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Black_Out
Semi-Pro Stalker
- Joined
- Jul 9, 2018
Thomas Holbrook had a natural charm, a casual, approachable demeanor, and a fair and engaging wit about him. So it was no surprise to the well meaning doctor when some who shared the caravan with him opened up so freely about the enigmatic town of Salem.
"Salem's ah strange place I tell ya. People there are distant, specially them village folk where tha farmers all live an spout tha puritan nonsense. Jus' don' tell em tha to their face or even hind their backs.. They all stick togetha an ain't gotta lick of concern for anyone who ain't one of them."
Most of his traveling companions were used to life on the road and had some familiarity with the truth of the place. Like a skipping record the insights they shared came and went with about as much frequency as the unexpected lurching jolt of a wagon wheel when it rolled over some protrusion or depression.
"Why just last month they hung a witch. Tenth one I've heard this year. Said she had been seen running naked in the woods, calling out Satan's name. Dreadful times good sir, place has been seized by the devil. Makes me thankful we're just passing through"
Some were more disturbing then others in the depths of their disgust. He would ponder over them when alone, a habitual tendency given the nature of his profession.
"When a woman thinks alone, she thinks evil thoughts. They blame their souls which is just like blaming themselves. "
One particular quip refused to be blissfully forgotten and it haunted him most of all.
"You know what she said just before the noose snapped her neck? Take away my life, your God wants to give you blood to drink."
The bulk of winters hardships loomed upon the horizon of the northern colonies of New England and that meant the roads were far busier then normal. The last shipments of the year needed to be ferried quickly and safely to their destinations before the way became impassable. Fortunately the travel from Boston to Salem would take no more then three days to complete with an overnight stop at the village of Lynn where some brief business needed to be conducted before heading to Salem the next morning.
Making such a seemingly short travel was hardly a simple matter of going from point A to B and then C. Bandits, or worse, Indians were far more commonly feared threats for all the obvious reasons at this time of year. Smaller groups suffered the worst. Without deep enough pockets to afford the luxury of armed escorts they were left to fend for themselves. It wasn't unheard of for some of these smaller outfits to band together, hoping to detour whatever threats may come to seek an easier option. It was a tactic that had proven mostly effective, save for those rare occasions when a war party descended. The tension caused by such an unsavory notion kept most on their toes with an understandably high level of paranoia.
Now Thomas Holbrook was fortunate enough that the caravan with which he traveled was nothing of that sort. British soldiers that mostly kept to themselves were along for the journey. From what Thom had gathered they were escorting the wagons beyond Salem for another four days before they would arrive as much needed reinforcements at a small town called Ipswich. Whatever the cost it did not come out of the doctors own pockets, though he certainly could of afforded it. No, this all had been arranged and paid for by one William Beaumont who practiced law in the town of Salem. Like Thom, Will was a fellow British implant that had made the journey to the new world on the very same boat as he had. But their acquaintance went further back then that grueling transatlantic voyage.
They had formed a friendship in their youth, attended the same university, graduated as part of the same class, and had agreed to set bravely and boldly out for the new world together. Like a pearl waiting to be plucked Boston, the gem of the colonies of New England called to those bold enough, brave enough, and adventurous enough to make that dangerous journey to its shores. It would be the place where Thom and William would settle down, establish themselves, and build their futures. Plans change though and the promise of a reputable and profitable life as the lone lawyer in the rich merchant town of Salem drew Williams interest. Of course when he found the love of his life there the deal was essentially sealed.
Thomas was genuinely happy for him. How couldn't he be? William had come back from a business trip to Salem with a smile that he could not wash away. Brittany, the name at the source of that smile, was repeated by his friend more times then lucrative potential that was to be had. So of course Thom was far from shocked when Bill announced his intent to settle down in Salem, start a practice, and raise a family with Brittany.
She wasn't much in way of lady like grace or charm, but then again neither was William. Yet Thom had seen their lone child, Penelope, blossom over the years when the Beaumonts traveled to Boston for a visit. But the last time he had seen them was some four years ago. She was fourteen, and while Thomas didn't dwell on the thought, she was maturing into quite the vision of beauty. He couldn't help but recall with some amusement how William responded when he mentioned the unenviable task of keeping the eager boys in line. "I'm pretty sure Brittany would string any lad up by the sack if they so much looked at Penelope the wrong way."
The rumors of what had been transpiring in Salem were enough to keep most ordinary folk from even thinking paying a visit to the cursed town. Had his good friend not been the one who had penned the strange letter that arrived at his door, Thomas would of kept his feet firmly planted at home. But 1692 hadn't exactly been one of Thomas more triumphant stretches. For five years he had been a loyal husband and believed he had a faithful wife whom he loved dearly. His life fell apart the moment he uncovered her lustful affair with another man. To spare them both from the public shaming he agreed to an amicable divorce. For months his heart had hung heavy and until the letter from William had arrived in his hands Thomas had been at his wits ends. He poured over its worrisome contents several times that day, saddened by the gravity of the words that were penned in confidence to him.
The Beaumont's only child, Penelope who had to be at least eighteen by now had fallen strangely ill. Williams words rambled on about his daughters deteriorating condition. He wrote of vile disgusting things being spewed forth from Penelope's lips, which Thomas concluded as symptoms of madness and lunacy. At other times his friend left statements that seemed to be left incomplete, or purposefully vague in their details. But near the end of the missive was a brief confession of dread and dire circumstances that caught his attention.
My dear friend, I fear not only for the sanity of my precious daughter Penelope, but for her very life if the puritans were to find out the state of her being. They would most certainly call her out as a witch. I dare not pen what might happen then.
So Thomas Holbrook conceded that some time away from Boston to aid a friend in need might serve to help resolve, or at least forget about his own dilemmas for awhile.
It was hard to separate fact from fiction when it came to the coming and going migratory gossip about Salem and its infamous witch trials. One fact was for certain, Salem had two contrasting factions that were openly at odds with one another which kept the people of Salem on pins and needles. In the center of town were the wealthy merchants and other lucrative businessmen. It was there that the caravan he was a part of would be directly heading. Then there were god fearing Puritans. Simple and plain folk, at least from all outward appearances that had overtaken the towns fringes and lived in what was called Salem Village. They believed in the wrath of God and they were unafraid to speak boldly against those that they condemned as sinners.
The long and windy dirt road had given way to brick and stone as it drew closer to the town square of Salem. Even in the early afternoon it was a dreary place. Clusters of neutral toned buildings that seemed to have had their color bled right out of them dominated the scenery. Even the cobbles appeared to have had the color scrubbed right off their faces, leaving the only hints of color to the sparse shrubs and the windswept clumps of rotten leaves.
Thomas Holbrook had arrived safely in the city of Salem and kept his pleasantries and farewells short and courteous. Truth be told, he was road weary, his legs felt exceedingly stiff, and his spine felt like it had went crooked over the course of the trip. But Thomas figured it was nothing that a few drinks from the riches of Williams liquor cabinet wouldn't cure. Spurred on by eagerness for more relaxing confines and comforts he made his way down the road towards a white washed wooden building that jutted out from a corner. The Law Office of William Beaumont took up the front half of the first floor, while his private residence sat above upon the second story beneath a high peaked charcoal roof of slate. Smoke rose in a thin grey line from a chimney that Thom recalled belonging to a grand cast iron stove in the Beaumont kitchen.
As if in anticipation of a welcomed warm meal his stomach grumbled as he approached the open gate. Not once did he consider for even a moment why the shutters and blinds had all been drawn so tightly closed.
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