The Malleus Maleficarum may have been responsible for the injustice that took place in Europe during The Spanish Inquisition, but what happened in Salem is vastly different. Rumours of vicious, spiteful men and young women who held malice in their hearts and hatred in their souls had been the true cause of such a sinful event. Religious zealots would have been the proper term for the way the church had been run. Fear mongering could have been another term used, and Lord forbid if one felt any sense of joy in the world they lived in.
By the time Alice Whitney had taken her first breath of life, the stage had already been set and the world had begun to flourish. The first of her family to be born in the New World, Alice's birth had been a joyous occasion for her parents, though, joy had been something that had led to sin, or so the parish preacher would have one believe. With her brother gone away to school, it had left Alice home to endure the life of a woman in Salem.
It had been the luck of meeting Katrina Thorton that had made the long days when her brother, Anthony, had been away, that had been the light within her waking hours. The contrast between the two had been noticeable, though their opposites did attract the other and Alice was not upset by that. Katrina had been the much-needed balm to Alice's unhappy heart and she had hoped, possibly in vain that she had offered some sanctuary for such a kind spirit.
As the two grew, their bond had grown as well. Unbreakable and where one could be found, the other would surely be with her. Where Alice had been dark and brooding, Katrina had been light and beauty refined. Soft-spoken, Katrina was, where Alice had been assertive and sure of her words. Inquisitive could have been a proper word to describe them both, as they were usually found reading, discussing, and sometimes dissecting things young ladies of Faith should not have been doing, and were they to be caught... Well, the Hail Marys and Our Fathers would have been in great numbers.
Alice stood at the edge of the bustling Salem Common, her heart pounding in her chest as the air crackled with tension. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the still damp earth from the rain earlier in the day, and the usual sounds of the town seemed distant... muffled by the gravity of the moment. Watching with a mixture of dread and fascination as a solemn figure, the town's constable, hammered a wooden banner to the front of the meeting house. The banner was stark and accusatory, emblazoned with crude, hastily painted words:
Alice's breath caught in her throat as she saw the faces of the townsfolk gather around— some whispered fervently, their eyes alight with fear and anger, while others stood silent, their expressions grave. She recognized several neighbours among the crown, their features contorted in suspicion. The banner was not just a piece of wood; it felt like a symbol of fear that had taken root in their small town.
Clutching her shawl tighter around her shoulder, she tried to shield herself from the cold, but the chill she felt was far more than the autumn wind. Her own thoughts churned as she considered the implications. What did this mean for those accused? What would become of them?
As the constable stepped back, surveying his work with grim satisfaction, Alice caught a glimpse of the banner's edges fluttering in the breeze. The words seemed to mock her, a grim reminder that no one was safe from the shadow of suspicion. She knew the town was gripped by hysteria, but seeing it made it real — seeing it pinned so publicly — was something else entirely.
With a heavy heart, Alice turned away from the banner, her mind racing with worry for her own family and friends. Katrina instantly in her mind as she heard the whispers, the accusations, and the fear that seemed to spread like wild fire. Now, it was clear that this was only the beginning...
"Fear of man will prove to be a snare, but whoever trusts in the Lord is kept safe." - Proverbs 29:25
Salem
Saturday, September 29th 1691
A strange affliction had come upon the Colony of Salem that dreary afternoon. It had slunk its way through the shadows, creeping across the facades of dimly lit houses and wresting its way into the cracks of society. It had brought with it cold whispers and frayed nerves. Townsfolk driven to keep to themselves as they moved about the streets, the busy nature of the colony not quite dying off though it certainly had been tempered. After all, puritan ideals placed work as part of their faith. To work hard was to become closer to God, even at the sacrifice of pleasures.
Idle chatter remained for the most part. However, conversations were cut from a shorter cloth. Friendly remarks kept to a polite minimum as individuals passed one another in the street. Church or the schoolhouse becoming the final bastions of true human interaction in the once sleepy village. Fear had sunk its claws deep, and now it refused to release the God fearing faithful of the Colony from its hold.
The Devil had come to walk among men in Salem.
Saturday was a bleak day when the church bell rang out at dawn. Low hanging clouds dotting the sky like a funeral veil. The first bits of a wicked icy wind from the north rolling in over the trees like a scythe over wheat field. You could almost see the wind's progress by which the trees bent and shuttered at its approach. Those in the street pulling their shawls and lined coats closer into themselves. Their mutterings of ill matters bleeding in with quiet uneasy glances as the sky around them.
It did not make matters any better to know that the harvest had come up short that summer. The crop refusing to yield, and that which did suffering from malformed growth. Food would be tight when the cold came. That alone was enough to make even those with the small amount of wealth they had shutter at the thought. Private conversations of the dismal food stocks becoming very common when the town meetings drew together now. Whispers of curses on the very soil tossed about behind the backs of the select men who tried their best to maintain cohesion and order.
However, while the idea of actual foul witchcraft at play was drawn up and posted in the square that afternoon, its origins had been seeded three days earlier. Awful little whispers had began in earnest with the "hexing" of the boy Matthis Kingsley. When his family last saw him he had left with his father to go check rabbit snares by their small family farm. The pair setting out as they always did after morning prayer and breakfast. Their figures in sight from the main village road until they were finally swallowed up by the tree that dotted Salem's borders. It wasn't till three hours hence that Matthis father, Issac, came rushing from the woods. The man clearly stricken with worry as he tore into the square like a rain squall.
He had sent the boy ahead to collect rabbits from the snares while he had prepared another. Something that would have only taken a short while most assured- yet when Issac would call out for his son later, there was no answer to be had. When he went to to search high and low, the boy was gone. No trace of where he went left behind in the early leaf fall which had begun to do the ground. Worry had took hold of Salem then. All able bodied men were roused and armed. Most setting out in to the thicket of trees with the belief God would bring them to the boy. Three days would past, and God had not answered their prayer. That is, until the morning of the 29th, in the early hours of dawn.
A party of the men would return with grim faces. Their voices low as they brought forward the boy who by all accounts looked rather unwell. His mumblings incoherent as the superstitious folk gathered about him to question him. A search of his pockets only turning up a rather strange collection of toadstools which he had found and eaten to stave off hunger. His claims of a woman's voice calling out to him from the woods. Beckoning him deeper into the twisting thicket until he became well and truly lost. The boy described feelings of euphoria, the movement of shadowy figures and the sounds of a young woman's voice. This coupled with a fever that would not break and declining physical health of the boy was almost incendiary.
The leading men of the town calling for the constable to alert the God fearing. There was a devil in human skin among them. Witchcraft. The explanation which sat on the tongue of most as hushed whispers were exchanged on seeing the great banner in the town common. The tolling bell of the church signaling the end of the great meeting that took place moments before. The great white doors of the church opening up. As from it, in rows like ants on the march led by Reverend Swanson himself, came the select men of the town with their families.
Among this lot was the town magistrate Matthew Thorton and his wife Elizabeth Thorton. The Thortons had come to Salem in the beginning to escape the religious prosecution in England for their beliefs. To which they would bring with them a small family fortune and the study of English common law to the new little town. Roots being set at a large farm at the northwest corner of town which was the envy of more than a few. Behind this pair came a young woman who walked alongside a rather somber young boy, her brother Damien.
Dressed in a grey wool dress with shining buttons, which came down to the muddy ground. Its tones muted and grey, aligned with flecks of red here and there from the ribbon around the neck of the dress. Her head adorned with golden waves of hair which had been tied up into a neat bun. It was tucked away then underneath silken hood, a bit of a hypocrisy in how the Thorton's flaunted the sumptry laws which held sway over so many others. Her hands folded in front of her as she walked. Eyes fixed ahead at some point further beyond. Her lips pursed in what could only be described by those who knew her intimately as stress, though for what reason remained mum.
As the procession came closer to the commons, Katrina's gaze like a hawks would spot Alice among the masses which gathered around the announcement. Her beautiful features noting surprise as she would quickly hurry her pace to place herself near her father and mother's ear. Whispers exchanged between the lot in rather rapid, hushed tones. Her father displeased, but not fighting the course of things. A wave of his hand dismissing her to leave the procession. The girl needed no second prompting. She was off after softly noting her love for both of her parents.
Katrina had always been an affectionate sort. Her bond with Alice remaining unbroken since the two met as small girls by simple chance. Something arranged after Katrina's mother and Alice's conspired to have the girls serve as company for one another after Alice's brother left for a grand education in London. It was a fateful decision which brought two of the town's now most contrasting personalities together. They were like the sun and the moon. Where one went before, the other would pass along soon after the following one proceeded. So much so that little rumors had been passed around the youth about the pair and their strange relationship. God knows how the ladies would clutch at pearls should they find out about some of the conversations that passed between the two.
She approached in a somber quiet at first. Taking a moment to give a quiet glance to the banner which hung like the noose at some gallows. Wind pulled at her dress and ribbon. The red on a grey field dancing in the breeze ominously. Her polite apologies and greetings sounding out as she would begin to snake her way back to the dark haired girl. The pit of her stomach in twisted knots as she would finally reach her desired placement. The edges of her lips twitching as if she wished to offer a smile, some little bit of assurance to the worry in Alice's features. Her better judgment caused her to bite it back. Now was not the time for errors in decorum.
"Ms. Whitney." She would call out in a hushed tone.
The unusual air of formality in her words hanging over them. Her prose sounding almost rehearsed given Katrina's usual demeanor. Katrina's father had a hand in it certainly. There was no way he couldn't. Her adjustment driven by how easily one might point the finger at his daughter who was pure like the first December snow. Her own unusual uniqueness making her a rather attractive target to those who might strike a blow against the family itself for ill intents. For the moment, Katrina would in her own way gesture to aside from the crowd, down the town streets with worry creasing the edge of her eyes.
"Would you do me the pleasure of walking with me? I think perhaps some cool air would be good for my health." She'd state quietly, her voice quivering slightly. Katrina could feel herself being eaten away by her own thoughts at the moment. A conflict of interests which waged a horrid struggle within her being that she could not yet bring to words. How could one tell their friend lightly that their dreams must be put on hold? It was simply impossible, improbable even. Yet Katrina knew what she had heard well. She knew of the boys worsening condition, the loud bellowing arguements and the heresay. She also knew of the scapegoat...one who would die for sanctity even as they had done nothing wrong. Her father while preaching reason was forced to acquis to the fellow picked men before him at the Reverand's urging. The just punishment of God the Almighty must be followed...
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