Page 28 of The Witch

It’s real.

For a few minutes, it’s just a gentle whimper. But while I sit rigidly in bed, the sobs escalate, growing louder and more anguished. After a few minutes, she’s wailing like she’s in horrible pain (like she’s being burned alive). And then she utters a single syllable:

No.

I squeeze my eyes shut, telling myself that this is some sort of nightmare or hallucination created by the power of suggestion. Because there is no woman crying outside my door. It’s not possible.

But it doesn’t sound like a hallucination. And it doesn’t feel like a nightmare. It feels real.

I eye the door to my bedroom. After Ethel’s admonition, I locked it before going to sleep. Lock your door at night, and whatever you do, do not come out of your room. The last thing I want to do right now is open that door and see what’s on the other side.

Except I’m not going to sleep anytime soon. Here I am, huddled and terrified in my bedroom, and I don’t know what’s on the other side of the door. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe if I open the door and find out what is behind it, this will all stop.

Slowly, I creep out of my bed. My entire body is trembling, and I tell myself that it’s from the cold, but that’s not the truth. The crying has grown softer again, but it’s still close enough that if I open the door, I will come face-to-face with whoever is making that sound.

My hand is shaking so badly that I have trouble turning the lock on the door. Ethel admonished me to keep the door locked at night, and now I have disregarded her warning and unlocked it. She didn’t tell me what would happen if I stepped outside the confines of my room, and I’m not sure if she knows. Maybe nothing.

I place my hand on the doorknob.

This is ridiculous, Julia. You have nothing to be afraid of.

I take a deep breath, then I slowly pull open the door.

20

1692

CAROLINE

It’s been nigh a week since Dr. Shaylor’s visit to the Hatch household.

Judith Hatch has turned a corner, as we’d hoped. Her fever has broken, and she drinks all the broth and tea that I bring for her. She was even able to keep down a bowl of pottage yestermorn, and today I am preparing some bread and cornmeal to aid her in regaining her strength.

Molly will be around the house to keep up with the chores in my absence. She has been even more surly than is typical since that eve we tended to Judith together. This morning as I gather the food for Judith, she watches me from the doorway of the kitchen, a sour expression on her face.

“Why do you spend so much time nursing her?” Molly asks of me. “She is an old lady. ’Twas her time to be taken.”

I do not respond to this. I cannot hope Molly will understand. I recognize that ’tis not her nature to help others.

“Will you be going to Town Square tomorrow?” Molly asks me.

I shake my head. Even though my fear of the dark-haired man has abated, I am too busy with Judith to go to the market. “I must ask you to attend the market for me.”

“Not for the market,” Molly says. “For the hanging.”

Hanging? I have heard nothing of a hanging. Unless…

“Hitty Atkins,” Molly says with satisfaction, confirming my greatest fears. “She was deemed guilty of witchery. Tomorrow afternoon, she will be hanged in Town Square.”

The news hits me like a blow to the stomach. I grab one of the chairs at the table and fall into it before my legs fail me. I was so busy caring for Judith that I did not give thought to my dear friend. I had no idea that the trial would be so swift.

“No,” I manage. “It cannot be.”

“She was found guilty in a courtroom.” Molly folds her arms across her chest. “It was proven she bewitched dozens of people. She is a danger. It is better that she will be put to death before she harms others.”

All thoughts of Judith fly out of my head. Judith is on the mend and will be fine. But Hitty is the one who needs my help now. How might I help her though? What can I do to prove her innocence? All I have is my word, and who will believe that against the word of so many others who have always passed judgment against the eccentric old widow with the herb garden? Yes, she is odd, but certainly she is no witch! The fears of the Night Reaper seem to have whipped the town into a frenzy.

“Where is she now?” I ask.