MicroHorror

“What say you, are you guilty of witchcraft, of which you are suspected, or not?”

“No, sir, I say before God, before whom I stand, that I know nothing of witchcraft.”

Angela Bassett became aware of her family history very early in life. She had overheard the whisperings and mutterings between the adults in her life and had been aware of her unorthodox upbringing. Throughout her formative years at school, she had developed an interest in that family history. It was during this time that she discovered, albeit accidentally, that she possessed certain abilities, abilities that could harm those around her when provoked. This had shockingly come to light when a fellow student had been harassing her in class. In the quickest of motions, Angela had thrown her right hand up, palm out, and her tormentor suddenly, and without warning, had burst into flame.

The smell of burnt flesh and singed hair was present in the classroom for years to come. The carpet had needed to be replaced.

The police and arson squad who investigated could find no cause.

Abigail Battest, Indeated and arraigned for the Crime of fellony by Witchcraft Comited on the bodye of Martha James. Evidences being Called and sworne in open Court Matter of fact Comitted the Jury.

The Jury find Abigail Battest guilty. Sentence of Death pased on Abigail Battest.

Signed William Stoughton, Chief Justice, Superior Court of Judicature, Court of Assize and General Gaol Delivery, 1693.

Angela had discovered the truth of her family while in journalism school. The shock of discovering that members of her family had been hung as witches in the Salem trials had sent shock waves through her.

She had also discovered that the land that was in their possession at the time had been confiscated by the Crown and used for their own purpose. This land, she discovered, was now the home of the Salem Crown Court, named in honor of the very man who sat on those trials, William Stoughton. He was also the man who had had the chance to exonerate her family in the early eighteenth century but never did. Apparently, they were not wealthy enough to pay for such clemency.

Not all the condemned had been exonerated in the early eighteenth century, and so in 1957, descendants of the six people who had been wrongly convicted and executed but who had not been included in the bill for a reversal of attainder in 1711, or added to it in 1712, demanded that the General Court formally clear the names of their ancestral family members. Abigail Battest was not on that list.

Chief Justice Gregory Stoughton III entered his chambers to find a young woman inspecting his plaques and certificates mounted on the wall.
“Can I help you, young lady?”

“I have come to you, sir, to avenge the evil deeds your forefathers committed upon my family during the witch trials. I have discovered that your family has been holding people’s names to ransom, only clearing them from the Witch Lists when they pay you enough cash to keep it quiet. This will now end. I will not beg, nor plead. I will serve justice.”

Without warning, slithering down from the rafter like a snake, a noose appeared and slipped itself quickly around the Chief Justice’s neck. With a sudden tensing of the rope, Stoughton was pulled directly toward the ceiling, his face starting to turn crimson as he gasped for air, eyes bulging in fear, trying to wedge his fingers between the rope and his neck.

“I thought you said they weren’t witches,” he gasped, frantically kicking his legs as the final death throes began to overcome him. Finally, all was still except the creaking of the still-swinging rope.

Angela stared up at the man, dispassionately, before speaking for a final time.

“They weren’t.”