The Weeping Witch

Chapter Two

I glanced around me as people began to gather into the church.
I could not believe my eyes. People were actually believing children.
Betty and Abigail claimed to have been tormented by witches within our community. They even gave names belonging to some of the more kind people of Salem: Sarah Good, Sarah Osborne, and the Parris' slave Tituba. I thought that the people of our village would see through the accusations. But since this brought excitement and entertainment, no one said a word against it.

The snow was still quite deep, and even more chilling than it had been before. And yet here we all were, out of our homes. Families shivered together. And mothers held their young ones close to their chest to keep them warm. But as the morning went on, I noticed signs of the white ice melting. The warm, bright sun had finally peaked out from behind the clouds. Which was a welcomed sight to us all.
Our church was a beloved place. It was very important that every time the doors would open, we would come. After all, this was the house of God. And this is the only place he would hear you. At least that is what was taught.
The high walls were structured out of the best wood they could find. The windows were tall, and quite possibly the most beautiful things I have ever seen. The front of the church was crafted to perfection. The Reverend always had to have the absolute best. He would stand high on the podium overlooking his "children". And teach us the "Will of God".
Once he requested a very expensive, golden candle holder for the church. Parris told us that it was a way of giving to God. It made no sense to me, what use would God have of that? But Parris had ways of making people believe whatever he said was sent directly from God.
I was disgusted by the way many of the men and women acted in this village. The men would always fight amongst themselves concerning their lands. And the women would have their say in many of the matters, although it is never brought into the light.

I followed my family as we found a pew to sit down in. I slowly sat down giving me time to scan the room crowded with people. Up toward the front sat a row of young girls consisting of: Ann Putnam, (belonging to one of the more wealthy families of Salem.) Elizabeth Hubbard, and of course, Betty, and Abigail. And behind them, sat their fear-stricken families. The mothers clung on to one another for comfort. And the men sat straight and tall eagerly waiting the trial to begin. Behind them sat the "concerned" families of our holy community.
I finally sat down and furrowed my brows in confusion. Why were they doing this? Sarah Good and Sarah Osborne were nothing but kind to everyone around them. I knew Sarah Good fairly well. When My Mother gave birth to Alice she came to help. She has had a hand in every healthy birth in Salem. This must be the utmost betrayal in her eyes.

When everyone had taken their seats, Reverend Parris made his way to the podium. He glared over all of us like he did each sunday morning.

"My dear brothers and sisters of Salem. I have gathered you all here because of a gruesome attack on my dear daughter and niece. My niece has seen the likes of Sarah Good, Sarah Osborne, and Tituba afflict them with pins." He turned to his daughter. "Tell them what you have been victim to."
Betty slowly stood up, and I could tell even from where I was sitting that she was shaking.
"They come to me often, chanting, pinching me and pricking my skin with pins. Their spirits hover over me while I sleep." She stopped and glanced down at her cousin Abigail, then looked back at her father.
"You see my brothers! The devil is here amongst us, and we must fight against his hold on our children. We must rid our holy Salem of these witches. They are a gateway for the devil and his demons to take hold of our souls." The Reverend proclaimed.

People began murmuring among themselves, agreeing to what our good Reverend had concluded. Many were calling out "Amen". egging on what Parris had started. They were so bored by the life that we are urged to live, that they would accept any form of excitement they could grasp. In some ways I could understand why. Life here was absolutely boring. There was never singing outside of church. There was no playing. Our life consisted of work, eat, and sleep. Never anything else.
But now this. Now we had excitement in our community. Our minds would have something other to think about than the normal day to day thing.
The witches that our Reverend constantly talked about were finally here.

My family and I inched along with the others making our way out of the church building. The trial was over. Sarah Good, Sarah Osborne, and Tituba were all found guilty of witchcraft. They would be held in the stocks until further judgment was cast down upon them when Reverend Hale would arrive.
Many of the families were fear stricken. They feared these witches would visit them at nightfall in their homes. Some begged our Reverend not to wait. Saying they wanted to protect their family from the forces of evil.

I brushed past Rose as my family finally exited the church. I smiled at her, and said hello. She returned the gesture. I was about to ask how she was, but her mother pulled her away and they disappeared within the crowd. There must have been something about me that Rose's mother did not like. And for the life of me, I could not figure out what that something was.

When I arrived home, I quickly headed upstairs to my room, saying that the trials had troubled me and that I needed to recite the Lord's Prayer.
I collapsed onto my bed, and buried my face into my pillow. I let out a long sigh. Then rolled over letting my hands rest on my stomach. I stared at the ceiling... I seemed to do this quite a lot. It is not that I simply gaze at the ceiling. It is like I see something there. Like there is something deeper, another world. I feel as if I am seeing into what is actually there.
But what a crazy thought.

I slowly sat up and got up from my bed. I walked to one of the walls in my room where I kept one of my most sacred possession. I carefully lifted the light wooden plaque that covered a hole in my wall. Reaching in, I carefully lifted a old tattered book. Mother and Father never knew I had this. Owning a book other than God's Word was looked down upon more than most. So I kept it hidden within the walls.
It was given to me by my Grandmother. She passed away when I was about eleven years of age. Grandmother taught me things that Mother and Father never heard about. She would tell me almost every day that I was given a special gift that not many had. She told me never to let anyone take that part of myself away. That I could always think of her, and she would protect me even when she was gone.
She told me stories of her life when she was younger. And she told me that she possessed the same gift I was granted. And that she would teach me how to control them so that no one would ever know. I often asked what use was my gift if I could not use it. And she would always tell me that knowledge was the most powerful gift I would ever have. I would know the false from the truth. And I would be able to see through the deception of men.

The people of Salem search for witches. But what they do not understand is that they seek the opposite of what we are. We are lovers of nature. We help all those we can, and swear to never hurt a soul. But, as any other being on this earth; there is always evil within us. Some of our Sisters when astray from our path, and followed in the footsteps of evil. In some ways evil can overpower good. And that we cannot control.
From a very young age, Grandmother taught me the ways of being a Sister. She would take me frequently on walks, and told me hundreds of stories about her early days of the Sisters. I was fascinated immediately. I asked why Mother was not one of the sisters. And Grandmother explained to me that within each family, the gift skips a generation. She told me that Mother could never know about what I was capable of. She made sure I knew that no one other than myself, and members of the Sisters could know about my gifts.

I plopped down on my bed, and laid the dust covered book before me. I very carefully let my fingertips glide over the etched leather. The designs in the leather made up one of many of the symbols known to our kind. I slowly lifted the binding and found the first page. The words and symbols were so carefully written on the worn pages. And it was always such an inviting feeling when I read through some of the spells and prayers. Grandmother taught me how to read and even write in their language.
This Wicca book contained good and evil spells. And Grandmother always advised that I never use the evil spells if I could find another way.

The book was a way of reconnecting to my Grandmother. It was heartbreaking when she passed. But when I open the book I can almost feel her presence all around me. There are times when I have dreams of how she died. The image is almost too clear, she drew her last breath as she grasp my hand. She held it tight as she smiled up at me. And although she could not speak, I knew what she was saying. She was grateful to have me in her life. And I knew she loved me more than any person placed on this earth. Through my tears, I leaned forward and whispered in her ear: that I would see her again someday, and she would always be in my heart. And at that very moment, I felt her spirit slip away.