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Abiramy Maheswaran In the Darkest Hour
“You’re biting your nails,” I said, glancing at her. “Come on, Jenny. What’s wrong?” “All right,” she began, setting down her fork. My turnips were getting cold, but I didn’t care. “Something did happen today. You know the witch trials…” “Oh god. Jenny!” “You’re right,” she replied quickly. “Just forget I said anything...”
We have one bazaar in our village. It consists of dozens of stalls overflowing with commodities. That morning it was filled with delicious aromas and the sounds of stingy locals haggling with shopkeepers. “Come on!” my sister cried. “Hurry up, Holly! We’re never going to finish!” “I’m coming!” I moaned. “Now are you sure we got everything?” she asked. Jenny was searching through our bags. There’s my sister for you, always worried about something. “Yes,” I replied, rolling my eyes. “We got everything.” Giving me a look, Jennifer started walking away. She did call back, “All right then, I’ll go pay for everything. You’re free to go as soon as you pick up Kit’s food.” Before Jenny could change her mind, I darted over to the butcher’s stall. A man with a thick moustache was serving customers. His name was Sebastian. When he saw me, he grinned and said, “One bag of fish for Mistress Becker.” “Excuse me!” cried an outraged voice. Freezing, I jerked my head slightly to the right. Standing beside me was Priscilla George, one of the richest folks in town. “I’m really sorry,” I told her. “This’ll only take a second-!” “Wait? Me? Who do you think you are?” the girl demanded, glaring at me with a furious expression. “Look, I’m sorry. My cat is sick.” Wanting to finish my chores quickly, I was lying. “If I don’t get this food back to her soon, she could die! Have some compassion!” “You’ll just have to wait in line,” the girl snapped. She turned back to Sebastian, who looked revolted. “Listen, I’ll be quick,” I told her. “I’ll just get the food and be on my way. “Who are you anyway–one of those peasants that work over in the sugar plantations?” “My name is Holly Becker.” “Oh the Becker sisters,” Priscilla asked. “I’ve heard about you. You’re those two poverty-stricken orphans that live near the forest.” “Why you–!” I grabbed her arm and twisted it back. I’m not violent, really. That girl made me really mad, insulting my mother and father like that. Cradling her arm, she backed away. “Why you…” She didn’t seem to be able to think of a suitable insult. “You- You witch!” Then Priscilla stormed away from the stall. Rolling my eyes, I turned back to Sebastian. He looked scared for me.
I didn’t hear about Priscilla George again until the next day. I was working with my friends in the fields, when one of them suddenly brought her up. “Hey,” she whispered. “Did you hear about what happened to Priscilla George?” My eyes darted up from the damaged weeds I had been pulling “No, what?” another replied. “She was taken ill last night, on some strange account. She’s been lying in a cold fever all morning. I heard that it was the witches who did it.” Those last four words made my blood chill. That night, the villagers came. The townsfolk blocked our front door. Fire from their torches illuminated the windows. We were taken into the courthouse facing the Village Square, with the angry throng following close behind. As we entered the courtroom, Priscilla, who had been lingering on a side, started shivering. Her eyes went out of focus and she looked like she was having a seizure. It was an act. Priscilla, like so many before her, was acting as if a curse had been placed on her. Mr. George, looking furious, stood up. The men on either side pulled him back down.
“The women held before us are witches, the most evil creatures on God’s good earth. They practice the pleasures of the devil himself: witchcraft,” the judge announced. “They intend to gain power for themselves and spread their dark ways in the land. The proof…their black cat!” “She was dark gray!” I cried. Some people in the court laughed. At this a man with a white wig stepped forward. Clearing his throat he said, “Yes, these women reside in a small hut isolated from common folk. It allows them to practice their black magic without distractions, while providing easy accessibility to the herbs they desire from their own garden. These witches have also spread a deadly disease among those who dare to oppose them. I call upon the father of Mistress Priscilla George.” When Dr. George stood up, the whole room fell silent. He said, “I never once suspected the sisters Becker…until today, when my Priscilla fell into her illness…” As if on cue, Priscilla started shivering further. She screamed, “That girl, she’s making me itch! She’s hurting me!” “My girl has obviously been possessed by evil,” Priscilla’s father said gravely. “For the sake of our holy village, and Priscilla, I beg you to rid us of these creatures.” On creatures, he gestured towards my sister and me. With that, Dr. George went back to his seat. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Jennifer closing her eyes. After a testimony like that, we were done for. My eyes rushed over the crowd, looking for a comforting face - there didn’t seem to be any. Finally my eyes focused on a man with a thick moustache. He was a man who had been friends with my father and often gave us free treats for Kit. The man was Sebastian. Sebastian was staring at me with a look of utmost sympathy. He knew that what the villagers were doing was wrong. But to go against the majority was to ask for death. All that he could do was pity us and hope that we had better luck in the hereafter. I sighed. “DEATH!” one man yelled. And every single man there seemed to cheer in agreement. I closed my eyes - we were dead. The executioners were the strong men of Salem – they were the only ones considered strong enough to stand against the witches. We stared at each other for a moment. Then they bound our hands with rope and lead us into the open night. “Death to the witches! Death to the witches!” Someone screamed, as we stepped into the cold moonlight. Priscilla was smiling. A giant platform of straw and hay rose from the center of the Town Square. It had claimed so many lives. The priest strode over to us. “You have caused our village much pain by your…craft,” he said firmly. The stars were candles illuminating the dark room that held them. “We will see that righteousness is rightly served.” They bound us firmly to the thick wooden sticks. My sister remained silent and resolute. “The women held accused have been proven to be real witches!” the priest announced. “The sentence for their despicable crimes is DEATH!” The whole village broke out in cheering. I closed my eyes. The priest let everyone have a moment, before continuing. “By burning at the stake!” More cheering followed. “You fools,” my sister screeched. “Murder us, forsake a dead woman’s words. One day, in your darkest hour, these crimes shall come back to haunt you.” The priest nodded to the man standing next to him. Raising his torch high, he flung it in the pyre. The smell of smoke filled the air as the hay and straw caught fire. By this time, all the girls, with the exception of Jennifer, were screaming. They were calling for help. No one cared. The flames danced higher and higher in the night sky. Help us, I thought desperately. Deep inside, I knew no one was coming.
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Copyright © 2002-2006 Student Publishing Program (SPP). Poetry and prose © 2002-2006 by individual authors. Reprinted with permission. Contents photo from LHS Yearbook Staff. SPP developed and designed by Strong Bat Productions.