The Salem Witches were Innocent or Guilty?

( Journal described is meant to be incomplete and not perfect. It was written by a teenager in the 1600’s).  

Cruising abandoned bookstores is a passion I didn’t know I needed. It has been five years since I picked up this hobby. Finding abandoned stores and being able to access them has been a lot of work. Every new city that I visit, I make sure that bookstore diving is first on my list. 

Today, I am in Salem, Massachusetts, the home of alleged witchcraft done in the 1690s. Salem has always been on my list of potential places to travel to. I have always been mesmerized by the shops and haunted houses set up for Halloween. As soon as I landed, I felt an eerie vibe, and for the first time, I was scared thinking about an abandoned bookstore. I had already looked up and done my research on one close to my hotel. It was called Old Tales and used to be open in the 1700s but eventually closed due to unforeseeable circumstances.  

There was absolutely no information about this bookstore online. No one visits it, and there are no reviews on it. The word in town is that it is haunted, and no one wants to set foot in there. I’ve dealt with my fair share of spirits in abandoned bookstores. I am ready for anything, but that eerie feeling still lingers in my chest. As I now stand in front of the bookstore, I see why no one wants to go in. It’s covered in webs and all sorts of creepy monstrosities. Haunted or not, I am here and am ready to go in. 

Out of the double door entrance, the left one is creaked open, and as I enter, an unknown wind gushes towards me. I carefully take steps inside and start to look around to see what gems I can find. I see a bunch of Bibles and tons of books on Salem's history. There are books, or rather, journal pages, on growing crops. These journals are handwritten and date back to the 1750s. Now, this is a unique find in itself. As I rummage through the journals, I feel an insect bite on my arm and change directions to slap at it. It is a butterfly, and it flies away to sit at the top of a bookshelf. As I look down that bookshelf, my eyes catch a journal almost hidden between two bookshelves. My eyes cannot believe what the journal says at the top of the page. I read it out loud in awe, “Salem Witches.” It is someone’s journal that they wrote during the Salem witch trials. I have struck gold! I cannot hold back my excitement. I need to read this now. I open the first page of the journal and start to read what it says. 

Salem Witches

SALEM. November 15th

Salem is flooded with witches. One after the other, women are being accused of being witches. Court trials are going on, and everyone hovers around the courthouse to hear if the witches will be punished. Everyone in town believes that the devil has gotten to these women. I do pray for their souls. After the recent smallpox epidemic, we sure didn’t need another invasion of sorts. 

Judy Maker’s case. November 17th

My father is on the jury for Judy Maker's case, our neighbor. I always knew something fishy was going on with her. She always dressed scandalously and had not one nice word to say about us. I would say she got what was coming for her. I knew she had to be a witch with the way she always walked around with that pretty face and had people swarming at her feet. Mama always told me to stay away from her.

Father came home to tell Mama and me that Richa Putten accused Judy of witchcraft. Richa Putten is the milkman’s wife and has a pretty good reputation. Richa said she saw Judy mixing portions and then applying them to her face. Her face immediately changed and turned angelic. She says she saw hair and even blood in the potion. When I tell you, this news scares me to my bones.  

SALEM November 20th 

I have seen the convulsions in the bodies of the “victims.” I heard how their bodies behaved as though they had been possessed. Today, I saw one myself, and I was scared of what I saw. Father and I were at Anne Maple’s house today because she had been ill for several days. Her family informed that she was having fits, and she accused the maid of bewitching her.

Anne Maple was the most innocent girl in our town. How could anyone possibly do this to her? I was standing right there when she had one of her fits. Her neck twisted almost 360 degrees, and everyone in the room was in horror. Her body would lay on the floor and randomly start shaking, and her eyes would roll all the way up. It was pure terror, and it felt like the devil had taken over her.  

I did it. December 5th 

Everyone believed that I was under the influence of a witch for the past few weeks. It wasn’t true though. I had made it all up in my desire for revenge. 

All it took was for me to start acting strangely at home one day. I would start pulling my hair and aimlessly mutter words. When Reverend Arthur came over to see me, in my rumbles, I mentioned Cicilia as my culprit. I hated her from the bottom of her heart. She was everything terrible that the world could’ve conjured up. She would come number one in school, and her skinny face had everyone’s attention. She was my age, but she was better than me. I hated her for that. 

Cicilia’s convicted. December 9th

It didn’t take a long time for them to start investigating. They believed me when they saw my hair in her school notebook. Cicilia has since now been convicted of being a witch. 

I knew what I had done could now never be undone. It was over for Cicilia. Part of me is happy with what I did, but another part is scared. How can I face the Lord after what I have done? Sometimes I wish that this wicked thought had never taken over my mind. I am scared to even write about the evil that I have done. What could I do, though? Cicilia was the bane of my existence. And everyone was doing it; they were all accusing each other of being witches. So, what if Cicilia didn’t do anything? She was ruining my life in every other way possible. I had to put an end to her tortuous being, or perfection would have gotten to her head. And no one can say for sure that she wasn’t a witch. 

Guilty conscious. December 19th

Should I fess up? I am starting to feel guilty about what I have done. I can’t deny that life has been easier since Cicilia left, but at what cost? I feel terrible seeing her empty chair at school. It reminds me of what I have done. I’ll fess up to the reverend and

  (page ends) 

Wait, where is the rest of the journal? What did she end up doing at the end? Did she confess, and what was her name? I have so many questions, but no answers. All the rest of the pages are ripped out of this journal. I need to know the end. I mean, how can she not finish? Who ripped this journal apart?

I feel like daggers are cutting through my heart as I think of poor Cicilia. Cicilia was innocent, but she ended up dying as per the witch trials. How do I live knowing this, and who could I tell if I wanted to? Now, I feel as though I am guilty and part of this entire conspiracy. I know the truth, but I can do nothing about it. Cicilia will never get justice. It has been three hundred and thirty- three years since she was branded a witch. She lived and died thinking that she would go down as a witch in history. And here I am standing, almost three hundred years later, holding proof of her innocence. I know she didn’t do anything. 

I’ll help Cicilia. I’ll make sure the world knows her innocence. No one she knew is alive now, but this is important for her soul. She’ll be at peace knowing that, despite not knowing her personally, we know she didn’t do anything. This will be her justice. 

  Knowledge is power, and I will not let Cicilia down. I will publish this journal. I’ll tell the world that she was a normal teenager who was punished because of the intolerance that the world held. I gather the journal and some of the other books that I want to take home. I walk to the door, and right when I am stepping outside, another gust of wind whooshes past me. I hear a whisper that says, “Thank you. Now, I can be free.” And the gust storms right out the door, and the leaves on the floor stir. I see the same butterfly from earlier slowly fly out and away.   

My heart knows that it was Cicilia. She is free.