The wind danced in between the stalks of wheat. The sunset playfully kissed the horizon and
bathed the meadow flowers in an orange hue. The large apple tree swayed on the hill it had caressed since birth. And the shadow of a figure held up by a string swayed back and forth and back and forth.
The settlers looked in dreadful awe at the sight of her. This was a horrible shock to those who
were virgins to such a scene. They murmured amongst themselves.
“A devil?”
“An outlaw?”
“A witch?”
That last one rang through Evelyn’s ears like ominous bells. The gaze of the townspeople
shifted to her as if stalking their prey.
“That girl…she was shouting at Daffodil just last week…” One sputtered out frantically.
“Could she be the witch that has been tormenting us?” A voice questioned sharply.
It wasn’t much of a question, at this point, to the people of the colony. The fever of witch
hysteria had swept through town after town, and now it was Evelyn’s turn to be the witch.
She stepped back nervously with tears in her eyes, “It wasn’t me! I swear!”
As if she were a newborn fawn, her legs shook rapidly. Her eyes darted across the crowd as
she was about to run off.
A large man with a tangled beard grabbed her wrist. She tried pulling away, but–
SLAP!
A handprint branded her cheek as blood gushed from her nose. Wriggling with fear, she tried
to compose herself, but she was marched off to the settlement of buildings where they all resided.
Before she could comprehend where she was, she was thrown, without mercy, onto the frigid
floor. She gasped for air as if she had been suffocated. She muttered frantically and unintelligibly.
I didn’t kill her! I would never! I am not a witch! Please believe me!
The thought of the terrors that would await her if she were tried as a witch threatened to stop
her heart. She’d be less than an animal. No one stopped anyone from committing the worst crimes against her.
Blood gushed from her forehead as she slammed it into the ground in prayer. Her hands were
cut up by the shards of a whisky bottle that some guard had used to punish the person before her.
In a mad frenzy, she took a large shard and cut deep into her bruised wrist.
I will not let myself be desecrated! I will not let them defile me! God forgive me!
Blood leaked out of the wound and onto the ground into a puddle. She wept manically until
she no longer had the strength to breathe.
The townspeople crowded around the scene. Gasping and shaking their heads pitifully, with
their hats against their hearts, muttering under their breath.
“A devil?”
“An outlaw?”
“A witch?”
Mary froze at the last muttering. Fear hollowing her eyes.
“Mary was always jealous of Evelyn’s beauty…She must have killed her with her witch
powers!”
Like vultures, they circled her.
“Who killed Evelyn Wright? Was it you? You witch!”