Shadows of Darkness

11. The Witch Trial

The aroma of wet mud weaved in the morning lights. Molly had been awake since 5 AM, staring at the emptiness that slowly turned bright between the window. She felt absolutely comfortable and awake, wilting in guilt that she was too all right.

Gail and Molly agreed on their new routine during breakfast. The witch aunt would drive her worldly niece to school until they found a decent used car or the divine call. Molly thought, since Rebecca wasn't around anymore, a motorbike could be another option. Gail called Molly clueless and funny, and Molly thought her aunt was imaginative and hilarious. They fitted. They got along. They both were excellent at pretending to be just fine.

Oakbarrow High had boys. Molly gulped. Her academic life had always been an all-girl type. It wasn't like she had never seen boys. In fact, they were plentiful in church and Rebecca's approved circles, and yet Molly had never made friends with one. She took a deep breath after Gail drove away, feeling like walking into a party after everyone already had their dance partner.

Only five months, Molly, she reminded herself. Then she would get a diploma. The rest was for the future to deal with.

Back in Connecticut, the extroverted sports queen had all the fun and attention. But here was different. Molly only wanted time to course through her and the day to end quickly. She flopped at a desk and looked at the clock on the wall.

"Are you a witch?" a boy asked. He sat on a desk in the opposite row.

"Excuse me?" Molly peered at his smirk.

"Like Gail," he added and tilted his neck. "I'm Vincent. This is Dahlia. Rodney, Jimmy, and Becca." He said five names, but there were a triple number of people zooming in around her. "Gail is a real deal, but she's pricy."

Molly narrowed her eyes and suppressed a chuckle tainted with derision. Clearly, Gail was famous in Oakbarrow. The idea of Rebecca keeping witchcraft a secret, if it was factual, sounded reasonable immediately.

"Can you do what she does?" Dahlia asked. "Because we could use a friend discount."

"Oh, I'm not licensed," Molly replied. The determined faces around her explained Gail's vivacious and comfortable life. "When I have my witch certificate, we can talk business." She scoffed.

Not long after that, the sound of footsteps diverted the attention away from the new girl. Gliding inside the classroom was a man who put the world in slow motion. Molly wasn't the only new fish in town. Mr. Louis Carter was another fresh member of Oakbarrow High, a clearly more fascinating arrival. He was so elegant that he could be made out of gold. Molly was confident that she had seen this man somewhere, on television maybe, because such a face should be monetized. In her inappropriate private humor, he was her assigned dance partner.

Ahem! A cough descended from the sky. This whole freedom thing turned her thoughts into risks.

With confidence and charisma, Mr. Carter captivated his audience. Everyone paid close attention to him, and he too was observant. His gaze struck the spectators like bolts of lightning. When his eyes met Molly's for a brief second, a burn seared into her skin.

"Let's pick up where Mrs. Lewis left off: the seventeenth century." Mr. Carter ambled between the desks with chairs screeching against the floor to follow his movement. "Hmm, let's see, the Dominion of New England, Glorious Revolution, King William's War, Schenectady Massacre, now how about a witch trial..." He paused at the back with every eye gluing to him. "What do you know about the Salem Witch Trials?"

His question accidentally punched Molly in the stomach as glances swept to her. Gladly, the witch wasn't as intriguing as the golden teacher, so the attention bounced back to him readily.

"It's not compulsory to know what happened." Mr. Carter caught his wrist behind him. "Records and timelines are just histories. But you're not history. You're the future. We all want to know what's going to happen, hmm? I want to see the future, too. So, I'd like to understand your way of thinking. Come on, what do you think about such a haunting case? Tell me. And don't think of me as your teacher. I'm one of you—your friend." His youthful look certainly made the proposition believable. He sat on an empty chair behind Molly.

Friend. Her first male friend. He had the scent of something old and grand—expensive.

Mr. Carter sighed when nobody responded. "One reason for history is to avoid mistakes," he continued. "When you get out of here, you're on a field that demands constant decisions. See, in Salem Witch Trials, more than nineteen people were found guilty and hanged. Five died in jail. Tragic, hmm? Or perhaps our ancestors simply dodged the bullet?" He leaned back and cast his gaze across the room. "Today, we don't know if witches are real and evil, or simply... misunderstood. The truth is, nobody will be executed for cooking up love spell in the twenty-first century." This part invoked a wave of soft chuckles.

"See how things changed. We've learned and grown. But we can never be perfect. Mistake is humane. There have been enough wars to testify that violence can never bring peace. But well." He waved his hand and slapped his thigh. "Now, say the witches come back, and they seem intimidating. Do we need another witch trial as we've had many wars? Okay, let's make it easy for all of us. Say there's a girl, a girl your age, a very pretty girl. She's accused of having something dark in her. People say she'll bring horror to the world. They tell you this girl will destroy everything you know. You are the prosecutors; this is your witch trial. Think about it. You don't know the girl, but many people believe she's evil. Your families and friends—your loved ones are going to suffer if this girl is really going to cause an apocalypse, hmm? What would you do?" He looked at a piece of paper in his hand. "Cassidy, what would you do?"

"Well, I'll have to scrutinize the evidence," replied the girl in the front row.

"Terrific," Mr. Carter acclaimed. "If the evidence is convincing, Vincent?"

"She's very pretty... you say," Vincent mumbled, and the entire class chuckled again.

"Oh yes, big blue eyes more beautiful than an entire ocean and soft brown hair scented with fresh rain," Mr. Carter elaborated his hypothesis. "Jake, what do you say? The evidence is there, and the witnesses are persuasive."

"Can I talk to her?" a boy in the back asked.

Mr. Carter smiled and straightened his spine. "It's virtuous to listen to both sides of the story." With his eyes on the boy, he seemed interested and agitated at the same time. "What will make you believe her?"

"I'm not going to take a chance." A voice came from the girl in front of Molly, and it got Mr. Carter's full attention. "We're talking about the whole world here, and she's just one girl."

"Do you agree, Patricia?" Mr. Carter asked. His voice went somewhere else, but his eyes were on Molly, who might have been mistaken for emitting that selfish answer.

In the seat behind Mr. Carter, Patricia contemplated. "I don't know, but I'm not planning to become a judge. I'm definitely not killing anyone."

Mr. Carter rose from the chair and ambled to the front of the class. "I see, but Patricia, sometimes circumstance doesn't allow us to be quiet." He locked his wrist behind him. "Most of the time, we must make a decision. Which college I'm going to next year? Should I tell my father I've wrecked his car? Should I quit this horrible job? Eventually, or even instantly, we need to make a choice. Molly, what do you say—are we hanging this little witch or what?"

The bell rang.