Witch-Happy Puritans

A/N: This story is just a little something that I felt like writing. In no way is it to be taken seriously. Really. This entire story was written at midnight, by an insane person with a cold, absolutely exhausted by cold medicine. Thank you and enjoy. Review, too.

-AJ

One cold morning in the not-so-sunny village on the outskirts of colonial Salem, Massachusetts, the town preacher woke up. He got out of bed, got dressed, and walked downstairs to see what kind of cornmeal thingy would be his breakfast cooked by his not-so-talented-in-cooking wife. Cornbread. Very bland, but the preacher guy ate it anyway. There was nothing else to eat in his house but corn stuff.

Skipping his completely dull breakfast where he didn't even talk to his wife, he was sitting in his living room, with a candle. The preacher was very fond of going to bed at sunset and waking up around midnight. He took the saying, "early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise" a little too extreme. He was looking through his very worn copy of the Bible, looking for an interesting passage to read at the morning church service. He didn't find anything.

You see, the Puritans in the town went to church so often that the preacher had already read out loud to them every passage in every Bible. Since the preacher never wanted to re-teach anything, he had started just saying the important things in sermon, leaving the congregation to use their limited imagination to create the rest of the sermon.

The Puritans in the town, hating any and all imaginative things, had decided that they would just write down all the sermons and memorize them, that way, when the preacher told them the title of the sermon, they would be able to supply the rest. For the rest of the service, everyone sat in silence, listening to the rest of the sermon in their heads.

The preacher stood up. "Page 536 to page 543, if you please." He promptly sat back down in his seat. The congregation sat silently, listening to the sermon in their head. Suddenly, everyone stood up. One minute later they all sat down again. And so it went for a half an hour, the congregation standing and sitting when the sermon demanded it. Then, the preacher started another sermon. So, on it went for three solid hours, not one of the Puritans getting tired.

The same thing happened in the afternoon. Nothing even remotely exciting every happened in the little Puritan town on the outskirts of Salem, Massachusetts. That is, until she came.

It was a pleasantly gray morning, plenty of mist to scare away any of the possible smiles on the stone faces of the Puritans. They were sitting down in the church, ready to listen to the sermon. The preacher had a special surprise. He had picked a sermon that, uniformly, everyone loved. As he stated the page numbers, a cheer rose from the congregation. Then all was silent as they listened rapturously to their memory. A small sigh escaped a thirteen year old girl, slouching in the back row. Everyone sharply turned and stared intensely at her. One man stood up at yelled, "She doesn't like the sermon; she must be a witch!"

The witch-happy Puritans all agreed and immediately set up the church to be the court.

The judge (the preacher) solemnly strode to his tall chair. "All rise," shouted the bailiff.

"Please, be seated," the preacher said as he sat. "We are here today to discuss the crime of witchcraft against young Abigail Hawthorne. Bring her forward." The thirteen year old was dragged to the preacher. "Let us hear the complaints against her."

"She made me drink," cried John the dock owner.

"She stole my chickens," shouted Mary the farmer's wife.

"She made me dance," yelled Gretchen, the modest girl next door.

"She made me forget the words to the sermon," the town fool wailed.

"You always forget the words," the rest of the Puritans cried.

"Oh, yeah," the fool said, and he promptly sat down.

The preacher quieted the rest of the complaints that were being screamed out. "I think that we have enough evidence to proceed. Will John the dock owner please step forward? You say that Miss Hawthorne made you drink. That is a very bad sin. One only a witch could make someone do."

"Please," said Abigail in a bored tone. "John drinks so much I doubt he's sober now." Just to prove her right, John hiccupped and passed out from drunkenness.

"Well," the preacher said, a little disconcerted that one of the Puritans had sinned so much. "Will Mary, the farmer's wife please step forward?"

"The little brat stole my chickens. I was going to cook one for my husband's dinner until she took them." The audience glared at Abigail, daring her to say something in her defense.

Abigail raised one eyebrow and coolly replied, "You have no chickens. You sold them all to a trader a week ago."

"So that's where they went," Mary said dazedly and promptly walked out of the courtroom.

"Will Gretchen please step forward?" the preacher asked.

Gretchen was a sweet girl that all the Puritans liked. She never did anything wrong. She simply said to the preacher, "Abigail sighed in church."

"Outrageous!" the preacher cried. "This piece of evidence clearly proves that Abigail is a witch. She will be hanged at sunrise tomorrow."

At this, Abigail walked out of the courtroom. No one stopped her. The bailiff was passed out on the floor. His name was John the dock owner.

Abigail moved to England where she didn't have to worry about any witch-happy Puritans. They had all moved to the New World where they could all be witch-happy together.

The End