"Rid the Witch!"

                A crowd gathers in a nearby town. Jabbering, gossiping as if they were the rich.

                “Where to put her, where to put her,” one woman mumbled as others around her nodded their heads in agreement.

 

                In the middle of the crowd stood a wooden platform, a tank and a stake. A young girl stands frozen as the town gathers around. Marie was this particular girl’s name. Her mother was alive, while her father passed away a couple of years back.

                An older woman approached the platform of where Marie stood. Placing a hand on the girl’s shoulder, she asked:

                “Your name, child?” Her voice was like the hiss of a thousand snakes, bone-chilling.

                The young girl began to quiver and shake, her lips trembling.

                “M-Marie,” she stammered as so the woman could hear her.

                “Ah, yes.” The woman nodded slightly with a sly smile on her face. “How could I forget?” Marie continued to quiver as the woman made her way behind and around her, moving her hand along Marie’s shoulders and backside.

                “Dearest, Marie,” the woman projected her voice to the crowd. “Where were you found this morning?”

                “In the woods, ma’am.” Marie answered.

                “And what was it you were doing there?”

                “I was on a walk with my older sister.”

                There was a silence.

                “Well, I call that rubbish! And all of you should too!” The woman shouted as she pointed over the crowd with her finger.

                “But…” Marie began, but the woman quickly held up her hand.

                “But what? Don’t tell me it is true because you and everyone else, including I, know that it is not! We all know you were practicing witchcraft in those woods and your sister taught you how.” The woman announced. Marie then pulled away sharply from the woman’s cold grasp.

                “Don’t you put this on my sister!” Marie shouted. “Don’t you dare!”

                The woman then grabbed Marie around the neck with her arm and held her close against her chest. Marie struggled to get free, but the woman had a tight and firm hold on her.

                “Now,” the woman said proudly. “How should we dispose of her? Burn her alive?” She faced Marie forcefully towards the stake that was planted. Marie heard the crowd cheer loudly, a tear ran down her cheek as she imagined her father suddenly leaping up from the crowd to save her.

                “Or…” the woman paused. She kissed the tear on Marie’s cheek, tasting it with her poisonous lips. “Should we drown her?” The crowd cheered loudly again as Marie was faced towards an empty tanks, her body now trembling uncontrollably.

                “Rid the witch!” An older woman yelled from the crowd. A man roared and within seconds, it became a chant. The woman standing nearest Marie on the platform let out a slight giggle as she placed her hands upon the girls trembling, fragile shoulders, seeming impressed by her followers.

                “Rid the witch! Rid the witch!” as the chanting continued. It went on a minute or so longer, through what seemed like a lifetime or an entire generation for Marie before it finally ceased. The crowd again, was silent once more.

                “Now,” the woman said softly. “How shall we rid of her?” The crowd was silent, then a few citizens began some slight murmuring to each other.

                “Marie!” A sudden cry beckoned from the crowd. Marie froze. Her body tensed up and her shaking became still.

                “Marie!” the voice cried again. “I’m here, Marie!” Marie and the woman began to see a sudden figure pushing its way through the crowd.

                “Myra?” Marie whispered under her breath. She couldn’t believe it!

                Myra was Marie’s older sister, but only by about four years. She and Marie would always spend time together, even once their father passed away. Myra was the one to look after and take care of Marie and keep her out of harm’s way. Their mother was the town’s medicine woman, so they would witness her casting certain spells here and there in order to heal people.

                “And who might you be?” the woman asked in curiosity as Myra bravely approached the platform.

                “My name is Myra. I am Marie’s older sister.” Myra replied sternly, catching her breath as she worked her way up the wooden steps onto the platform near to where her sister was standing.

“Ah!” the woman bellowed proudly. “How lovely.”

                “Let her go.” Myra ordered firmly. The woman stopped her actions and glanced over at Myra.

                “Excuse me?” As the woman didn’t’ ever expect to hear these certain words, especially spoken by such a young girl.

                “You heard clear of what I said. Let my sister go.” The woman simply laughed, motioning the crowd to laugh along, which they did.

                “You’re sister will rot in Hell for what she’s done. After all, she should be more aware and responsible of and for her actions.”

                “Listen, our mother is the medicine woman and yes, Marie and I have witnessed her perform certain spells on numerous occasions. But I swear to you and this town that we have never attempted any witchcraft in her presence nor on our own.” Myra began to explain, showing no fear or emotion.

                “The crowd was lifeless and still. Like the ocean before the waves come through or before a predicted storm hit. The woman unbound Marie’s hands, but instead, tied a cement block at the end of her feet.

                “Please, ma’am,” Myra stammered. “I assure you my sister is no witch of any sort and neither am I. I was always one to look out for her and keep her out of trouble.”

                “Enough!” The woman held her hand up to silence Myra, but that did not seem to quiet her.

                “I promise that if you put my sister in that tank to drown, I will surely jump in and drown with her.” The woman stopped, gazed at Myra, then at the terrified, yet precious Marie. The crowd remained silent, waiting for what’s to come next. The woman turned to face back at the crowd as a sly and devious smile crept onto her face.

                “Fine.” She said calmly. Then she shoved Marie into the tank full of cold, breath-taking water, throwing the cement block in after her. The block quickly made its way to the bottom of the tank, dragging Marie further down beneath the surface. Though her hands weren’t bound, Marie desperately reached through the water, through the endless bubbles she happened to make with each movement, feeling as if the surface was Heaven, the water being Hell itself.

                Myra soon jumped in after, holding her breath as she dove under, grabbing Marie’s cold, pale hands in her own. As she held her breath, she watched her sister suffer innocently. The water took their tears away as soon after; Myra began to suffer as her last breaths were quickly running out. Yet, she didn’t let go of her sister’s hands, not budging to break her most recent promise.

                And so, the sisters died with their hands intertwined underwater. The crowd cheering that the witch was finally dead and that their town was finally safe. The cruel woman soon after died of illness. Yet, the town didn’t dare know that the town would be threatened by nothing, since the young girls were innocent and not bothering to see that their mother was the real witch to have been accused and afraid of.

Author's Note

This story takes place during The Salem Witch Trials and tells of a young girl who gets accused of being a witch as her older sister steps in and tries to free her sister.

Reviews

[00000000000000000000000..]

That was some story my dear friend, the end was sad, But a love seen never letting go:)