One Night in Salem

by Amber Newberry

  Tears again filled Brian’s eyes, blurring his vision once more.

  “I don’t have any more time to waste on you, boy, we have a long night ahead of us. This is our busy season, after all.” More chuckles from the people around him

  Through his tears, Brian saw the man raise his arms above his head.

  “Dear Lord, we thank you for bringing us a minion of our Enemy on this, the Devil’s Infernal Day. We send him to his master, to rid this earth of his evil, and to bring you everlasting glory, and we await the return of your Son, in the hopes that you find us worthy to sit at your right hand. In Jesus Christ’s name, we honor you.” The man made the sign of the cross with the knife. “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.” Brian heard the others say “amen” in response, as the knife fell, plunging into his chest.

  As the body finished spasming on the ground, the Preacher had one of his disciples drag the body to the pile. He cleaned his knife with his robe.

  “Alright, let’s go find us another one.”

  1644

  wind whispers

  Erin Crocker

  Step, do we, off the wooden structure that served as a home for many months. My legs do shake beneath my body, as if they are very small birds I once watched whilst taking tea with Mother. Bleed, does the ground, beneath our tattered shoes, and one shocking thud sounds. The skies do pour with waters and drench our tangled hairs and well-worn clothes.

  A bearded man commands us, “Back to ship we shall go. The Lord hath sent us rain, and we shall praise him for what he doeth.” Hasten, do we all, and take our refuge and pray all the evening. Ages pass; the sky does open and rays of sun drift from clouds above, as though God himself did bestow them upon us.

  We have set out to join our Godly brethren, in this Massachusetts Bay Colony; freely shall we worship amongst those in this village. Scolded, was I, by an elder woman, stern of face. “Child, thou mustn’t idle, for the Devil dwelleth in ladies who are to stand at ease when God hath provided abundant sunshine in which we shall toil.”

  Clench, do my thirteen-year-old fingers, as she looketh upon me with proper dismissal and taketh her leave. Once again, do I bend to experience the essence of the reddest rose, and as I lean to admire the deepest crimson, the breeze does sing.

  Whilst leaveth thy summer sun,

  The Harvest Moon shall come,

  and bestow herself on thee li’l one,

  ‘til whispers of the wind are none.

  Mother’s hands grasp my boney shoulders until they begin to burn. She looks upon me with a great fury in her eyes. “Dost thou have no regard for nature? Thou yearneth to pluck this flower from the dirt, is this not so? My head she doth turn to meet her gaze.

  “No, Mother,” comes my solemn reply.

  “Deceive me not, child. Hears thy heart, does Nature. For an entity of her own is she.”

  “Woman!” A voice doth bellow from behind us. “Or art thou a witch?”Points he, at us, with an engorged, hairy finger.

  Mother standeth before me as I cower meekly. Around us, a congregation forms. People do layer themselves, as if they were a thick fence and we, the cattle. On top of me, nearly, do I find my mother, her black dress a shroud. Vanish, do I into its darkness. Yelling from all directions doth fall upon mine ears, and a wet drop forces a path down my crimson cheek.

  “Witch!” A grey-haired woman does screech, a babe at her side. The child reaches for the ground. His tiny hands do pluck a stone of jagged edge. The sharp object soars at my mother and grazes her pale cheek.

  “Kill them both, shall we! For surely, the Lord doth not condone wickedness in this Holy township!”

  The largest of men does step into the circle and holds up an unwieldy hand to the outraged crowd. “Murder them shall we not.” Looks he, to my mother. “Goody, art thou a witch?”

  “Good sir, no, a witch am I not,” answers she.

  “Surely, woman, thou shalt confess— why dost thou talk to nature so, if ye deny thyself a witch?” Grim, is his face.

  “Sir, a creation of God is nature. Teaching my daughter, was I,” explains she.

  Contemplates on her words, does he, for ages. “Banished!” yells he, to the crowd. “Both are banished to the forest. For, worship we, none but our Lord God! Worship nature, do we not,” scolds, he, the crowd.

  “Sir, my daughter…” Mother does plead.

  “Naught, shall I hea—”

  Steps forward, a woman from the crowd. “Goodman Chadwick and I have want for assistance, shall we take the girl? For young is she, and mendable is her soul and her mind. Bend, wilt she, to our ways. Idle shall she not be.”

  Mother expresses a long breath.

  The very large man does respond. “Very well, be it as the Goody Chadwick wishes.”

  Turns, my mother, and outstretches her arms. I’m given not the time to curl my very small frame into them, before she is dragged away to the forest that stretches beyond our wooden gates. The townspeople do part. A sharp pang does ring through my ear, which burns as it does so. Realize, I, the lady tugs at my ear. I put forth a great effort to remain silent. “Come along, sawsbox. For God hath not yet done with thee. Thou shalt labour for penance. For, the Lord hath spake and he shall forgive thee.”

  Two young children have Goodman and Goodwife Chadwick. Silence, is the name of the young boy and Abstinence is the name belonging to the girl. Spitting upon my face is the activity the two children take joy in. Work, do I, before the sun doth rise and for long hours after the sun doth set. Goody Chadwick believes my repentance to be her duty, and travel with the family, do I, to church. In prayer, is my time of rest, yet I find the rough benches quite grueling against my torn back and buttocks.

  Sinning, was I always. Goodman Chadwick sayeth to me one evening. “Child, I shall whip the spirit of God into you.” And he tries. Oh, he does try. Puts he, much more than the spirit of the Lord into me after worship services. I am not in the shed with him, yet, spicy wooden scents do cause peril enough in my nose, and I find myself faint.

  On the eve of the full moon, the same night of the Celtic holiday of Samhain, were we walking the fields to our home. Took leave of church, did we, early, as did the whole of the congregation, where my eyes partook of a flower, again ‘twas of the darkest red. Stopped, I, for one moment, whereupon a song of the brightest heaven did grace my fragile ear.

  Whilst leaveth thy summer sun,

  the Harvest Moon shall come,

  and bestow herself on thee li’l one,

  ‘til whispers of the wind are none.

  “What art thou doing, child?” Scorns Goody Chadwick.

  “Listening am I, to nature.”

  She calls upon her husband. “To the shed, thou must drag her.”

  Heaves me upon his shoulder, does he. I cannot kick at him, nor can my miniature arms fight for assistance. The details of what happens in that shed shall not be disclosed, for ‘tis not details that are of significance when a boney body is tossed from the safety of its colony. Torturous moments of the most horrific nature need not be divulged when a human life is thrown, barely breathing, to the unforgiving arms of the forest.

  My lips, for they are the only piece of me able to move as I lay soaked in the blood of oiled-dirt, hum, “W-whilst leaveth thy s-summer s-sun…t-the Harvest Moon…bestow h-herself o-on…wind a-are n-non.” For now, too weak am I. Yet smile, does the full moon as if she owns knowledge that I have not.

  A voice does come through, as the wind does pick up.

  Whilst leaveth thy summer sun,

  The Harvest Moon shall come,

  and bestow herself on thee li’l one,

  ‘til whispers of the wind are none.

  My mother recognizes my nearly dead ears. Wobble beneath me, do my legs, as if I were once again being born by the large boat. My body does not rest against the earth. Strong are my thin, long limbs. Determined, is my breath. Soldiers, are my lungs. I find in my image to be that of a doe, a brilliantly colored
adult deer. Sharp are my teeth, like needles, I do not lie, for this is true. Jump, can I. My body does clear the wall as I totter to the cabin of the Chadwicks’.

  Hurry, my child

  your deed you must do,

  whilst full is thy moon,

  thy body doth bloom.

  Beautiful am I, graceful. I push my body against the frail door. Stomp my way into the one room, do I, where I find that the family is eating, quite well. Remorse for the dying girl’s body, show they not, for they dine as if I no longer exist.

  My teeth are sharp, they are knives against flesh. Blood does stream against my satin, brown coat, until my stomach does fill. Scream, do they not, for once the self-righteous silence themselves in the face of truth.

  Finish, I, and join my mother amidst a welcoming forest. Part of it, have I become. My mother explains. “For, my child, we are Wind Whispers. The wind shall we be, the reddest flowers amongst the field. The hymn of breezes. Form into creatures of grace, shall we, upon a Harvest Moon. Suffer, we not, for nature is our home.”

  She takes me in her arms as our bodies do flow, from delicate beings, to Samhain winds. In Mother Nature’s cradle, do we wait. For return soon, shall the Harvest Moon.

  2013

  a ghostly tour

  Kevin Lewis

  “Jake!” a voice cried out. “Earth to Jake, hello?”

  Jake Collins came to and realized he was still standing in line for a haunted tour through Pioneer Village. He cracked a smile at his two best friends, Billy Forbes, and Mike Connors.

  Billy and Mike were dressed as members of the zombie horde, while Jake dressed up as, well, himself. He was not in the Halloween spirit this year. After last year, he wasn’t sure he’d ever be in a spooky mood, again.

  “You okay there, buddy?” Billy asked.

  “Yeah, of course,” Jake answered. He closed his eyes and shook his head. When he opened them, he said, “I don’t know if this was such a good idea.”

  “Of course it’s a good idea,” Mike said, balling his hand into a fist and playfully punching Jake in the shoulder in a show of support. “You had a horrible year. 2013 is almost at a close, and you’ve made great strides. Plus, it’s Halloween! And we’re in Salem—Halloween central!”

  Jake nodded, not so much in agreement but to placate his two friends. He wanted to tell them it was hard for him to return to The Haunted Village. It was here that he had met Sarah. Soon, they began dating. And it was here that—last Halloween—the two had a huge fight, which continued on the car ride home—ending in a horrible accident.

  A year later and the accident still haunted Jake.

  Jake glanced away from his friends and stared off into the woods. Something caught his eye and he had to do a double take. A woman, dressed as a vampire, face pale, with obviously fake blood, looked at Jake. He couldn’t believe his eyes.

  “Sarah?”

  “Dude, what did you say?” Billy asked.

  “Don’t you see her?”

  Mike and Billy stared in the direction Jake pointed. They turned their gaze to their friend, expressions filling with concern.

  “There’s no one there, Jake,” Mike said.

  “But…” Jake looked once again in the direction of the woods only to find Sarah gone.

  She was just there!

  “Next group!” the attendant shouted.

  “That’s us,” Billy said.

  Jake, Billy, and Mike stepped into the attraction. Billy and Mike were both excited to experience cheap thrills in this Halloween tour.

  Jake was only concerned about running into the ghost of his dead girlfriend.

  * * *

  Screams echoed in the cool October night. They came from terrified children who tried in vain to run away from the ghoulish actors in costume. The screams also came from parents playing along with the actors to add to their children’s Halloween experience.

  Jake, Mike, and Billy walked through the tour. The night’s festivities entertained Mike and Billy to no end. At one point, a ghoulish woman, dressed in white, followed them around. Mike and Billy told the woman Jake’s name, so the actor said, in a creepy tone, “Jake! Jake!”

  Jake gasped in fright and quickly spun around. “Sarah!” he shouted.

  “No,” the actor said, still staying in character. “I am Agatha, and I have been done a terrible wrong. Three hundred years ago, I was murdered by my one true love. I travel these haunted grounds searching for him…searching for justice!”

  “Jake, what’s gotten into you?” Billy asked.

  “Yeah,” Mike agreed. “You’re acting really weird.”

  What’s wrong with me? Jake thought. Am I truly losing it?

  They continued on with the tour.

  Up ahead was a small, wooden house made to resemble those of colonial Salem. The actress led the young men inside. In the corner of the room was a small table. On top of it was a black book with a pentagram emblazoned on the cover.

  “It is in this house that Josiah Freeman is said to have conjured the Devil himself!”

  The ghoulish woman continued on, but Jake paid her no attention. Instead, he fixed his gaze across the room—at Sarah. She stared at him with a melancholy look upon her face. She shook her head in disappointment. Jake walked over to her.

  “Why did you do it?” she asked him.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I thought you loved me!”

  “I did…I do love you.”

  “Then why did you let me die? You could have saved me!”

  Jake shook his head in frustration. No, this isn’t happening. She’s not real— it’s all in my head!

  “But I am real, Jake. And I want you to remember!”

  Sarah stretched her hand out and gripped Jake’s arm. He felt a whoosh and a jolt as he was transported back in time—to a year ago, that very night. It had been a chilly Halloween in 2012.

  “Don’t fucking lie to me, Jake! I saw you flirting with Jennie!”

  “I was just talking to her, Sarah. That’s all. We have a skit together in the fall program, and it’s just the two of us. I have to talk to someone during breaks.”

  “Don’t give me that crap!” Sarah shouted. She just wouldn’t let it go. “I know you’ve been eying her ever since she joined the troupe.”

  Jake shook his head. “It’s all in your head.”

  Jake turned onto Lafayette Street. It was a long stretch of road. The sidewalks were crammed with people enjoying the holiday. Children in costume ran up and down the street, hungering for candy and, quite possibly, a few scares as well.

  “I can’t do this anymore,” he said.

  “Can’t do what?”

  “Us.”

  Silence filled the car. All Jake heard was the car engine running and screaming from the trick-or-treaters outside. He turned down Harbor Street, hoping to find it less congested with people.

  Sarah’s angry voice shattered the silence.

  “Are you breaking up with me?”

  “I don’t know. I just think we need some time apart, is all.”

  He truly meant what he’d said. He merely wanted to put the relationship on pause for the moment. Jake couldn’t take Sarah’s jealousy anymore, and thought some time apart would calm her down.

  Sarah didn’t see Jake’s way of thinking.

  “You bastard!” she roared. She shoved Jake’s shoulder.

  “Sarah, stop it! I’m driving!”

  “Fuck you!” was her only response.

  Jake turned onto Congress Street. More children, teens, and parents walked about on the sidewalk. The ocean was on their right, the docks barren of boats.

  The pounding continued from Sarah. They became more powerful with each punch, her boney fist painful against his arm. The car entered the Congress Street Bridge.

  “Stop, Sarah! You’re hurting me!”

  “I don’t care! Go to Hell!”

  SMACK! SMACK!

  Jake couldn’t take it anymore. He returned the
favor by shoving Sarah. Let’s see how you like it! Her head bashed up against the front passenger window, and he immediately regretted his response to her anger.

  “Oh, my God! Sarah? I’m so sorry!”

  Sarah moaned in pain. Jake stared at his girlfriend, trying to see if she was all right, taking his eyes off the road.

  “Say something!”

  She did. “Jake, watch out!”

  Jake returned his gaze to the road. He was so concerned for Sarah that he didn’t realize he had begun to veer off the road. Jake was driving so fast, he didn’t have time to stop. The car flipped over the steel railing. Jake grabbed a hold of Sarah to protect her, even though he knew it probably wouldn’t do any good. He felt like they had been falling forever. The two screamed in horror as the car plunged, upside down, into the river section of Pickering Wharf. It floated for a moment before submerging. Water seeped into the car immediately.

  Jake was the first to come to. He shook his head, which throbbed in pain, having bashed up against the steering wheel. He felt his brow and winced. He stared at his fingers and noticed blood from his cut forehead.

  “Sarah? Sarah?”

  Sarah came to at the sound of Jake’s voice. “Wha-what happened?”

  “We crashed into the water. I’ll get you out of here.”

  Jake moved his arm to unhook his seatbelt, and writhed in agony. His arm hurt like hell and so did his ribs. He fought through the pain and unbuckled his seatbelt, as water rushed in. It took him a moment, but he finally righted himself.

  The water rose fast. It was now up to his waist. Sarah was still in her seat, the water dangerously close to submerging her face. Jake normally enjoyed the smell of the ocean but the sight and smell of the seawater as it rose higher and higher in his car made him want to vomit.

  Jake stared out the window. The car was now completely submerged in the water. He was staring at total blackness.

  Knowing they only had precious seconds before the car became completely flooded with water, Jake wasted no time. He faced Sarah. Her head was turned toward him. A red gash stretched across her forehead, blood seeping out and dripping onto the water. He reached across and unbuckled his girlfriend’s seatbelt.