How to Hang a Witch (19 page)

I need some time to think this through. “Is there a place where I could sit quietly for a little while? An empty classroom or something?”

“It's not exactly school policy.”

“You gave me a lot to think about. I'm afraid if I go back to class I'll lose all this progress we've made.”

Mrs. Lippy wavers. “Are you sure we can't talk this out?”

“Believe me, I have to think about things privately first. Then I can share.”

She nods and begins filling out a slip of paper. “This is for room one twenty-seven. It's usually empty at this time.” She hands me the pass. “This will give you a half hour.”

“Thank you so much!” I smile at her, and she looks pleased. I pick up my bag and bolt out of her office.

As soon as I'm in the hallway, I start whispering Elijah's name. By the time I open the door to the empty classroom, he is standing right in front of me. “You whispered?”

“Sorry,” I reply. “I don't really know how else to get in touch with you.”

His face softens. “I do not mind if you call me.”

“Elijah, how do you know that I'm calling you if you aren't watching me?”

“I have not quite figured it out myself. I believe it is correlated to the amount of time I focus on you. I must be tuned in to you. I can hear when you say my name. Names have power.”

I like that he's tuned in to me. “I think I stumbled across something while talking to Mrs. Lippy. Did you know people were complaining that I messed up their grades and got them sick with my eyes and all kinds of nonsense?”

“Not exactly those things. But I did have an idea.”

“Remember how you said my situation is like the accused witches' in the sixteen hundreds? And that silence is a death sentence.” He nods. “I was thinking my situation is more like that than I initially thought. That it might all be part of a larger pattern.”

“Elaborate.”

“So, the deaths occur in a pattern. That we know. And we figured out that they were occurring only when descendants of all the main Witch Trials families were in Salem at the same time. What if the pattern is more complex than we thought? What if the original Trials are re-created? As in, the same basic thing happens, just in a different form. In this case, it would be my being accused as a witch and everyone else falling in line to kill me off, at least metaphorically.”

He tilts his head. “It is a better rationale than anything we have come up with thus far.”

“Right?” I'm so excited that my sleepiness fades. “Let's review the major causes of the Trials. Maybe if we stop some of those things from happening we can break the curse…or at least slow it down.” I pull out a piece of paper and pen to make notes. “To start with, there was Cotton's book.”

“To
start,
we must look farther back. Witchcraft was a common crime in those times. In only a few hundred years there were upward of eighty thousand witchcraft executions in Europe. And before the Salem Trials, approximately fifteen people had been executed in New England.”

I wince. “So witchcraft was something that people accepted as real.”

“Indeed. And, as I have told you, Massachusetts Bay Colony was a Puritan community. The political leaders were all members of Puritan churches and consulted their ministers frequently. Puritans were Calvinist—all rituals besides the approved ones were associated with paganism.”

I write quickly in my notebook. “Basically, anything outside of the norm was jumped on as evil or something.”

Elijah nods. “Also, Salem Village was a quarrelsome place. Villagers fought over land and church-related matters. Almost every villager could come up with a list of complaints about his or her neighbors.”

That's high school in a nutshell. “I bet once the accusations started flying, they spread like wildfire.”

“Certainly. Now, what you said about Cotton's book was correct. It provided people with the information they needed to make their accusations plausible.” Elijah sounds regretful.

“So it was the perfect setting for things to get out of hand.” I pause for a moment. “Which is like my situation here. High schoolers immediately go for the throat of the different person. And once the war starts, it just rages on until someone is broken.”

Elijah frowns. “I guess witchcraft accusations have not disappeared. They have just transformed.”

I was hoping for a more straightforward task. “How am I going to change a whole system? Something that's been happening forever?”

Elijah smiles at the word
change.
“I wanted you to understand the context of witchcraft accusations in Salem. We can look at it more specifically, examining which things are necessary to convict a witch.”

“Okay.” I'm more comfortable with that idea. “You tell me what happened during the Trials, and I'll find the equivalent for my situation.”

I write in my notebook:

“To start with, you need a fearful community,” Elijah says. “In addition to what I have already said about the townspeople, the French and Indian battles made New Englanders particularly skittish. There were people in Salem who had been attacked, lost ones they loved, or were refugees. They feared the wilderness and were always ready for something bad to happen. They wanted something to explain their losses and fears.”

“Like all the mysterious deaths and weirdness in Salem. Alice said they were looking for an explanation.”

Elijah nods. “And most of the accusations were formed by a select group of people.”

“The Descendants.”

“Once that group decided to turn against a witch, no one in the town would stand up for that individual. They feared that they would also be accused if they said anything.”

“My whole school's scared to stand up to the Descendants, especially to Lizzie. Maybe the town is, too.” Connecting these dots is too easy. I don't like it.

“Oftentimes, the complaints about the witch would increase in frequency. More townspeople would join in and reinforce the idea that there was something wrong with that person.”

“The complaints Mrs. Lippy read…”

Elijah nods. “Then proof was provided in the form of physical harm and visions, going so far as to blame past murders on the witch.”

“The rash and John's death.” It's pretty morbid.

“The evidence was reviewed by the magistrates and the community in the court. When everyone agreed that the evidence was sufficient, the witch took a hanging sentence.”

My heart pounds. There's no way they could hang me, right? Even if it's a metaphor, the idea is sick and disturbing. My mind goes to the drawing in the dirt at Gallows Hill Park and the noose on my coffee cup. “On this one, I got nothin'.”

“I'm not sure what could be the equivalent of going to trial,” I say. “Also, most of those things have already happened. I can't stop them. Was it ever possible to escape a death sentence?”

“Occasionally, yes. But that individual needed a good deal of support and a way to make her voice heard. You will need an audience and you will have to be convincing.”

My stomach drops so low, I feel it in my toes. “Like a speech?”

“Yes, I suppose so.” He pauses, and I know what he's going to say next. “Also, our courts were not formal the way you might imagine them. They were more of a community event. Will the school gather to discuss John's death?”

I stare at my hands, which have stopped taking notes. “Yes. There's an assembly today.”

“Providence.”

“You mean worst thing ever.”

I
grip the paper written in my crappy handwriting and take the last seat in the last row of the auditorium. People speak in hushed voices, but the energy is high.

Principal Brennan clears his throat at the podium. “As you all know, one of our own students died tragically yesterday.”

I tune him out and look over my speech. My hands shake and the paper rustles.
Just don't let me faint
—which I have done twice since I came to Salem for some crazy reason.
And don't let anyone throw anything.

“Samantha, if you are not careful, it will tear,” Elijah warns. I ease my grip.

I look at the backs of the students' heads and involuntarily begin to count them. When I get to five hundred, I start to dry-heave.

Elijah appears calm, but I can tell by the slight wrinkle in his brow that he's worrying. “If you must regurgitate your food, I suggest doing so before the speech.”

“I didn't eat anything today,” I say.

He lifts his brow. “I suppose that is good fortune.”

I can't help but agree.

“Now I would like to hand over the microphone to some of John's closest friends,” Brennan says, concluding his brief introduction.

The Descendants take the stage wearing floor-length black dresses and appearing almost to float. Lizzie carries a bundle of roses such a deep shade of purple, they look black from a distance. She places them near a picture of John on the stage.

Those roses!
They're the same kind I saw by the lamppost in town. My mind races. Could they have been from her as well? Susannah did say that Lizzie's been affected more than most and that she blames me. Did something happen to someone else she loves?

Lizzie takes the podium with the three girls behind her. “I cannot give you a carefully constructed speech about how special John was, or what a good life he had until yesterday. You all knew him. You all know.” Her demeanor's cold and commanding. “I'm not going to make you laugh or cry or even tell you how I feel without him. My feelings are obvious. I can sum them up in one word—anger.”

The Descendants, behind Lizzie, glance at each other. I guess she's not giving whatever speech they were expecting.

“He shouldn't have died. It was not an accident. And the responsible party must pay. We all know who that is: Samantha Mather.”

Sweat breaks out on my forehead, and I slink down in my chair as far as I can. Nausea throbs through my body, and the edge of my vision flickers like camera flashes.

“Susannah was there when Samantha tried to attack him in the hallway. I was there when she threatened him in class. And Jaxon was there to discover her bite mark on his lifeless palm.”

My heart nearly stops when I hear Jaxon's name. He talked to the Descendants about me? He was the only one there when I told Bradbury about biting John's hand. Has he been lying to me all along? The betrayal stabs at me, and all I want to do is run. Surprised reactions ripple through the crowd in gasps and whispers. Many turn around and search for me. Elijah fumes. This is my conviction. Brennan stands, looking like he is going to interject.

“That's all we have to say.” Lizzie turns away from the podium. Susannah hesitates near the microphone, but Lizzie grabs her arm. They follow her off the stage. Lizzie convinced them I had something to do with John's death. And Jaxon…I want to cry.

A flustered Brennan takes the microphone. “Uh…I would just like to say that the police report indicated that John's death was most likely an accident, as I said earlier. Now I would like to introduce Dr. Myers, a grief therapist, to the stage.” Dr. Myers takes the microphone.

“Maybe this isn't such a good idea,” I say.

“Samantha, there is no retreating. You either go up there or your trial is concluded. Lizzie is victorious.”

“How can I change people's minds after that?”

“You simply have to introduce doubt. Make them question their dislike of you. That should be enough to buy us time. This is your chance. Do not miss it.”

I take a breath. I have to focus on why I'm trying to break the curse. My dad…and now Susannah. I saw her hesitate on stage. She doesn't agree with Lizzie—at least not completely. I need every shred of support I can get.

My whole body shakes as I stand. Thankfully, everyone's watching Dr. Myers. I hug the wall and make my way toward the front of the auditorium. I don't look at anyone because I can't bear knowing what I'll see. I walk up the stairs to the stage.

“Steady, Samantha,” Elijah says.

Dr. Myers looks confused as I approach the podium.

“I have to say something.” My voice is quiet.

Brennan attempts to get on the stage, but Myers stops him with a hand gesture. To my surprise, Myers puts the microphone back on the podium and steps away from it. I'm not sure whether I'm grateful or wish that he stopped me.

I place my crinkled speech on the podium. The room's unnaturally silent. No one moves. I don't look at the crowd. I can't. I just focus on my paper and try to keep my voice steady.

“I…well…I know that…I haven't made a good impression on most of you. Some of you…well, you have legitimate reasons for disliking me.”

People begin to whisper, and the counselor hushes the room.

“Get off the stage!” someone yells, and a few people boo me.

I'm making this worse for myself. “There are many…” The boos increase.

Lizzie yells, “Murderer!” and others echo her.

I lift my head and take in the audience for the first time. Angry faces stare at me. I clear my throat, and Brennan and Dr. Myers attempt to quiet the hostile students. I straighten my speech, hoping people will stop booing long enough for me to get the words out.

In one jerky movement I knock the piece of paper off the podium and over the edge of the stage. Elijah grabs it mid-fall. It takes me a second before I realize the auditorium has gone silent. Slowly, Elijah lifts the paper. Everyone stares at it, floating in the air. I take it, but finding my place in my speech now seems silly. How can I go on like nothing strange just happened?

I scan the auditorium the way I peek at a bad cut. I have the Descendants' attention. Good. I spot Jaxon in my peripheral vision, but don't look directly at him. I fold my speech and tuck it into my back pocket. “I'm not perfect. I'm far from it. I'm weird. The strangest things happen around me all the time. I don't know why, and maybe I never will.

“I can explain that paper, though. It was a spirit. I can't make friends at school, but I can with the dead. So at least I've got that.” There are a few nervous laughs that end as abruptly as they start.

“And I'm pretty sure I know why John died, even though I don't know how.” The tension in the room is palpable. “But to explain that, I have to back up a bit. You see, there were three times in the years since the Trials when a whole bunch of descendants died. My spirit friend helped me figure out that these deaths happen in a pattern. All the major Witch Trials families have to be in Salem at once. A few weeks ago, the Mathers were the only major family missing. And as you may have noticed, when I moved here, people started dying quickly.”

To my surprise, the crowd's not acting like I've said the most ridiculous thing they've ever heard. With a quick glance, I catch Jaxon putting his head in his hands. My lip trembles.

“You said that I'm cursed. I am. And so are the Descendants, their families, and possibly this town.” Actually owning these words feels oddly light. I've been running from them for a long time. “I am trying to figure it out. But I don't think I can do it by myself. I'm not asking you to like me. I'm asking you to stop hating me long enough for me to work this thing out.” The whispers start. “That's all, I guess. Thanks for listening.”

As I walk away from the podium, a girl yells, “Prove that you can see a ghost!”

Not this again.
The room waits for my reply. “No.” But as the word leaves my mouth, Elijah lifts me by my waist. The audience bursts into shocked conversation. No one tries to get control of the situation. I make eye contact with Susannah, and Elijah sets me back on my feet. She nods calmly while Alice and Lizzie battle it out on either side of Mary, who looks ill.

I don't sit back down in the auditorium. I steal a glance toward Jaxon, but he's not in his seat. I walk through the heavy double doors and then out of the school entirely.