.
“Do you want the sweet light of Jesus to fill your soul?”
Mary nodded again.
Jonathan Hale looked up at Reverend Parris, waiting for a signal to proceed. Samuel tilted his head forward, his eyes fixed on Mary sitting on the witness stand. The other girls sat in the benches reserved for the congregation during the Sunday sermon. Constable Joseph Herrick stood next to the door holding a set of shackles and a length of rope.
“I want to help rid the hidden evil from Salem. I will not rest until every last inch of the colony is returned to the glory of God. Do you want to help me, Mary Walcott?”
“I do, Reverend. I want the light of Jesus.”
Hale smiled and pushed his thinning hair back from his forehead. His white, bony fingers held the holy book tight to his chest.
“I know you do, child. In order for me to help you, you must answer my questions.”
“I saw her specter swallow the life essence from my child.”
“Silence,” Constable Herrick replied to the cry from the back of the meetinghouse. “Silence or you’ll be the next in shackles, Goody Osbourne.”
Hale looked again at Parris and then toward the pulpit where William Stoughton sat, his brow furrowed. Hale knew it would only be a matter of days before one of the most powerful men in the King’s colony would convene the Court of Oyer and Terminer and the hunt would begin. Stoughton was not a man of the cloak and Hale knew he would prefer swift justice over salvation. He grabbed Mary by the shoulders and continued.
“Will you, Mary Walcott, answer my questions?”
“Aye, Reverend. I will.”
“Were you with the Black Man in the forest last night?”
“I saw her,” yelled Sarah Osbourne.
“One more, Goody Osbourne. One more outburst…,” replied Constable Herrick.
Mary continued, “I was in my bed, Reverend. I was not in the woods with the Black Man last night.”
Several girls sighed and Hale turned to them before turning back to Mary.
“Upstanding members of our congregation place your form at his left hand. How say you?”
“I have no recollection of being with the Devil last night,” replied Mary. She hoped she could continue to speak the truth in God’s house.
Hale stood up straight and set his Bible on the stand. He buttoned his coat and wiped a bead of sweat from his upper lip. The constable kept an eye on several of the parents that lost children just hours ago. He swung the shackles from his left hand while staring into the corners of the meetinghouse.
“Reverend Parris,” Hale said. “I would like to question another.”
Parris nodded, not realizing who Hale wanted to talk to next.
“Bring in the slave.”
Gasps filled the air as several of the constable’s deputies walked Tituba into the room, her hands and ankles bound. A girl on the bench collapsed to the floor while another began barking like a dog. Mary looked at Tituba.
“Sit,” said Hale.
The men dropped Tituba into a chair and stood behind her.
“What say you, Tituba? What of the charges brought before you, the mixing of the black arts?”
Tituba shook her head and stared at the floor.
“Did you compact with the devil? Did you sign his book?”
“Nay. I did not compact with the devil.”
Reverend Parris stepped forward with a flogging stick in his hand and pushed Hale to the side.
“Children are dead, Tituba. Confess now and save your soul.”
Hale noticed that Stoughton leaned in as if hanging on Tituba’s response.
“I did not compact with the Black Man.”
Reverend Parris’ arm came up with such velocity that those in the meetinghouse heard the crack of the rod on her back before they saw it. The Reverend reared back and whipped her four more times before Hale could reach over and touch his forearm. Parris looked into the face of Hale, regained his composure, and dropped his arm to his side. Tituba cried, stifling the pain as she did so many times on the plantation in Barbados.
“Did you sign his book?” Hale asked.
“No,” replied Tituba between heavy breaths.
Hale winced as Parris pushed him aside and struck Tituba five more times on the back. Several of the girls laid on the floor of the room while others sat as if in a trance. Mary Walcott sat to Tituba’s right, her eyes open and unblinking.
“God will help you, Tituba. All you have to do is confess your sins to me and I promise His everlasting salvation. Tell us if you were with Lucifer and if there are others that have signed his book and spare yourself from such pain.”
Tituba looked up at Hale through teary eyes. She smiled with a wide grin of white teeth splitting her dark face. She sneered at Parris before speaking.
“Aye, I signed his book.”
Several women in the back of the meetinghouse wailed while all of the young girls on the bench fainted and fell to the floor except for Mary. Parris and Hale stood motionless, their eyes meeting while Stoughton stepped down from the pulpit and made his way to Tituba.
“Who else? Who else signed his book? Name the murderers of our children, Tituba,” said Parris.
Tituba laughed and Parris raised his hand to beat her again when Hale grabbed him by the elbow.
“God loves you, Tituba. He takes sinners into his heart. You know he will forgive your transgressions.”
“Aye, he does. Save me, Reverend Hale. Don’t let the Black Man take my soul.”
“Who else,” Parris said.
“The devil tell me to take you, Reverend Parris. He say I should go to your chambers in the dead of night and slit your throat like a hog. He say you an evil man and that you’d better serve a congregation in the brimstone of Hell.”
William Stoughton looked at Hale and then at Parris. The blood drained from the Reverend’s face and he dropped the beating rod to the ground.
“That’s right, Mista. He say you have a corrupted soul and that it was you responsible for taking the breath of the children, that you forced his hand.”<
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“Lies. All lies,” replied Parris.
“Him say you rid of your wives, Parris. Him say you smother them in their sleep. Like you did the children last night.”
“Enough,” said Stoughton. “Constable. Take the slave and the Walcott girl to the jail until the justices arrive and convene the court. The rest of you get on with the mourning and burying of the dead. I will not have the King’s courtroom turned into a travesty of justice.”
Constable Herrick pushed past Hale and Parris, grabbed Tituba and Mary Walcott, and walked them through the back door of the meetinghouse and toward the jail.
***
Tituba sat on one wall while Mary Walcott sat on the other. Constable Herrick brought a piece of moldy bread and rancid water and placed it on the floor next to the women. Mary could not tell whether Tituba slept the past three nights, as she could not see the whites of her eyes in the dark cell. The whispering and sound of hooves outside the jail kept Mary awake. The other justices were coming, some from as far away as Boston. She stole snatches of sleep when she could until the shackles bit into her wrists hard enough to draw blood and wake her up. Tituba did not eat or speak and Mary did not attempt to engage her either until the slave woman finally raised her head and laughed.
“You don’t know, do you?”
“What say you, Tituba?”
“You don’t know. You seen the Black Man. You talk with him but you don’t know if you signed his book.”
“I have not,” replied Mary.
“You can’t lie to Tituba. I know the truth. Aye, he done lie with you but you don’t know if you in covenant with him. Is that right, Mary Walcott?”
Mary closed her eyes and felt the lack of sleep making her head foggy. She nodded.
“Aye. I don’t think I’ve signed his book. Stoughton had the constable search me for the mark.”
“And they found none.”
“They found none.”
“Tis not how he always makes the covenant. The Black Man don’t always need you to sign his book,” said Tituba.
“He wants me to, but I have not. He showed me his face, the Black Man. He is white, more like gray, and his demons consume the excrement of the damned. He does not look like the Devil in the Book.”
