Witchcraft Hysteria

Their maddened shrieks and cries echo off the damp walls of the cold dungeon we're locked in. They've been driven insane from lack of food and can no longer help but appear to live up to the curse the girls had tacked them with: witch.

I was one of the unlucky ones. I was forced to watch my friends die before my eyes. A dear friend of mine, who's name has now been lost in my slipping memory, was hanged. On the day of her trial, she was led into the courtroom wearing her new flowing red dress. The girls barked and convulsed on the dirty floor as she entered. They cried that a specter of her was watching them, taunting them from the rafters of the courtroom. Her attempts to defend herself were drown out by the hollers of the girls and the yells of the jury. She was convicted, and mainly so because of her dress.

I watched her neck snap in the noose. Her eyes roll back in her head. The way blood oozed from her mouth, growing darker in the cold. The way her limp body was tossed about in the wind as if she were the toy of a child hanging from careless hands. And most of all, the way her dark hair flowed around her swirling red robes. I waited with the rest of the spectators as the executioners cut her ropes free from the spindly dead tree. There were murmurs of agreement as her bones crunched when she landed in an unnatural position on the ground.

I walked home alone. I was the only one left lachrymose after those incidents. When the police came a-knocking on my door, I already knew exactly why.

They bound my hands with rope and tied that to the back of their horses. They paraded me through the streets, the town laughing as I stumbled and fell and ripped my skirts. Rain began pouring down upon me, making the scene only more dismal. The mud soaked into my shoes and they began to grow increasingly uncomfortable. They took me to the dungeons and dragged me along down a dark corridor lit by only candles. The wails of the men and women in the cells smarted my eyes.

"No! No!"

"Dear Lord in heaven, will thou not abate me from this Hell?"

"Baby? Baby! Where is thy baby?!"

They pulled me to an empty room with a solid door that was lit by a large amount of candles. The men there were robed with hoods shadowing their faces from me. The words they spoke have been forgotten, but I do remember thinking how they were the ones who looked like witches, not me. They stripped the clothes from my body, layer after layer. I stood cold and naked in front of the scrutinizing eyes of men I thought I'd once known.

"Sir! 'Tis the mark of the devil!" One of the men called. He pointed to an area on my collarbone where I'd had a nasty fall as a child that left a small scar.

"'Tis the mark of thy devil indeed," the man murmured. "Clothe thyself, hellspawn!"

I pulled my clothing back on quickly. They bound my hands again and kept my shoes. I padded down the hall behind them on bare feet. They pushed me into a cell along with many others who had a 'devil's mark.'

Two days of no eating starts to get to you. Two more and starts to get maddening. The dripping water is all you can hear some moments, the torment of others is all you can hear the next. Either way, you want to curl up and scream in frustration. The foosteps of the guards come and go several times a day, calling for people to come with them for their trial. When they came for me, I'd no idea they had called my name. I was fascinated with the water that seemed to be almost leaking out the stone walls. They'd been forced to drag me out again. I was as startled as ever, eyes wide with fear as they pulled me down the hall.

"Sir," I croaked.

"Silence, devil child!" the guard hissed, taking the liberty of smashing his hand across my face. I felt the heat of the blood as it dripped from my nose. I wiped it away with the back of my damp, tattered bodice sleeve. I wasn't like my friend, my dress was not red, nor was it black. It was the standard brown color that was required in Salem. I was no sinner, I was the one you could count on to consistently abide by the rules.

Here, being dragged to my trial, there were no rules, though the twisted government claimed there were. The entire thing was based upon spectral evidence. None of it was true.

They sat me down upon a stiff wooden bench before the crowd of people. As soon as my bottom touched the wood, the girls cried started clawing at the ground.

"Witch!" one screamed, "Witch!" The rest followed her, screaming and pointing at me. There were claims of me causing nightmares where I burned devil marks onto their skin, where I had lit aflame a crucifix.

I wasn't listening until the governor announced my sentence.

"...Shall be bound to stone blocks and placed in the river."

Apparently, if I floated, I was a witch, to be burned at the stake. If I drowned, I was human and there was nothing to be done about the matter.

So I was hauled off back to the dungeons, but to a different cell. This one was for those who were on Death Row. Some were more desperate here than in the regular cells, here they tried to escape each time the door open. But there were a few others who had lost hope completely. They layed in the filthy pools of water on the floor and stared up at the stone ceiling. I was thrown in there like a disgusting rag. My death was scheduled for the next day. It's unsettling to contemplate the fact that your existence will cease completely, especially when it's going to happen the next day.

I fell asleep, despite the unsteady whispers of those who's lost their minds.

I cringed awake, as I was being kicked relentlessly in the side and spat on. I bolted upright, straight into the arms of the awaiting soldiers. I chose at that moment not to cry. I would not give them the satisfaction that they desired. Instead, I chose a never-fail smile and plastered it onto my face. As slight as it may have been, it would satisfy my need for normalcy.

All too soon I found myself at the dock over the river. I scanned the growing crowd and spotted several family members. Some looked ashamed, others horrified. I kept my smile tacked onto my cheeks, even as my body was weighted with ropes and stone blocks. I smiled as several men carried me to the river and dropped me in. I smiled until my face was immersed in water, then I let everything fall out.

The stones sunk me like the rocks they were and soon I was trapped at the bottom of the murky waters. I didn't struggle like many would, I let the slow currents pull me right and left, up and down.

Soon, the lack of breath began to get painful and the water pressure began to bother me. I felt my pulse throb through my entire body as the lack of breath began to get unbearably painful.

My mouth opened involuntarily, expecting a big breath of air. Instead, I got a lungful of water. It burned my already stinging lungs. I tried to cough it back up, but the water got in my mouth some more. I gurgled and choked, trying to get it all out. None of it would come out, and my vision got black and blurry.

Before I died, I sent a final prayer up to God. I thanked him for my short life, and I asked him to forgive those who had murdered me.

With that, my heart slowed steadily until I could barely feel it. Things got very cold, and my eyes closed. My lifespan came to a close. I made sure to die with a smile on my face.