A small girl fell sick in 1692. Her symptoms—

convulsions, contortions, and outbursts of gibberish

— perplexed everyone. Other girls soon manifested

the same symptoms. Their doctor could suggest but

one cause: That diagnosis started a

Puritan inquisition that took 25 lives, filled prisons

with innocent people, and frightened the soul of a

Massachusetts community called Salem.

Witchcraft

Imagine that you are a woman who lives in Salem. All

the villagers are convulsed with the AFFLICTED GIRLS.

Satan is in your village, torturing young girls. Everybody

knows it. Everybody is confussed and afraid.

You look at the hard, tired faces

of your neighbours—people

you’ve known all your life. Is she

a witch? Is he? Once such

questions might have seemed

ridiculous, but everyone knows

that Satan is loose in Salem. And

the prince of darkness is a

master of disguese.

You think of Tituba, the slave who

kept house for the Reverend

Samuel Parris. She confessed to

being a witch. There were others,

she said, and they all served

Satan. Salem cannot rest until this

evil has been eliminated.

You decide to go to the inn. There should be a few

villagers. And maybe the afflicted girls will have more

of their

Young Ann Putnam and Abigail Williams are sitting

in the corner.

So is Mary Warren. She accused the other girls of

lying, but that was only because she was bewitched.

It seems a few nights in jail helped clear her mind.

The girls are quiet, confident of everyone’s attention.

Abigail and Mary begin screaming. Ann stays still a few more

seconds. She moves her arms up and down and lets out a sound

that no one has ever heard before. It’s sort of a squawk and sort

of a bark and sort of a scream.

“Who is it, Ann? Who is tormenting you?” Ann cries and runs.

“Tell us, Ann. Tell us.”

The girl pauses, turns, and names her torturer.

No nightmare ever came

close to this.

The darkness.

The smell.

The clammy air that seeps

through your skin.

And the chains.

Even while you’re in the town jail— wondering if

hell could be much different— the girls claim

your specter has been tormenting them back in

the village. So the jailer has locked heavy irons

around your legs.

It makes no sense to you, and you wonder if it

makes sense to anyone.

In your cell in prison, you look around, through

the darkness you recognise Bridget Bishop.

Your soul shivers as you look at this condemned

witch. Just a few days ago, you watched her

trial.

She’s a witch, all right, and her hanging will be

God’s punishment.

But nothing can make you believe that Martha

Cory and Rebecca Nurse are witches. You’ve

seen them; you know them. These are good

women. Martha Cory bows her head and prays.

You are brought to the church.

Now you are accused of being a witch.