17th Century America A thin blanket of snow evenly coated the town of Salem, Massachusetts. In this town lived a woman by the name of Ophelia Hameltin. Ophelia was a paisley, but mysterious, character that enjoyed sitting in her rocking chair by the cozy fire that comfortably toasted the small room. Often times, she would sing about her husband, Oswald, who had abandoned her oh-so many years ago. The neighborhood children allowed themselves to venture on the property, for the delightful aromas wafted through the air right to their little noses. And when then children ventured close enough, she would emerge from the doorway, and politely invite them in. The kids, being too young to know her for what she was, curiously entered the wonderful-smelling home. This legend has been passed down for exactly three generations, yet no one believes it still.
One such day, little Johnnie Thomas allowed his legs to carry him to this house he had heard about. He wasn't afraid, yet he was only seven years of age.
Step by step, stride by stride, he eventually came upon the rickety porch, each step groaning under his weight of 58 pounds.
The oak door slowly creaked open, revealing the plump little lady who wore a nasty sort of smile on her face.
"Good afternoon!" Ophelia said in a bittersweet tone. "Please, do come in.!" Little Johnnie cautiously entered the fancy, Victorian-styled house. Almost immediately after Johnnie stepped over the threshold, the once- polite woman tainted her mind and slammed the door shut, bolting it.
"Well now," her raspy voice stated. "What have we here?" Frightened, Johnnie tried running away, however the hag pointed a finger at him. An icy blue spark shot at him, and he froze.
Heavily panicking, little Johnnie looked frantically around. He noticed a fire flickering in the fireplace, with a rocking chair right by it. Ophelia cackled pejoratively. "You'll be going no where, little child!" she accented. Little Johnnie cried and cried, but to no avail. The woman's large shadow was cast upon him, as a lightning storm brewed outside.

In a small white cottage down the lane, Johnnie's parents became worried. They hadn't seen their son in over three hours. Every minute or so, they would look at each other and embrace the fact that Johnnie was okay. However, he was not. The mother wept uncontrollably, and was on the verge of insanity. "Give me my Johnnie back!" she screamed out the window, hoping either Johnnie came back on his own, or someone would bring him back. The father placed an arm around her shoulder.

Ophelia threw the now sobbing Johnnie into her "special" chair. Then, with a simple snap of her fingers, chains wrapped tightly around his ankles and wrists. With another snap, 1500 volts of electricity surged throughout Johnnie's body. His eyes rolled back behind his head, signaling he was dead. And she just left him there.

A Year Later
Ophelia had brutally murdered several more children, but fortunately had been captured. Deprived of her occult magic, most presumed her to be a witch as they had others previously in the Witch Trials.
The noose rope was placed around her neck, and there was a minute pause before the crowd cheered. Ophelia hung there, only supported by the sturdy cord around her broken neck. Her house remained, entwined with vines and magic and such. But her curse lives on.

Present-Day America
Josh Thomas skateboarded down Thomas Avenue, his own street. He passed the Andersens, the Smiths, the Jones', and finally, the old Hameltin house. He paused a moment to pay respect to little Johnnie, who was his great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-uncle or something like that. But either way, little Johnnie was his ancestor, and little Johnnie had been murdered in this house.
After he finished pay his respects, he skateboarded off to his own house, the exact one that little Johnnie had lived in four hundred years ago. He entered the house, to find, as usual, that no one was home yet. He ran up the stairs, to his room, and started his homework.
Around four, Josh heard a door open and close. Figuring it was his mom, he continued with his homework. About an hour later, he heard a faint humming down in the living room. Ignoring it, he went back to his homework again.
Finally, the humming grew very obnoxious and loud, it almost sounded like singing. Annoyed now, Josh got up and walked down to the living room. He opened the door.
"Mom, enough singing already, I can't-" He then saw the ghost of the Ophelia Hameltin that he had heard about in school and in legends. Before he could say anything else, a butter knife from the kitchen plunged into his chest. Gasping for air, Josh fell to his knees and then onto his stomach. It was game over for him, and another point for the fat lady that sung.