Author's Note: I'm not sure how accurate this is. I wanted to capture the thoughts of a young woman who was a victim of the Salem Witch Trials of 1692. Events are actual events that happened. The two main character are not historical figures.

Betray My Heart

~A Story about the Salem Witch Trials~

The door opened and two men stepped through. Once they were inside, they closed the door behind them. These guys must be daredevils if they are willing to be in such a small place with a supposed witch.

Or perhaps they do not buy into this whole witchcraft nonsense.

One of them forced my arms behind my back while the other one tried them tightly. Then, they placed a bag over my head.

My heart began to race. Was they going to take me to the hangman before I stood trial? Had I missed my own trial? Forget about the trial, I had not even gone through the most basic thing of all: questioning. Surely, my God given rights had not been taken away from me.

"Now, you won't be able to curse anyone," one of the men muttered in a gruff voice. "You witches just can't seem to leave anyone alone. You all need to die!"

I hated it whenever people were quick to judge others. Since my arrest, a lot of people had been judging me rather quickly.

"Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live," the other said in a loud voice. "You deserve to die!"
Exodus 22:18. I gulped. That verse was the perhaps the most vile of them all in our current times. It was used to justify the slaughter of innocent people. The Bible said that a witch could not live and, therefore, all must been slain.

Jonathan Corwin probably used it in his verdicts. He was a sick and twisted man. His stepdaughter is one of the supposed afflicted. He will not rest until those harming her are dead. He was wealthy and was probably only involved in the trials so that he could keep his high position in town. If witches are accused by wearing bright colours, they may want to have a look around his house.

Oh, great now I was trying to have Jonathan Corwin placed as a witch! This team must had been getting to my head.

The men roughly pushed me out of my ceil. Once out of the ceil, they slammed the door behind them and forced me to walk. Every time I stumbled, they would swear at me and push me harder. For men of God, they sure could get rough.

About fifteen minutes later, they ordered me to stop. I heard one of them push open a door. Seconds later I was forced through the door frame and into what I supposed was another room.

I could hear men talking all around me. I could hear them as they walked back and forth between each other. Even though I was blind folded, I could feel their icy glares directed at me. I knew that I was in trouble and that there was no way to escape my doom.

It is kind of funny in a sick and twisted way. The one who I thought I had loved had betrayed my heart and, yet, I could not hear his voice among the group of men in front of me. Was he here but silent? Or was he simply not man enough to face me after what he did? James Cast was afraid to face his supposed woman.

I had always thought that his last name was kind of ironic. Cast reminded me of a witch casting her spell on someone. Was I the only one who saw this? Or was I the only who cared?

I had a lot of questions with very few answers. No one would probably answer my questions anyway. They do not have to answer a witch's question. It is there job to question her, not the other way around. If only the world had any concept of justice.

The bag was pulled over my head and I finally was given the chance to see who was there. Surprise, surprise James was absent.

I gulped when a group of men glared down at me from their sitting positions. I was standing and, therefore, taller than they were. If they could make me feel small this way, I was in deep, deep trouble.

It was going to be a long questioning.

Yeah, not the longest of chapters.

Source:

Salem Witch House by Robert Strauss