How to Hang a Witch (17 page)

“T
here she is,” says Mrs. Meriwether, placing a cool towel on my forehead.

I squint at her. Judging by the blue-and-white-striped couch and the ships on the walls, I realize I'm in her living room. Jaxon paces next to her.

“What happened?” I ask before the events of the afternoon come barreling back. I sit straight up, and the wet towel plops onto my lap. I remember coming over here after school, but I have no memory of falling asleep. How long have I been out? “I gotta go.”

“Calm yourself.” Mrs. Meriwether takes the towel. “Vivian knows you're here. You've been out for quite a while. You must be starving. I've got soup all ready for you.”

I want to argue, but I feel dizzy. I haven't eaten anything all day.

Mrs. Meriwether heads to the kitchen, and Jaxon sits next to me. He touches my forehead. “How do you feel?”

“Okay, I think. Sorry I fainted. I feel stupid.”

His eyes are gentle. “No way. It was like a movie. You fell into my arms, and I carried you to the nurse's office.”

“Yeah, that's how all romantic movies end. The dude carries the girl to the school nurse.”

He laughs, and Mrs. Meriwether comes in with a tray of delicious-smelling food. She places it on my lap. Corn chowder, warm corn bread with butter, freshly squeezed orange juice, and an éclair.

“Vivian won't be home for some time.” I can tell by her delivery, she disapproves. “So please, stay as long as you like.”

I smile as she leaves. “Any update on what happened today?” I ask between spoonfuls of chowder.

“Not really.” He looks uncomfortable, and I can guess why.

“They're blaming me, aren't they?” He doesn't answer. “I feel sick over it. I feel like I should have prevented it.”

He shakes his head. “There's no way you could've prevented that. He attacked you.”

“You don't know the whole story.”

The muscles around his eyes tense. “What do you mean?”

I pause, considering how I would even explain it. “You'll think I'm nuts.”

“Sam, try and trust me. Even a little. I'm not the enemy.” He's incredibly hard to resist when he's not being pompous.

I sigh. “Well…”
How do I start?
“I saw his death a few days ago. I just didn't see his face.”

Jaxon looks confused. “What do you mean
saw
?”

I study my corn bread for answers. “Like in a vision.”

“As in a dream?” He's skeptical.

I should never have opened my mouth.
“A vision. Everything went black, and I saw a guy crushed under a piece of metal. Wait. What's the date?”

Jaxon thinks for a second. “September nineteenth.”

I drop my spoon. “Today's the day Giles Corey was pressed to death.” I read about it right after Jaxon took me to that jail. My thoughts move a mile a minute. I need to find Elijah.

“Sam, maybe you should lie back down.”

I lift the tray off my lap. “I'm fine. I'm just trying to tell you that I saw John die in a vision. You can choose not to believe me. But I gotta go right now.”

“You sound, well…really stressed. I think you might still be in shock.” By “stressed,” he means crazy.

I scoop up my bag and walk past him. He reaches out and grabs my arm. “Jaxon, I can't let someone else die.” I'm angry at myself for letting my guard down.
He thinks I'm nuts.

“You didn't let anyone die. It was an accident. You heard Bradbury. There's no way you could've knocked that shelf over.”

“I don't mean like that. I can't explain it. You wouldn't believe me if I did.” I remove Jaxon's hand from my arm, trying to escape his questioning eyes.

“Just 'cause I don't believe in visions doesn't mean I don't believe you. I'd be freaked out, too, if I saw someone get crushed in front of me.” Jaxon follows me to the door.

The sun is almost down when I step outside. The word “crushed” grates on my nerves. Giles Corey and John were crushed. Who's next? “Tell your mom I say thanks.”

Jaxon still follows me. “Can I help?”

I want help. But if he's uncomfortable with the idea of a vision, there is no way I could tell him the other stuff. There's a piece of me that hoped he'd believe me.

“Why don't you come back in and lie down and we can talk about all of this when you're fully rested.”

“No,” I snap. “I don't need to be patronized. People are
dying.
”

He looks hurt. “That's so not fair, Sam.”

“Nothing's fair right now. Everything's a mess.”

I walk to my house and close the door behind me. “Elijah!” I yell.

“Samantha,” he says in a worried tone of voice in the foyer. I must look as frazzled as I feel.

“How's my dad?”

“Well.”

I nod. “Did you see what happened? To John, I mean?”

“No, I was doing research. I heard some of the aftermath while you were resting.”

I pace in the foyer. “
John
is the guy I saw in my vision. And when he got crushed in front of me today, I had another vision, or whatever. Am I going crazy?”

“You had a vision without performing a ritual?”

“Yeah, well…” I remember my dream. “I dozed off in homeroom and dreamed of a guy giving a sermon about witchcraft. He made some analogy, saying how people assume there are no witches because they've never seen one. And would you think there are no robbers just because nothing was ever stolen from you? Or something—”

Elijah cuts me off. “Where is your copy of Cotton Mather's
Memorable Providences Relating to Witchcrafts and Possessions
?”

“Here.” I reach into my shoulder bag. “What is it?”

Elijah skims through the pages and points to a paragraph. I read the words and a chill runs through me. “These are the exact words from my dream. But I didn't read this far. I never saw this paragraph.” It was a young Cotton in my dream. I just didn't recognize him. “That means it wasn't exactly a dream, was it?”

“I would guess not. Tell me what happened.”

“We were in a church, sort of a plain room with wooden pews. I was scared and walking backward. A rope touched my shoulder. I looked up and saw a noose hanging above my head. Then I woke up.” Knowing that it wasn't some fantasy my brain invented makes retelling it awful.

“And how did that relate to John's death?”

“John grabbed me and I fell into the ropes behind the stage.” Elijah's face hardens. It's obvious he didn't know that part. “My vision went black and I couldn't see anything but the rope I grabbed on to. Then I saw a noose over my head, like I did in my dream, only now there was a girl hanging from it. I don't know who, because her hair was in her face.”

“We need to find out.” Elijah's tone confirms my fear.

“If we can prevent it, maybe that's a step in the direction of breaking the curse.”

Elijah nods.

“Is Cotton trying to warn me or scare me?” The thought of sleeping is now perfectly horrifying. “If only I could talk to him like I do with you, without it being so awful.”

“I am confident his spirit is not here the way mine is. There is no scenario where my face would blend with someone's the way his did with yours. He is part of you or bound to you.”

I want to puke. “So what? Try to sleep and hope he…Shit, I have to call him, don't I.” It's not a question. How have I come to a point in my life where I see things that aren't there while I'm awake and I see things that might be there while I'm asleep?

“I do not believe the Descendants will assist you this time. The town is in an uproar over John's death. There have been too many fatal accidents since you arrived, and the townspeople are searching for an explanation. The word ‘murder' is being used liberally, and the Descendants' families are suspicious of you. They are not letting their children out of sight.”

The truth of that sinks in. I wouldn't let my kids out of my sight, either. I show up in a prominent and unexplainable way in relation to the rash and John's death and, now that I think about it, to the nooses in the coffee shop, too. “Okay. I guess I have to try without them. Do you think I can do it somewhere other than those woods?”

Elijah's thoughtful. “Is it fair to say that every time he appeared, you were afraid?”

I don't like where this is going. “Yeah.”

“You were also in the woods where the witches hanged, a place that related to him personally,” Elijah continues.

“So I have to go someplace scary that relates to him personally?”

“Sometimes extreme circumstances or emotions can break the barrier between the living and the dead.” I immediately think of Jaxon's story about his mother talking to his dead father.

This makes sense. The majority of the time I've been in Salem, I was under duress of some kind. “His brother Nathanael has a gravestone in Old Burying Point.” The moment the words leave my mouth I regret them.

“Interesting. Nathanael was his younger brother. And you know how important prestige was to Cotton. Nathanael bested Cotton in learning and attended Harvard at a younger age. I would venture a guess that Cotton had mixed emotions about that. The year after he died, Cotton wrote
Memorable Providences.
”

“So, what, am I supposed to antagonize him to make him show up?” I like the idea less and less.

“It worked with me when you read Abigail's letters.”

“Great. I'm going to get a flashlight.”
No way I'm making that mistake again.

“D
o dead people usually hang out in graveyards?” I ask Elijah as I step through the iron gate into Old Burying Point.

“Are you asking me if spirits spend their free time roaming graveyards with the occasional hope of scaring someone?”

“Point taken.” I shine my flashlight, trying not to walk into any headstones. “Where are you buried?”

He pauses a moment. “My body is gone.”

My eyes widen. “What do you mean
gone
?”

“I should not have told you. It is nothing you need to concern yourself about. But I believe it was dug up.” He sounds calmer than I am, and it's
his
body.

“Dug up! Who would do that?”

“Perhaps grave robbers.”

I shudder. I picture it before I can stop myself. I shine my flashlight on Nathanael Mather's headstone in the corner of the graveyard under a big tree. I prefer the Cotton conversation to this one. “So this is Cotton's exceptional brother.”

He nods. I pull out a small blanket from my bag and sit next to the headstone. My skin crawls. I light a candle, and the light flickers across Nathanael's headstone—which has a flying skull on it. If someone tapped my shoulder right now, I would launch in the air like a cartoon character.

“If you remember it, it might be worth trying the spell you used with the Descendants.”

In some ways, I'm more scared that this'll work than that it won't. I close my eyes. “Cotton…I don't know if you can hear me. Or if you're bound to me. But I need to know a few things. Namely, who was hanging.” I speak slowly, unsure what words to use. I peek at Elijah.

He nods.

I take a deep breath.
I can do this. I have to do this. People will continue dying. My dad could be one of those people.
“Cotton, I need you to show me the face of the girl who was hanging. Show me something I can stop. Something I can understand.” I wait.

“Show me what you know about this curse. I mean what I say. I say what I intend. Know my desire and give me clarity.” For a second, everything's still. The wind stops rustling through the leaves, and my body vibrates. Then, nothing.

Crap.
“Listen, Minister. I know you were trying to get Daddy's approval. It must've pissed you off when your little brother turned out to be smarter than you. The year after he died you wrote your book. And then you sit back while people spin lies in Salem, just happy about your fame. Disgusting.” My body vibrates again and the air whooshes out of my lungs.

The force throws me backward, and my eyes open. The graveyard is gone, and I'm in the woods. They're different from when I was there with the Descendants. The trees are bigger, wilder. There's a large crowd of people in a clearing. I run toward them, tripping over branches.

A male voice recites a prayer. Nearing the edge of the clearing, I can now see that the voice belongs to a man with a noose around his neck. Young Cotton is on horseback in front of the crowd. I push the people to get through, but they ignore me. Cotton yells to the spectators, “Even the most wicked of creatures can feign the semblance of good. Do not let this man's words deceive you. For it is his actions you must examine. I ask you. Is he guilty?”

The crowd roars in agreement, and the cart is rolled away. The man falls, struggling against the rope. I push the spectators harder. The moment I break through, the crowd disappears. There's no one left besides Cotton and the strangled man.

I can't pull my eyes from the rope. As I watch, the hanging man transforms into the girl I saw at school, her hair obscuring her face. She turns her strained eyes toward me, and her hair moves. It's Susannah. Cotton dismounts from his horse and lands in front of me. I try to get past him, but he blocks my path.

“Susannah!” I yell as she chokes.

Cotton grabs me by the neck, his strong hand making it impossible to speak.

“You are behind the horse. Focusing on the wrong things,” he spits. The pressure on my neck increases.

I start to lose consciousness and can't hold on to the vision. I try to pry his hand away, but it's no use. My eyes shoot open, and Elijah's shaking me. “Breathe, Samantha!”

I gasp. “Susannah,” I manage. “It was Susannah hanging.” I stand, panting. “We have to go to her house. Do you know where it is?”

“Yes. What did you see, exactly?”

I want to get out of the graveyard. I gather my things and walk as quickly as my body allows. I explain the man's prayer and the crowd as Elijah and I make our way onto the street. I describe every detail and every word I can remember. He's particularly interested in the face of the man on the cart.

“George Burroughs,” he concludes as we plod along. “He was the only minister convicted of witchcraft. He was accused of being the ringleader of all the witches in Salem. People said he recited a prayer before he hanged. Witches were thought unable to do such things.”

I trip on the uneven sidewalk. “The crowd seemed affected. I mean, until Cotton convinced them he was guilty, anyway. So what I saw really happened during the Trials?”

“I do not know. I need to locate the story's origin.”

“What do you think he meant by I'm focusing on the wrong things?” I ask.

“Probably just that. But it begs the question, what are the right things?” Elijah stops walking. “Susannah's house.” He points up a small stone walkway to a forest green door.

I walk toward her stoop. Why was Cotton so angry? Was it what I said about him, or is he really mad that I'm missing something? I raise my hand to knock, but the door opens before my hand touches the wood. Susannah stands on the other side, looking worried.

“Sus—”

“Shhh. Keep your voice down,” she warns. “It's not a good time, Samantha.” Her eyes are puffy from tears.

“I know. I'm sorry. I wouldn't have come, but it's important. Remember when we were in the woods the first time?”

She nods and glances over her shoulder.

“That guy we saw crushed under the piece of metal must've been John.”

“I didn't see anyone get crushed.” Her frown deepens.

Wait, she didn't see that? We talked about it. Actually, no, Alice told everyone to shut up, and then we only discussed the blurred faces. I just assumed the other girls saw it, too. “Oh man. Well, I
did
see that. I didn't know what it meant, until after John died.”

“Why didn't you say anything? We could have stopped it.” Her voice is now full volume.

Susannah's mother comes to the door just as she finishes her sentence. “Susannah, no visitors.” Apparently, she knows who I am.

“I didn't know this was gonna happen. I swear. I didn't know it would be John,” I say before Susannah's mother pulls her away. “But I had another vision—”

At the mention of John's name, Susannah's mother turns angry. “Get off my property, or I will call the police!”

I have to tell her. “Please, Susannah, you've got to listen. I saw you hanging in my vision. I think you're next!” I yell. The door slams in my face.

That was
really
bad. “I'm an idiot.”

Elijah follows me toward my house. “You told the truth. You would never have forgiven yourself if you did not warn her.” He's trying to be nice, but we both know I screwed up.

“I highly doubt Susannah's mother will let her anywhere near me now.”

“Well, that is fairly certain.”

“I'll try to explain in school tomorrow.” I sigh. “Do you think she believed me about the vision?”

“It is difficult to tell. I think it best you explain it when your emotions have calmed.”

I agree. “Elijah, what am I missing? What's the thing I'm not looking at that Cotton was talking about? We need to find that story about George Burroughs and see if there's a clue in it.”

“Yes.”

“Susannah's ancestor recited prayers like Burroughs, didn't she? Also, you said Susannah got the rash the worst, right? And now I saw her hanging. They must be related.”

Elijah pauses. “I will do some digging.”

“Great.” Now I need to make sense of that passage Cotton quoted in my dream. He said people don't believe in witches because they've never seen one. Could he mean me not really believing in all of these things I'm seeing?

We walk to my house, deep in thought. If that's what he's saying, then I need to stop being skeptical and embrace this weirdness. Resisting it has gotten me exactly nowhere. My dad always says that you don't get to choose what happens in the world, only how you react to it.

There isn't much time left. But if Cotton's bound to me, the answer is here. I should be able to figure out whatever he knows. I open the door to my house and lock it behind me.

“I
just
got off the phone with Susannah's mother,” Vivian says, waving the phone in her hand. “She said you threatened her daughter. What were you thinking, Sam, after what happened today?”

I don't acknowledge her, and she doesn't try to stop me as I go upstairs. I shake Vivian's comment off and close the door to my bedroom. Things were never easy socially in NYC. There were times I begged my dad to let me change schools. But this is by far the worst situation I've ever been in.

I take off my jacket and slump down on my bed. “I'm scared, Elijah. I'm scared I won't figure this out in time. That I'm not strong enough. Tomorrow's Friday, four days from when we first saw the blurred faces, and I don't feel like I'm any closer to solving this curse.”

“There is something I want to show you. It may help in that regard.”

“What?”

“I was not certain until yesterday.”

I sit up. “Certain of what?”

He walks to my armoire and pulls Abigail's letters down from the recess in the top. He removes one letter from the bundle and puts the rest back. I perk up.

“One of Abigail's letters?”
They were in my room the whole time.

Elijah sits down on my bed. “This is not one of her letters from William. This one, she wrote to me. I found it the morning she passed away.”

I take the envelope from him and touch it lightly with my fingertips. It's yellowed with age and has his name beautifully written in calligraphy on the front. It smells like old books, musty and comforting.

With great care, I pull out the heavy stationery. The crease in the middle suggests it has been folded and unfolded many times. There is a hand-drawn black-eyed Susan in the corner.

My dearest Elijah,

I know the great unhappiness you beare, and I am truely sorry. I do not mean for you to worry about me. Please understand that it is not William I grieve for these past days. He hath created a crack in my heart, but it is all those families upon which it broke. Those men and women ripped away from the ones they love and who love them in turn. It is the greatest evil of all, to separate people who love each other. I weep for all of us. Their barnish fear has kept them from compassion.

Most important, I do not want you thinking that you could have saved me, because you could not. It is my time. There is nothing you could have done to change this. Change the world, sweet brother. They need you, just as I have needed you all these years. It will be a long time before you understand this, but please let me go now with love.

When change cometh, she will bring peace at her back. She will not bend to your will; you must bend to hers. Help her.

With love and fare thee well,

Abigail

I read it slowly, working out the elaborate handwriting and the sentence structure as I go. “She was wonderful, wasn't she?”

“More than you know.”

I stare at the letter, imagining how he felt reading this. My heart aches for him.

“I spent a great deal of time considering that last paragraph,” he says. “She means you.”

He's so intently focused on me that I almost forget how to speak. “What do you mean?”

“We were meant to meet. You are change, Samantha.”

I'm not convinced, but I want to be. “She wrote this three hundred years ago.”

“My sister was special like you are. She did not see spirits, but she had premonitions. Our parents forbade her to speak of it. But, I assure you, Samantha, she was always right.”

Was I really meant to meet Elijah?
“What makes you think this is about me, though? I'm not change. I can't even change my own situation.”

“You changed me.”

“How could I possibly change you? You're so stubborn.”

He smiles. “You are the first person I have wanted to talk to in three centuries.”

I want that to be true.

“And I believe that you can break this curse, that you can change your fate and those of the Descendants. You are the true reason I came back to Salem. I was unconsciously seeking you.”

I don't know if I'm what Abigail meant when she left this goodbye letter. I don't know how to be change or even how to have a civil conversation sometimes. But I want to break the curse more than I've ever wanted anything in my life.

Overwhelmed, I default to sarcasm. “Abigail was right about one thing, though. I'm definitely everyone's first pick at peace.”

I steal a glance at my dad's picture.
I promise you, if there is a way to stop this, I will. I'll do whatever it takes, however nutty.

“You have more power than you know, Samantha. You just have to be brave enough to realize it.”

“Easy for you to say. All you have to do is bend to my will.”

He smiles, and his dimples reappear. “Do not get ahead of yourself.”

I smile now, too. “But that was my favorite part.”