Blood Price: A Story of the Salem Witch Trials

Introduction

©2013 writingthedayaway

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Blood Price

Introduction

It is January of 1692.

Betty Parris, daughter of Reverend Samuel Parris, Abigail Williams, her cousin, and a few other girls are gathered around a hearthside fire in a dimly lit kitchen.

The candles flicker eerily and cast haggard shadows on the pale walls. Piles of books are scattered to one side.

The small spotted cat comes in for a petting, but is gently shooed away by Abigail.

The crackling fire brings forth savory, delicious sensations of duck and goose. Tituba, the Parris's Caribbean slave, tends the roasting fowl as she speaks.

She spins tales of fantastical creatures, witches, and demons, all the while clutching a small beaded rosary in one hand.

The girls are watching her intently, fervently, a look of apt attention on their pale faces. They sit, their hair hidden by small lace caps; thick woolen dresses and petticoats snug around them.

Tituba finishes her story and nods. It is time.

The girls stand up solemnly and watch Tituba exit the kitchen.

She returns with five eggs and a large porcelain bowl filled with water. 

"Come."

The girls gather around her, nervously staring as she cracks open one egg. The egg yolk spills into the bowl.

Tituba's eyes widen. So do Betty's.

There is red in the egg. The stench of crimson blood.

The yellow egg yolk shies away from the red. But the red follows, chases, until it joins with the yellow.

"No!" Betty's face blanches. She runs from the room, her eyes wild and her features distorted.

Tituba looks worried. But there still are more girls who are curious. She sets her face grimly and beckons Abigail closer.

 Tituba takes the second egg and cracks it. The yellow yolk slithers out and plops into the bowl.

Like the last one, there is a pool of red blood. But this time, the blood spreads out, consuming the yellow.

Abigail gasps. She takes a step backward, fearful, faltering and collapsing in a heap, knocking over the porcelain bowl. It shatters into pieces.

The red pools onto the floor, dark and menacing.

The girls narrow their eyes suspiciously at Tituba as Betty stumbles back in, her eyes glazed and mad.

Her dress and cap are askewter, and her hands are clenched white. Her finger raises up, trembling, and finds Tituba.

"You!" she hisses.

As Tituba stares back astonished, Betty's body rocks with sobs and jerks in spasms.

She drops to her knees and sways unsteadily, beginning to roll, kicking and pounding the air wildly as if fighting an invisible enemy.

She utters something. A low moan that escalates into a shriek brings the Reverend and his wife running.

Mrs. Parris crosses herself and promptly faints.

Samuel Parris takes a look at the crazed Betty and the collapsed Abigail and flies into a temper.

"Witchcraft...!" he breathes, eyes flitting around the room, glaring at all.

He walks over to the shattered bowl and stoops down, examining the red pool.

"Blood..." he whispers.

And so it begins. With blood.