A Witch Hunt

There is an OOC for this, if you feel it is a story you wish to join, please come in and tell us. We would love to have some more company. https://forum.literotica.com/showthread.php?t=477625




Elmville had grown quite a bit in the last few weeks, grown in experience and fear. Night had turned into a quiet time for the town, almost deserted. No one wandered the streets alone, and no one wandered the streets at night.

Since the Mansion had opened up on the far hill, a steady rise just in the distance, beyond a thicket of woods, many a girls have gone in for training and helping. Some withces, others cohorts, a few warlocks...

All of them had been accused by their peers, and taken in the dead of night, never to be seen again.

But they were heard from. You see, that is why no one goes out at night. Because if you pause, and let your ear go up to the star filled sky, you can hear the girls sometimes, up there in the mansion. You can hear blood curdling screams, moans of agony, or ecstacy, cries and wails deep into the night and early morning.

Once the bussel of town begins in the new day it is drowned out, but you could just imagine it is still there, still happening. They are being tortured in the mansion, harmed, accused, threatened and beaten for their crimes.

Some willingly tell their tale, others are reluctant and need encouragement to confess their sins.

The mansion opened by a Reverand who came into town. Reverand Stropwell. He had brought this form of justice to the simple streets of Elmville, but then he suddenly left. No one knows why, in the dead of night his carriage rushed through town, never to be seen again.

That same night, another carriage came through. This one made of pure ebony, following the single path up to the mansion.

It wasn't until this stranger arrived when the screams stopped. Everything stopped up there at the mansion. It was changed now... under new management one could say.

No one knows who this stranger is, who owns and operates the Witch Hunt now. The local Reverand Smythe still operates his church, and still send young girls who are accused to go up to the Mansion. People are still being investigated up there, something is still happening.

But no one knows...

This is the story of the stranger, and everything which he touches.

Susanna Wilson

Deacon Forrest Wilson and his good wife, Joanna, embarked for the colonies with seven children; they arrived with only one. The hazards of the journey, the poor sanitation, disease, and the meager food supplies took great toll on young bodies. One by one, the Wilsons put their children to rest at the bottom of the Atlantic, until only the youngest, the still nursing baby Susanna remained.

While other parents might have cursed God for taking six of their beloved children, the Deacon and his wife thanked God for allowing them to keep one.

For the past eighteen years, the Wilson’s have protected their daughter from every threat, and every danger of the cold New England world. Despite never knowing a harsh word or raised hand, Susanna grew to be a dutiful and respectful daughter. Raised with the love of the scriptures, she shares her parent’s faith in God. Raised by caring parents, she has only known happiness.
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Susanna’s fair cheeks are pink from her exertions, her blue eyes shine with the light of satisfaction and her pink lips part in a happy smile. She is clad from head to toe in gray and while. A large white apron covers her gray gown and bodice and on her head, a close fitted white cap frames her face and hides her hair.

“It is done, Mother.” Susanna smiles, her satisfaction with a job well done is evident on her smiling face and in the tone of her happy voice. “Those rugs have been beaten well indeed.” As she speaks, she puts the rug-beater into the kitchen cupboard. “If Nan is ready to help me, we can bring them back in before Father gets home.”

Her smile fades as she remembers the distressing sight of her father. This afternoon when she brought him his lunch, with church matters over-whelming his own law practice, it was clear something serious was worrying him. It was unusual for him to send her home and eat alone, but he had no interest in her company, intending, instead, to work through his meal. Her brows draw as she remembers those strange papers on his desk, a naturally curious girl, she tried to get a look at them but he quickly shuffled them away.

“Mother, Father said he may not make it home for dinner, should we prepare something for him to eat at the office?"

Ned had been around, here and there. He seemed the only one to come down from the mansion, picking up supplies and girls, before going back up. Ned took the blackened carriage, dark mares leading the way as they stopped at a house.

Inside, Ned could see two women. They seemed to be in conversation. He exited the carriage, leaving it open while going up to the door.

As expected, Deacon had arrived, speaking once again to Reverand Smythe.

"It is just... no girls have come back."

The Reverand assured Deacon nothing was the matter. Some witches needed more help than others. This did not settle him any more or less. Deacon tried prying into more about the accusation, who came to the Reverand with such...

Ned interrupted, "He did... He asked for her personally."

"Oh," Smythe nodded, "Well, if He asked for her, then she must go."

Deacon did not understand, but Ned had already knocked on the door. The wife opened it up, goodly and plain. When she saw the three people at her door though, her face turned pale.

"No, not dear Susanna."

Deacon came in, holding her as she wept in her husband's arms. Ned moved past them, on his way to dear sweet Susanna. He saw her young naive face, her innocent smile, those lips parting just so. She would be a great asset to Him, yes. Ned knew why she was needed.

"Susanna, you need to come with me. I have a special friend waiting to see you. Pack a few clothes, some things you will need for a bit. He is most anxious, he has been waiting a long time to make your aquaintance dear Susan. Will you come with me?"

Temperance Thorpe

Temperance moves about her orchard trees, solemnly surveying this year's yield. It is not as she had hoped--the early frost had taken its toll. Everything in my life dies so young, she thinks bitterly. Tucking a stray blonde hair under her coif, she wiped her hands on her apron and began the long trek back to the cottage.

At 21, she is the village's youngest widow. The townspeople whisper about her in the shadows, sometimes even in broad daylight, and Temperance pretends not to notice. Since the stranger had taken residence in the mansion on the hill, the whispers had gotten louder, but Temperance knew she could do nothing to silence the gossipers. They spoke of her husband of only eight months who had been the town's sawyer. Before his marriage to the stubborn and unruly Temperance Thorpe, he had been a strong, God-fearing man. Barrel-chested and broad-shouldered, he had caught the eye of many of the village girls. Calumnies abounded as to why, of them all, he had chosen Goody Thorpe.

And then, only shortly after that sacred ceremony, his body began to waste away. When he expired, theories flew about the womenfolk and slaves of the village as to why. St. Anthony's Fire was what Doc Newcomb said had taken his life, but others thought they knew better.

Susanna Wilson

"No, not dear Susanna." Her mother’s voice is almost a whisper but Susanna heard it clearly and moved her mother’s side.

“Mother?” Susanna’s eyes looked solemnly at the older woman then quickly darted to the three faces at the door. Her mother rushed to her father’s arms while Susanna stands aside and looks on in confusion. She tries to cover her confusion with polite smiles to the Reverend Smythe and…. Ned?

"Susanna, you need to come with me. I have a special friend waiting to see you. Pack a few clothes, some things you will need for a bit. He is most anxious, he has been waiting a long time to make your acquaintance dear Susan. Will you come with me?"

“Me?” Her eyes widened but she clasped her hands together to keep them still. “Who could be eager to meet me? I am a common figure in the town and anyone who wishes to make my acquaintance would be welcome in this home.” She struggled to maintain a calm demeanor but her mother’s tears undermine her efforts.

She turned to her father trying to catch his eye over her mother’s head. “Father?”

Deacon Wilson firmly separated himself from his wife, and then turned to face his daughter, the look in his eyes sends a chill through her, “Go, Susanna, get your things and go with the Reverend.”

Susanna hesitated, there was a look on his face she never saw before, and she thought it might be alarm or at least some form of conflict. Yes, she thought, something is tearing him apart.

“Susanna, do not waste the Reverend time.”

The girl nodded and quickly headed upstairs to her small room. She stood at the foot of her bed and allowed her thoughts to race for moments. “I’m not a witch, I’ve done nothing wrong, I’ve nothing to fear, I put my Faith in the Lord, and His Will protects me.” Then Susanna forced herself to concentrate on the task set to her. She packed her few spare clothes in a canvas bag, along with her bush and a few extra things. On top, she put The Book of Prayers and she carried her small bible in her hand.

She went down back stairs to the kitchen to get her cloak and bonnet. The bonnet went over her house cap and she carried her cloak in her arms as she left the kitchen.

“Reverend Smythe,” she heard her father say and she was surprised by the weakness in his voice, “I’ll be coming to the mansion tomorrow. I will … ah Susanna, you were quick.”

“Yes, Father, you told me to not waste the Reverend’s time.” He kissed her cheek as he helped her into her cloak.

“Do you have everything, my girl?” His hand squeezed her arm and she almost winced from both the pain in her arm and the intensity of his voice. “Your Bible?”

“Yes, Father. I have it here.” She tried to hold it up for him to see, but he does not look, he does not take his eyes from her face.

“Deacon Wilson,” the voice of Reverend Smythe smoothly interjects, “If Susanna is ready, it is time for us to leave.”

“Yes, Reverend. I have my things.” However, she certainly does not feel ready.

"Here we are then," Ned grabbed her things, placing them out in the carriage. It still held open for her, Ned bowing slightly in front of the opening, his hand held out to Susanna.

"He will be waiting, and he will be very eager to see you."

Ned stepped up into the carriage, sitting down opposite of her, closing the door. The driver, nameless, faceless, shook the horse's reigns and hauled them off.

"I am glad that you came so willingly, Susanna. That will help in your favor. I am afraid I have some bad news to tell you. It seems earlier today someone accused to the Reverand Smythe that you were practicing witchcraft. The rumor was then confirmed by another. I do not know what was seen, but we must take you in for questioning, you understand."

He smiled, his large blacksmith hand coming down to pat her gentle leg, "Do not worry though. The Stranger gets through these kinds of cases very easily. He will know the truth in a matter of hours. Susanna, if I were you, I would not have anything to worry about."

He leaned against one of the trees, her shape coming into view between branches and leaves, almost obscuring her like some curtain, just opening to reveal her frame inches by inches. His eyes were sharp, constant, following line and curve around her, watching as she was revealed to him.

He held an apple in hand, large and ripe, his fingers twirling against the supple curve of its frame. It was not completely red, no, but a bright red spot was contained within it. This was the piece he touched so often, his fingers undeniable in their urge to caress it.

"It seems forbidden, doesn't it?" He said, just above a whisper, smiling when he caught her eye finally. And he did catch her eye. The look of predator within her caught her eye, and held it. Watching, studying, looking into the very essence of her. It was as if she had not covered up this morning, and he had seen the slip of pale skin, the touch of sex upon a woman.

But, instead of flesh, his eyes saw her soul, her desire. He smiled at what he saw, somewhat pleased, and only then did he let her gaze go.

"Apples... forbidden fruit, ever since the garden of eden. The old lying snake tempting Eve to tasting of the fruit and gaining knowledge. Isn't that the way it is? But, do you think the snake had anything to do with it? Was it really the snake's blame for such a catastrophe. Desire is in the heart of man, is it not? To taste something you can not, to touch the untouchable."

Again, he traveled up and down her body. His tongue came out, to taste the apple, biting into its succulent. For a moment one could see his teeth. Many dark rows of razor sharp teeth, tering into the flesh of the apple.

Juice fell down his chin, he wiped it away with a smile.

"What do you think, of temptation?" He said, addressing her for the first time, "A woman such as yourself... it would be intriguing to know your thoughts on the subject. Englighten me."

He was that of a student, ready and eager to learn from a teacher. His eyes were thick and porous, needing to be filled with her knowledge.

Susanna Wilson

"Here we are then," Ned hands Susanna into the carriage and she manages to give him a weak smile of thanks.

"He will be waiting, and he will be very eager to see you."

Settling into the seat, smoothing her skirt, and checking her bonnet, she curls her fingers around her bible and rests her hands in her lap. She keeps her eyes downcast while she worriedly considers the reactions of her parents to the… invitation. It was clear they did not want me to go, Mother’s reaction was shocking, yet Father told me to pack my bag. It makes no sense.

Ned stepped up into the carriage and sat in the seat facing her. She looks up from her lap, and looks at Ned.

"I am glad that you came so willingly, Susanna. That will help in your favor.”

In my favor…?

“I am afraid I have some bad news to tell you. It seems earlier today someone accused to the Reverend Smythe that you were practicing witchcraft.”

Her eyes wide, Susanna shakes her head. No, there must be some mistake…

“The rumor was then confirmed by another. I do not know what was seen, but we must take you in for questioning, you understand."

Seen? There has been nothing to see. She opens her mouth to question, deny, to protest, but Ned continues.

He smiled, his large blacksmith hand coming down to pat her leg, "Do not worry though. The Stranger gets through these kinds of cases very easily. He will know the truth in a matter of hours. Susanna, if I were you, I would not have anything to worry about."

She draws away from him as his big hand pats her leg. Sinking deeper into the leather coach seats, she anxiously tries to return his smile.

“I am sorry but I do not understand who could have fabricated such a lie. It is not true. Who would say something so cruelly false?” She speaks quickly, at first more puzzled than anxious but soon the gravity of the accusation begins to press down on her like a weight too heavy to shift.

Susanna’s mind races through the past few days, but she cannot even think of anything out of the ordinary in her behavior that would call attention to her, let alone anything that could lead to an accusation of witchcraft. Six days a week, she does virtually the same thing and on the seventh, she attends church with her parents. She does her chores, she is diligent in her studies, and she helps others when she can… She sees the same people every Sunday and mostly the same people the other six days of the week when she takes father his lunch. Her fingers tighten around her bible, as she tried to draw strength from it. She seeks the strength to calm her worried mind.

In this time of anxiety, O loving God, grant me peace of mind. Quiet any distress and allow me to see clearly my…

Amber Waters

The cell was dark, a single flickering candle giving the only light.
Amber sat, her knees up against her chest, arms wrapped protectively around them, trembling almost incessantly.
She’d lost track of how long she had been there.
So very much had happened, so much of it utterly unbelievable, since she had first arrived in the mansion.

Young and innocent, untouched and pure. A wiccan captured whilst walking in the woods, she had been planning to leave town once the accusations began. Girls were being taken to the mansion beyond the town and Amber had known it would only be a matter of time until the accusations landed at her door, she made herbal teas and remedies for many in the town. But she knew that those she helped would be amongst the first to condemn her. And so, in the middle of the night, she had left her home and made her way through the woods, only to be captured and taken to the mansion.

Her bright blue eyes gazed around the bare room for the hundredth…thousandth…time…pale skin seeming to glow slightly in the darkness, her face framed with waist length black hair, curling here and there. It had been washed and her body cleaned, injuries healing from her last ordeal…
She shuddered to think about it.

…hands…so many hands, cruel and harsh, everywhere…all over her body…grunted insults and threats as she had been taken, used roughly…abused completely…
She’d tried to escape…freedom had been so very close…then she’d been captured, hauled the barn where she’d been tied down…men surrounding her…

A cry somewhere in the dungeons snapped her back to reality. Her door was unlocked, unlike the others, there was something stronger than locks and bolts holding her there. Trapping her. Preventing her from running again. Fear, absolute and controlling. She had seen only a glimpse of the dark power now running the mansion, coursing through those within it, but it had been enough. She had been touched by it, healed by it…changed by it. It was there, a part of her, small but still a part of her.

Unconsciously her knees dropped slightly and her hands moved to rub across her flat stomach. Something so strange had happened to her, to her body, in these very cells. The memories were slightly blurred, as if they were something she should try not to think about too much. She knew she had been with child, a child of rape…and then he had been born…somehow, as impossible as it sounded, he had grown within her and been brought into the world before her eyes…he had suckled from her breast and then left the room a man, an adult, with the Stranger…the man who then healed her abused body and made her innocent once more.

The Stranger had promised her a life of love and a family, the life she had always dreamt of.
A promise and a dream that was snatched away from her by Ned and the others in the barn when she had tried to leave the mansion.
Ned who had said he loved her, Ned who had taken her again and again and who had made the child she had given away. She closed her eyes tight as the memories threatened to overwhelm her.

Amber was certain it had to be a nightmare, all of it some twisted terrifying dream. After the ordeal in the barn she barely remembered anything. She knew she’d been brought back to the mansion but how and why remained a mystery to her. Her body had been cleansed and clothed in a simple white shift, food and water left for her regularly but it always seemed to arrive while she was sleeping.

She had seen no one for days…weeks possibly…no one had so much as spoken to her since the barn. And yet…yet it felt as though there was another, somewhere close by in the darkness. Amber knew…she was not alone.

Lillianne arrived at the library the same time she had always came to assist with the daily tasks. She found the large stack of books to be put away, as well as the newer books that needed to be organized. She sighed to herself as she set about her tasks. Since the last girl left this town things have been piled onto her.

Of course, if the option presented itself she would leave too, she pushed a lock of raven black hair out of her eyes. She hated this town, lately girls have been disappearing in a large black carriage. She had been trying to find any documents, information, something that could give her an insight into the reason for this. She began to worry her time was ticking down as well, she noticed a book tied with a delicate red bow. She examined this book, it was a large collection of fairy tales from across the land. There was a note attached to the book, "Sorry for not being present for your 21st birthday. This should make up for it."

Lillianne smiled, the old grump did remember! As long as she could remember, the owner of this library was a friend of her parents, he had given her this job almost five years ago when he began having difficulties tending to the library on his own. She noticed another book on the same desk. It was a book on medicines requested quite some time ago, yet the girl who requested it never came for it. She later heard the girl was accused of witchcraft. It wasn't her place to speak her thoughts on this subject, the old man had warned her many times of what may happen. She began to shelf the remainder of the newest books to arrive in their respective places.

Temperance Thorpe

Temperance was startled by the stranger in her orchard. Not because she was concerned about a trespasser on her land, but because she so rarely received any visitors at all. Not since Richard's death, in fact, had anyone the temerity to come close to her cottage or orchard. But here, with the morning fog still swirling about him, was a man talking to her of temptation. His attitude was casual and he spoke to her in familiar tones.

"A woman such as yourself... it would be intriguing to know your thoughts on the subject. Englighten me."

Such as myself, she thought? What does this man know of me, my life? She had never seen him before, certainly, but that was no surprise to her. Since she was in effect a social pariah, new parishioners could come and go and she would be ignorant of them. She minded her own business, tended her orchards, and took her goods to market in neighboring Revere, knowing the "gentlefolk" of Elmville would never buy anything from her. Hs eyes bore into her as he spoke, and the mischievousness in them did not escape her notice.

"Sir," she addressed him warily. "I'm afraid you gave me a bit of a start." The stranger made her uncomfortable, the way his whisper traveled across the field as though he were standing right next to her, his hubristic manner, and the vexing way he continued to address her so flippantly. And what had she seen when he had taken a bite out of that apple..?

She walked towards him, prepared to show him that she was not afraid. If he had wanted to attack her or cause her some harm, surely he would have done so already. He had obviously been standing there for quite some time while she had been surveying the orchard. Indeed, there were a few fallen leaves already about his boots. She reached up and took the apple from him, returning his stare but not his bemused grin.

"Although I would never deny hospitality to my guests, this apple would have fetched me a ha'penny at market."

It was one of the more difficult labours Rebecca had ever been witness to, and she fought to keep the sinking feeling in her belly from overwhelming her. She needed to focus, and help this woman to deliver her babe - now was no time to succumb to her doubts. The Lord would aid her, as He always had.

Goody Jacobs moaned as another wave of pain consumed her, and Rebecca mopped the sweat from her brow, smearing blood in the woman’s hair. “T’will all be over soon, missus. Hold fast now, and trust in God.”

She moved again between the woman’s spread legs and reached forward as far as she dared, feeling the woman’s body quake and tremble as Rebecca urged her to push again. The husband stood nearby, pacing helplessly. Rebecca felt the woman’s body tense and constrict as she bore down and her clenched muscles pushed forward the child within her. She felt the small dome of the head, grasped at it, her fingers slipping on the wet scalp - then the babe receded again. Blowing a wisp of hair out of her face with a frustrated puff, Rebecca murmured reassuringly, “Once more, dear - he has nearly arrived.”

The woman’s agonized groans filled the small room, and her entire body lifted with the effort as she pushed again with all her strength, and Rebecca felt the child’s head slide into her waiting fingers. Gently, she guided him upwards and breathed a harsh sigh of relief when his little face came into view. The child made no sound as Rebecca brought him into the world, and the cold foreboding feeling crept back into her chest.

Towels were thrust at her, and she wiped the babe’s face and body briskly, grimly noting his pale, bluish pallor before handing him to one of the daughters. She turned her attention back to Goody Jacobs - she must take care of the mother before anything else. She tied the cord and cut it carefully with a small knife, then took the child back and instructed the girl to bathe her mother gently and make her comfortable.

She gestured to the husband, and the two of them left the room quietly. Rebecca cradled the tiny bundle, but felt no movement, and knew the truth in her heart. She had assisted too many births to pretend otherwise. She handed the swaddled babe to the father sadly, and whispered, “I am so sorry, Mister Jacobs - but your child was born dead.”

He took the bundle eagerly enough, but at her statement, nearly dropped it in shock and revulsion. “How can this be, Rebecca? I’ve fathered eight healthy girls - all born strong as bull calves - my son should have been the strongest yet!”

She shook her head. “I - I know not, Mister Jacobs - it has been known to happen, sometimes. We must grieve, but accept it as God’s will.”

He stood angrily, setting the bundle down on a chair, and backed away from her. “God’s will be damned - I knew we should have asked the Widow George to bring this child - it was a mistake to ask you! What have you done, girl?”

Rebecca stood slowly, and looked at the man tiredly. “I assure you, Mister Jacobs - I’ve done all that I could. If you will excuse me now, I think I will take my leave.”

She walked swiftly down the front steps, and tried not to hear his anguished cries from the parlour, “How many other children have you killed?”

"You see, temptation once more. I could not resist tasting your wares. Please accept my apology."

Was there fear? Yes, there had to be. She swam in fear, bathed in it with solid perserverance, but it stopped her nontheless. She had moved forward, she had come to stand next to him when others surely would have run.

His eyes drank her in, once more falling to the subtle curves all but concealed behind her clothing.

"You still did not answer me about temptation though. I am curious to your answer. What would a woman such as yourself, just trying to get by, turned out by her own town, has to be tempted of? To be a recluse certainly does alter one's priorities in life. You are not afraid to answer, are you?"

Maybe she was afraid of the answer, or the truth, or perhaps simply the way her voice would waver if she tempted to say a lie. Again, temptation, it was thick, ripe in the air.

His finger went to her jawline, tracing it from her ear all the way to her chin, slowly methodically. He watched it with a dull passion that bordered on insanity.

Michael

"Is there anything you regret?"

It had come from the blackness, the pitch dark of the room, slipping in from nowhered to pierce at it, and then returning to that void of conception.

Movement now, inside of the room. A form, something physical to attach to that form, as it moved along the wall, feet shuffling beneath him. He could see in the dark, the perfect dark. Every part of her was clear to him.

And yet... no part of her was clear to him.

"Tell me," He whispered right next to her. It was not fear, he was not trying to fear her or control her or try to play some silly game. He wanted to know what she thought, what was inside of this little head of hers.

"You could have left days ago, the door has been open to you. But you stay in here, in the dark, festering like I have. You stay here with me, trying to comfort me... or maybe I stayed in here to try to comfort you, I do not know, but you stayed when you could have gone."

One hand went to her stomach, running along her own fingers, tracing the gentle delicate steps of her sides. His hands were warm, the touch solid, almost embraceful.

Temperance Thorpe

She had intended to be intimidating, scolding him for eating her apple, but was greeted with condescension. This infuriated her, but there was something still unnerving about the man. She was used to being regarded as rebellious and prideful at best, godless and heretical at worst. But the calm, casual attitude the stranger struck made her uncomfortable and insecure. His eyes floated down her body, that mischievous grin again adorning his otherwise placid face. Temperance squirmed under his gaze, still attempting to appear in control of the situation as he looked her up and down.

"You still did not answer me about temptation though. I am curious to your answer. What would a woman such as yourself, just trying to get by, turned out by her own town, has to be tempted of? To be a recluse certainly does alter one's priorities in life. "

His voice still a whisper, but clear as a bell. He looked directly into her eyes when he spoke, and Temperance breathed a small sigh of relief that he was no longer looking at her as though she were a fatted calf at market. He spoke of her seclusion, her isolation from her own townspeople who had never really accepted her as one of their own. The stranger's voice was soothing, washing away her insecurity as she focused on his question. No one had ever asked her that before. What tempted her? What truly appealed to her?

"You are not afraid to answer, are you?"

This question broke her reverie. Temperance knew fear, felt it whenever she saw Goody Mather look at her and then glance at the mansion on the hill. She tasted it every time she heard the townsfolk whisper about her as she passed them in the street or at church. She knew what they said about her and the stories that had sprung up in Reverend Stropwell's wake. But she would never show fear, never give them the satisfaction of letting them know they had affected her in any way. And she was not afraid of this stranger, this man who acted as though he knew her thoughts before she spoke them. There was something intriguing about him, almost magnetic. But old habits were hard to break; she would not allow him to see that he was making her uneasy. She smoothed her apron, very conscious of her clothing now, and kept her voice even as she answered him.

"If you are truly looking for a view on temptation, then 'tis a pity you missed Reverend Norris' sermon two Sundays ago. As for me, Sir, to be tempted or wish for something I do not currently have is a blatant act of covetousness, and a sin."

He did not answer her or make comment. Instead, he touched her face, slowly tracing her jawline. She was too shocked at this liberty to do anything at first. His touch sent a shock through her--how long had it been since a man touched her? Richard, who spent the greater part of their marriage dying, barely able to move, hadn't touched her for months before finally passing on. And here, this complete stranger, in all his arrogance, had the audacity to touch her without permission? Ignoring the momentary flash of yearning his touch had provoked, Temperance reached up and slapped the stranger across the face. She glared at him, fire in her eyes.

"How dare you touch me! Leave my property immediately!" And with that she turned and purposefully strode towards her cottage.

"So thats it... just a touch," She was scared now, but not because of him. She's scared because he touched a nerve. Literally. He had touched a small part of her, and felt that simple shiver.

"You know who I am... don't you?" He wanted to stop her, turn her around, show her everything. He couldn't though. She had her choice, she wanted to leave. In the end, all he had was his own word.

"I'm fairly new, but I came here because of Reverand Smythe... and a few other people. They've told me some of your stories, how you are out here all alone, all by yourself. They've said some strange rumors."

Rumors, suggestions, trials, witchcraft.

"It was only a matter of time before they pointed the finger at you, and asked me to come here and make a judgement for myself. They want me to question you, to find out if you are the witch poisoning their crops and souring their milk."

He cocked his head to the side, unsure, curious, "You don't seem like a witch to me... but what do I know."

"You have not done anything that would leave your actions in question?"

Ned shook his head, unsure if he should tell her. He sat silently as the carriage made its bumpy way along the streets.

"Is there not a route you take, one single route among all others? I think you take someone something on this route. You spend a long time on it, do you not? A road that shouldn't take very long, only a few minutes. But you take a long time, do you not? A long time on this road all by yourself...

"You don't need to be scared, Susanna. Nothing bad will happen to you. This place is a place of God, to help with those who practice witchcraft and have fallen from God's grace. You have not done that, you are a good girl, incredible girl. I know how good you have been. Believe me, once you get to meet Him, all will be answered."

Susanna Wilson

"You have not done anything that would leave your actions in question?"

Susanna looks over at him and shakes her head, but where once she was certain, something in his voice makes her look back again… but still she can think of nothing. Nothing, nothing not instructed by her parents or in keeping with the faith. Her father has taught her more than most girls learns, tried to teach her languages, but there is nothing wrong with that and it is no secret.

"Is there not a route you take, one single route among all others? I think you take someone something on this route. You spend a long time on it, do you not? A road that shouldn't take very long, only a few minutes. But you take a long time, do you not? A long time on this road all by yourself...

“No.” She says quickly, too quickly, a childhood guilt sounding softly in her voice. “I admit that sometimes I do not walk as quickly as I could but that is all. It’s so quiet, so peaceful….” Her fingers tighten around the book in her hands, as she tries to leach strength from her bible. “It is never a long time.”

"You don't need to be scared, Susanna. Nothing bad will happen to you. This place is a place of God, to help with those who practice witchcraft and have fallen from God's grace. You have not done that, you are a good girl, incredible girl. I know how good you have been. Believe me, once you get to meet Him, all will be answered."

She nods her head, but there is no comfort in his words. He roused her fears with little difficulty and she finds he cannot as easily put them to rest.

“I try to do what is expected of me, obey my parents, and follow the tenets of our faith to remain in the Lord’s Grace.” Her brows furrow for a moment before she draws the nerve to ask, “Who is he? Who is the stranger?”

Amber Waters

"Is there anything you regret?"
Amber's head snapped up, eyes wide and heart pausing for a moment or two. A voice. Somewhere in the darkness, somewhere in her cell, there was another. She scanned the shadows, darkness blending into darkness, nothing revealed to her from it's depths.
"Who...who's there...?" She asked, barely recognising her voice. It was meek and edged with a huskiness that had never been there before. Nothing like the confident, smooth tones she had once had. But then, she wasn't the young woman that she had once been.

Amber jumped as movement drew her wandering gaze to one point, a shape emerging from the blackness. A man. She could tell from the silhouette approaching that he was a man but his identity she could not yet discover. The flickering candle showing his outline, revealing his movements, but no more.
"Tell me,"
The voice was suddenly next to her, beside her. She wanted to turn her head to face it but somehow could not.
"You could have left days ago, the door has been open to you. But you stay in here, in the dark, festering like I have. You stay here with me, trying to comfort me... or maybe I stayed in here to try to comfort you, I do not know, but you stayed when you could have gone."
She opened her mouth to reply but felt a hand tracing across her body, stroking across her stomach and her own hand that still rested there. Following the curves of her sides, drawing warmth to the surface. Warmth, something Amber had all but forgotten since her entry into the cells.

"I...I have no place to go to...where would I go if I left his place..." Amber replied tremulously. "I am...I have been ruined...what life if left for me now...a woman such as I..." She hung her head, tears welling, emphasising the bright hue of her eyes, her long dark locks falling to mask her face. So dark, so black, like the darkness that surrounded her, blending with the shadows. Perhaps she did indeed belong in such a place. "If I left, I would be discovered...only to be returned, sooner or later...I have seen...have been a part of such evil...I...I didn't want to be, I wished for none of this..." She raised her head, looking in the direction of the man beside her, searching the darkness for his eyes. "...yes, I have much that I regret..."

"He is a wonderful man, with many gifts to offer. Believe me when I say that he chose you to come to him. Being accused of witchcraft is only a farce, so people will understand why you came to him. He wishes to see you, he wants to give you something. You are special Susanna, your faith has made you so. You have something no one else posesses."

He stopped the carriage, beating his thick hand against the top of the buggy. At once the snap of a whip caused a whinny in the horses. The carriage came to a jolting stop, as Ned looked outside.

"The library," He smiled, "I must pick up another here. Will you join me, Susanna? You can help me bring her to him."

Michael

"What life... would you have? Would it matter? Just to be alive is sweet, is it not? The gift of life is just that, a gift... and yet you sit here squandering it because you feel you need something more, to be pure, to be chaste? Is that all you want? Never to have known the horrors of this room, of what sick and twisted things you were forced to do, or that you chose to do."

He nudged against her, his warm cheek along her own, as if to cuddle or kiss, or give the loving caress of flesh once more.

"You could ask him once more, he will surely give you what you seek. If it is just a matter of how you wish to live, then by all means, give him what he wants in order for yourself to survive the way you like. Give him another child, let him take what he wants and he will leave you as you are."

He could not help but to touch her, to give her such warmth as his own. He did not want his words to be the same as his actions. Words were cold and cut through to her, but his actions were caring and sweet.

His lips found hers.

"He asked the child and you let him have it... you are telling me you regret not having your virginity more than letting that sick man do what he will with an innocent life?"

Susanna Wilson

"He is a wonderful man, with many gifts to offer. Believe me when I say that he chose you to come to him. Being accused of witchcraft is only a farce, so people will understand why you came to him. He wishes to see you, he wants to give you something. You are special Susanna, your faith has made you so. You have something no one else posesses."

“A farce….? It’s a serious accusation as part of a deceit.” As confusion as the situation is becoming, she feels the burden of her fear lighten slightly. An accusation of witchcraft is a terrible charge; even ones later proven false have led to ruined lives. Some have even been driven from the community or completely lost faith, while their accusers go unacknowledged and face God’s Judgment alone.

Father and Mother will stand by me, and when this is over, everything will return to as it was. For now, I have nothing to fear; the Lord will guide me and give me strength.

“I must admit to feeling some confusion, but no doubt, when I meet the stranger, he will explain.” Her worried face lightens a little, “Although, it would be nice to know his name. Do you keep it secret, so he can reveal it himself?”

She had been watching Ned but still the jarring stop of the carriage nearly jerked her from her seat.

"The library," He smiled, "I must pick up another here. Will you join me, Susanna? You can help me bring her to him."

Susanna has heard her father mention the sensible young woman who assists the old town librarian, calling her helpful and knowledgeable. Surely, a sensible woman would not become involved in witchcraft.

“Help you? I am in the carriage, so I will accompany you, but I do not see how I can help you." She smiles hopefully, "Perhaps, she will be more at ease when she sees she is not alone?”

Lillianne had finished her daily tasks, she had organized and cataloged the new books, she had also taken care of the mending and care of the older books that had seen their time in the sun. Now she had a moment to herself to sit down to her new book and see what tales were in this novel. She heard a heavy knock at the door just as she had begun to read the first chapter. She quickly got to her feet to answer, she noted it was odd as very few people ever knocked anymore. The old man who tended to this library did everything possible to keep this place as welcoming as possible. When she opened the door, a large man stood in the doorway. She smiled and bowed her head, "Welcome to the Town Library, is there something I can assist you with?"

Something felt uneasy with this man, Lillianne noticed Susanna standing behind the individual. The Deacon's daughter, she recalled seeing her before when her father came to her library for various law books. She was unfamiliar with the laws and statutes but between herself and the old man. They were always able to find the books he needed. Then the sight of the carriage caught her eyes. It was coal black, her mind froze, stuck on the sight outside. She had a sinking feeling what this was about, but who reported her? She rarely spoke to anyone outside the library. She needed to think this over, but time wasn't on her side.

"I..I am sorry," she stammered. "I forgot my place, if you have any questions or need to find a book. Feel free to ask me for assistance."

Temperance Thorpe and the Creepy Dude

"You know who I am... don't you?"

His words draw her up short. A picture springs, unbidden, to her mind--one of darkness and evil, fire and soot, and row upon row of teeth. It is gone in a flash and she scarcely remembers what she saw, only that it caused her to break out in a chill sweat.

"I'm fairly new, but I came here because of Reverand Smythe... and a few other people. They've told me some of your stories, how you are out here all alone, all by yourself. They've said some strange rumors."

Now she is certain of who he is, as she looks up at the mansion on the hill, barely visible between the tree branches of her orchard. They had finally done it, finally made their threats real. She had been accused.

"It was only a matter of time before they pointed the finger at you, and asked me to come here and make a judgement for myself. They want me to question you, to find out if you are the witch poisoning their crops and souring their milk."

With this, Temperance turned on her heel, her face full of fury.

"Spoiling their milk? Poisoning their crops? Have they not seen mine own harvest??" she shouted, waving her arm to indicate her blighted apple trees. "'Twas not my doing that my Richard died, that Goody Whimple's calf was still-born, that Goodman Brown's horses bore sweat in the mornings! 'Tis they who should be branded witches!" She again advanced towards the stranger, any nervousness or uneasiness forgotten in her rage. "They who preach humility, patience, and turning the other cheek while whispering and gossiping. I am alone because of them. 'Tis they who shun me and, as God as my witness, I am better off for it!"

She is inches away from him, almost panting from the exertion of her rant. And he simply smles down at her; not quite a condescending smile, but not quite pleasant, either. Her bravery falters for a moment, but she chooses to stand her ground.

"You must not know much about witches, if you come here hoping to find one."

"You know why I'm here," He said, his voice calm and almost surreal at the sound of it. This was not the voice of Ned Bunce, the old blacksmith who spent his life shoeing horses. This was a changed man before them, someone stronger, not physically...

"Susanna and I want to offer you an invitation, up to the mansion with us. A stranger waits... I am sorry, I do not know his name."

He said this last part to both of them, knowing Susanna had asked earlier, "I admit I was as curious about you about his name, but once you get to meet him, that is the last thing on your mind."

Walking through the door, he held it open for Susanna. His presense conflicted with his voice. It was strong and leaned forward, not wanting to spend too much time in here.

"If you have anything personal you'd like to take with you, you may... but we must head off as soon as we can. You understand?"