The Belial Witches

by R. D. Brady

  Settling behind his desk, he began to read.

  It was hours later when he looked up. Mather had detailed the 1688 possession of four children from the Goodwin family by a neighbor, Goody Glover. The children would at times be struck deaf, dumb, and mute all at once. Their limbs would contort to impossible angles, and they would cry out as if being attacked. When Goody Glover, who was an immigrant from Ireland, was taken into custody, the children’s afflictions lessened. Glover was found guilty of witchcraft and hung. But the children continued to suffer. Cotton took the eldest daughter into his home to study and help. She would at times bark, purr, and even levitate, but finally prayer and fasting caused the symptoms to subside within a year.

  Samuel leaned back, thinking. He knew the Devil was a terrible force in this world. It looked for weakness and struck when people did not guard against it. It was that very weakness that had pushed the Puritans to break away from the Church of England, which had become so lax in its adherence of God’s word. And like those early Puritan leaders, Samuel knew that strict adherence to God’s word was the only way to salvation.

  But someone in my flock has weakened. Someone opened a door and the Devil has slithered in.

  He pictured the unnatural state he had found his daughter and niece in. But he knew they were not to blame. No, they were innocents in this. Victims.

  He glanced back at the book on his desk. Mather had discovered that the Devil could possess one person, who could then cause fits in another.

  That was the only explanation for Betty and Abigail’s behavior. They were being assaulted. Someone else, some witch, was tormenting them. And he, as a soldier of Christ, would be the one to find them and cast them out.

  He quickly pulled over a sheet of paper. First he needed to get some guidance. He took a breath, composing his thoughts, and then began to write.

  To the most learned Mister Mathers . . .

  CHAPTER 8

  Samuel had sent the letter two days ago and received no response. He knew that distance was part of the culprit. But what if Mr. Mathers did not respond? What if he did not recognize the importance of what was happening here?

  I should have stressed my daughter’s purity more. Explained why this was not who they were.

  He paced along the middle of his parlor. He’d barely been home since the first attack. He’d spent his time re-reading Mather’s book and praying for God to aid him.

  He went home for a few hours each day. Right after the incident, the girls had slept for hours. When they’d awoken, they had no recollection of what had transpired, but both had dark circles under their eyes.

  Since then, they had had two more attacks, the last one this morning when he went home for breakfast. By good fortune, William Griggs, the town physician, was back in town. He had been out of town the last two days tending to an expectant woman. The girls had screamed and contorted. He’d sent for his houseman to fetch Dr. Griggs right away.

  The sound of footfalls on the staircase drew Samuel from the parlor. Griggs walked slowly down the stairs, pulling off his glasses and wiping them on his handkerchief.

  “Well?” Samuel demanded.

  Griggs shook his head as he placed the glasses back on with a shaky hand. “It is not good, Reverend.”

  “I know that. But what is wrong with them?”

  Griggs eyed him steadily. “I think you know. This is beyond my skills as a healer. It is your skills as a preacher that are needed now.”

  Samuel stepped back, his hand going to his throat. “I had hoped I was wrong.”

  “You weren’t. And whatever you do, do it quickly. Their bodies will not withstand this kind of torment for long.” Griggs picked up his coat, which had been slung over the end of the bannister. “I have given them something that should make them sleep, but I cannot guarantee they will not awaken, not if they are attacked again.”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” Samuel murmured, already focused on his next steps as he opened the front door.

  “Good day to you, Reverend,”

  “And you as well,” Samuel said, closing the door behind the doctor.

  Tituba hurried down the steps toward him. “They are sleeping, Reverend.”

  “Good.” He pulled his hat from the coat stand and placed it on his head. “I will be at the church. Send for me when they awaken.” He didn’t wait for a reply and hurried from the house.

  Keeping his head down, he made his way to the church and stepped into its silent space. The rafters stood twenty feet above his head. The wooden pews were lined up, waiting for the congregants. Samuel had always felt the rightness of his calling when he stepped inside this room. A strength always seemed to seep into his bones, making him walk taller.

  But today he only felt cold as he slipped into the last pew. He sat without moving, images from the last few days crowding his mind. He had not been happy when his wife had ‘gifted’ him with a girl. Now, a son, a son could continue on a legacy, a name. A girl was work and toil. And now, now she possessed. For a moment, doubt crowded in, asking if he had not done enough to keep her safe.

  But he knew that wasn’t true. He had provided for her spiritual and physical needs. And when she disobeyed, he brought the wrath of God down upon her. She was an obedient girl. No, someone had targeted her. Someone who probably could not get to him. After all, he was the reverend of Salem, the bulwark against the forces of evil. If someone thought they could reduce his strength by targeting Betty, well, they did not truly understand the depth of his conviction. He knelt and began to pray. He stayed on his knees for an hour, giving thanks to God and asking for guidance in these troubling times.

  When he sat back on the pew, his knees and back ached, but his sprit was restored. He was God’s soldier and he would not fail in his duty. The door behind him opened and young Dudley Bradstreet poked his head in. “Reverend, good. You have a letter.” He quickly walked over to Samuel and handed it over.

  Samuel opened it quickly and scanned the contents. Then he smiled. Yes.

  “Good news, Reverend?”

  “Good direction,” Samuel corrected him. “I need you to go fetch Thomas Putnam and Dr. Griggs. Tell them I will need their assistance at my home in one hour’s time.”

  “Yes, sir.” Dudley quickly left the church.

  Samuel looked around, his strength returning. Mather had given him excellent advice, which he would follow to the letter. And soon this scourge would leave his town.

  Mather had spoken on the reverend’s behalf with the governor, who agreed to convene a court. Two magistrates were already on the way. If all went well, they should arrive today.

  Samuel spent the next thirty minutes reviewing Mather's letter and preparing himself for the task ahead before he began the walk back to his home. He knew this was perhaps the most important walk of his life—the walk that would lead to the first battle in this fight.

  Thomas Putnam caught up with the reverend as he turned onto his street.

  Samuel looked at him in surprise. “Thomas. I was expecting you later.”

  Thomas was strong large man who owned a large property which he managed extremely well and always donated to the church each week without fail. The reverend had sent for him because he was held in high regard by all in town. And the reverend knew his word and testimony would go a long way in helping the people of Salem truly grasp the danger they were in.

  Thomas bowed his head slightly toward the reverend in a show of respect. “I heard your daughters were ill. Ann insisted on going to see them to cheer them up.”

  Samuels’s gaze whipped to Thomas. “Your daughter is at my house?”

  “Yes, I stopped there with her on my way into town.”

  “We must hurry.” Samuel began to run.

  Holding on to his hat, Thomas ran next to him. “What is it? What is wrong?”

  “My daughters are not ill. They have been possessed. There is witchcraft afoot in Salem.”

  Thomas stumbled, and then with a roar, sprinted p
ast Samuel. He bolted up the path and threw open the door to Samuel’s home. “Ann!”

  Samuel caught up with Thomas as he was stepping from the parlor and heading for the stairs.

  “Father, what is it?” Ann Putnam, age eleven, stood at the top of the staircase. Her large blue eyes looked down at her father with concern before shifting to Samuel. “Reverend.”

  Samuel was struck yet again by the beauty of the child. With her long, pale blonde hair, she always appeared as he thought angels would.

  Thomas rushed up the stairs and grabbed Ann’s hand. “You must leave.”

  “Father, you are hurting me!”

  Thomas lessened his grip but kept pulling Ann to the stairs. “It is not safe. You must go.”

  “What is not safe?”

  “You must go home right away. Speak to no one. Directly home, do you understand?”

  “Yes, Father,” Ann answered, a tremor in her voice.

  “Now go.” Thomas pushed her toward the door. With a confused look at her father, Ann left just as Dr. Griggs appeared at the end of the path.

  Samuel watched her greet the doctor and head down the street. She seemed fine but she would have to be watched carefully.

  Dr. Griggs closed the door after entering. Samuel directed his attention to the two men dismissing Ann Putnam from his thoughts. “We must question my niece and daughter. They will tell us who has afflicted them.”

  “But the Devil will trick them. How will they know?”

  Samuel held up the letter from Mather. “I have consulted an expert. He has told me what to do, what to say. We will get the answers. But it will not be easy. You must prepare yourselves.”

  Thomas looked at him and nodded. Griggs did the same. Samuel picked up the rod from next to the door and headed up the stairs. “We go into battle, men.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Her hand on her lower back, Sarah Goode lowered herself to the stool. The babe’s position caused pain to radiate through her. All day she had struggled with it. She was only a few months along and already this was proving to be the most difficult pregnancy.

  “Mama, do you need some water?” her five-year old daughter Dorcas asked quietly, the large eyes that were identical to Sarah's staring at her with hope that she could help.

  Sarah smiled. Dorcas was a smaller version of herself, with her large eyes and light brown hair. But beyond the physical resemblance, they were like night and day. Sarah did not think she had ever been so kind, or so patient. She was sure she had been cynical from the day she was born. But Dorcas lived in a glow of light that touched all who met her. She was a gift, one Sarah would be forever thankful for. Sarah ran a hand through her daughter’s hair, pulling her gently forward to kiss her forehead. “All I need is one of your healing hugs.”

  Dorcas smiled and wrapped her arms around Sarah. Dorcas was her spot of joy in this difficult world. Sweet, considerate, with a shy smile, she was everything that was right with this world. She gave Sarah strength. With a sigh, Sarah leaned her head on her daughter. It was these moments that made life worthwhile. Sarah had three other children, all boys. She loved them, but there was something about Dorcas that wrapped around her heart and tugged.

  Dorcas put a hand on her mother’s belly. “Is my sister giving you pain?”

  “No, dearie, she is wonderful, just as you are.”

  Dorcas had told Sarah a month ago that she was having a girl. Sarah wasn’t sure if it was wishful thinking or if Dorcas too might have the gift. She hoped it was the former. She did not want Dorcas burdened with the sight, especially not at such a young age.

  A sharp rap on the door broke into the peaceful moment, and Sarah’s head jerked up as a voice boomed out. “In the name of the Court of Oyer, I demand this door be opened.”

  Sarah’s heart pounded. Dorcas grasped her hand. “Mama?”

  Sarah ran a trembling hand through her daughter’s hair. I’m not ready. But she steeled herself, facing her daughter. She kissed each of her cheeks. “Always remember you are loved and that you are important. Promise me.”

  “I promise, Mama.”

  Sarah nodded. “Now go, hide in your room. Do not come out until it is silent.”

  Dorcas's eyes grew larger and her bottom lip trembled. “Mama?”

  “Go, Dorcas.” Then she softened her tone. “Go.”

  With one last look, Dorcas fled for her room. Bracing herself, Sarah hoisted herself from the stool, one hand on her on her lower back as she made her way to the front door. The knock sounded again, louder this time. “I demand you open this door.”

  Closing her eyes, she prayed for strength before unlatching the door and swinging it open. A man she had never seen before stood there. He was tall and stout, with gray hair that reached his shoulders but a young face. Behind him was Reverend Samuel, his Bible clasped in his hands. He made the sign of the cross. Thomas Putnam stood with Samuel, along with three other men from town.

  “Sarah Goode, you have been charged with the crime of witchcraft.” The man wrapped his hand around her upper arm and pulled her from the house.

  Sarah stumbled. But the man didn’t slow. Sarah bit her lip trying to keep the angry response from her lips. If Dorcas heard her, she would come out to see, and Sarah would not have her exposed to this lunacy.

  Thomas narrowed his eyes as she passed and then spit on her. Sarah didn’t have time to wipe it off as she was unceremoniously pulled down the street. Her neighbors stood watching her go by, many turning their backs. But Sarah got her balance, held her chin high, and straightened her back.

  It begins.

  CHAPTER 10

  The cold that had begun to seep into Sarah’s bones on the walk from her home to the courthouse had not abated. They had stripped her when she’d arrived, looking for the mark of the witch. There had been none to find, of course, but that had not convinced them of her innocence. She had been thrown a cell without even a question asked.

  “Sarah!” Susan Osbourne rushed to her as the cell slammed shut.

  “They got you, too?”

  “Just before they picked you up.”

  “What is going on? Why do they think we are witches?”

  “We have been accused of attacking Betty Samuel and Abigail Williams.”

  “I’ve never even spoken to those girls, never mind laid a finger on them.”

  “They say our specters attacked them.”

  Sarah stared at her in disbelief. “That’s preposterous. If I had that ability I assure you I would haunt my husband to get him to work harder.”

  Susan shook her head. “It’s ridiculous, I agree. But Reverend Samuel claims with the spectral evidence, they have more than enough to hang us.”

  Sarah felt light-headed, even though she had known her death was coming.

  “So this is how it will end,” she said softly.

  Susan helped Sarah over to the cot. “You saw this, did you not?”

  “Not the form it would take. Only that we were all in danger. If I had known they were coming for you, I would have warned you.”

  Susan placed her hand on Sarah’s arm. “I know, Sister.”

  Sarah squeezed her arm back and Susan winced. “What is wrong?”

  “Nothing. My bones are just aching a bit today. And I did not have a chance to take my medicine.”

  Sarah studied her friend closely. Susan looked pale, and there was a sheen of sweat on her forehead. She had been ill for years, rarely leaving her house, although she faithfully met with her sisters.

  Susan patted her arm. “Do not look at me like that. I will be fine. And even if I am not, there is nothing we can do about it in here anyway.”

  “So what can we do?”

  Susan shook her head. “Surely they will not convict us, just on the visitations from two girls?”

  “No, no, of course not. And no one else will step forward. No one could.”

  A shriek tore through the hall and Sarah gasped.

  “What on earth is that?” Susan
asked, her hand at her throat and her eyes wide.

  Sarah hurried to the bars and peered through as three people appeared at the end of the hall. Two men had Tituba by the arms and pulled her roughly along.

  Tituba screamed and cried, saying words in a language that Sarah Goode did not recognize.

  Sarah and Susan exchanged a look. Tituba’s ramblings continued unabated as she was locked away. If anyone was looking for a witch, Tituba's violent ramblings would surely convince them.

  Reverend Samuel appeared at the cell door, and both Sarah and Susan jumped back. His approach had been undetected due to Tituba’s screams.

  Samuel’s eyes bored into Sarah’s. “It’s time we had a chat.” He nodded to the two men who had escorted Tituba. “Take her.”

  Blessed Mother, give me strength. Sarah repeated the phrase to herself over as she was pulled from the cell and led from to the Reverend’s office at the back of the church.

  Two men waited for them there. Neither was from Salem and both frowned as they inspected Sarah from head to foot.

  The two men who escorted her pushed her into the middle of the room. Sarah whirled around and glared at them but neither looked at her.

  “Leave us,” one of the ones she did not know said. With a bow to the men, they stepped out of the room.

  Sarah turned to the men. “Are you two the ones behind this farce? Are you my accusers?”

  One of the men stepped forward. “How dare you, witch. I am Jonathan Corwin, sworn magistrate of the court.”

  “And I am Magistrate John Hathorne. We will prosecute your case, such that it is. The evidence is substantial. You should plead guilty and beg the court for mercy.”

  Their arrogance and condescension tripped her emotions from fear to anger. She laughed looking down her nose at the men. “Evidence? There is no evidence, for I am not a witch. What evidence do you have of my alleged crime?”

  “We have three who have borne witness against you.”