16th September 1692
My last morning. The sunlight seems warmer and brighter today. The sky bluer. The food was bad as usual. Meredith didn’t touch it. She hardly looked up when they shoved it inside through the flap.
Pity. Most of the time, she lies down, staring at the cobwebbed ceiling. She misses her father, even though he’s against her. Her palms were beaten badly yesterday. Mine too, in fact, because I refused to lie. Her are worse. She yelled at them.
Had a strange dream yesterday. A man, brown-skinned and black hair had waved at me. He smiled at me and disappeared.
I relayed the news to Meredith this morning. She’s knowledgeable and has already read the Bible. Secretly, of course. Women aren’t allowed to read. Her eyes turned wide. Whispered something about ‘Satan’, turned very fearful. Continuously forbidding me to tell anything of the dream to anyone, she went back to her stupor.
Meredith is sobbing again. I can’t find anything to console her. The floor is half- drenched in blood. My own. They used the Fork. I can’t move my neck, the giant puncture marks on my neck and chest are prominent, still bleeding. Even on the last day, they asked the same thing. It’s a miracle both of us managed to stay shut. One of my teeth disfigured on the way from gritting too much. Left arm is fractured. Meredith’s head was squeezed together from both sides with ropes. She can see nothing but stars now. It’s afternoon now. The execution is at midnight.
They brought in a new prisoner. An older lady. She looks like she’d already given up. Not unlike ours, her clothes are massively torn. Bruised face. Whip marks all over. When they shut her in the adjacent room, we could hear her screams. She’ll get used to it.
Since I have nothing else to do apart from bearing the pain and Meredith won’t talk, I‘ve taken to writing how I got here.
Well, Salem was a nice place, I remember enjoying myself before. Even though people acted a little batty, I didn’t mind them. Then Betty and Abigail went crazy. I was good friends with them. We played together. Then we didn’t. She shouted at the top of her voice when taken away; never came back. Within days, people shut themselves in.
Mother fell ill. She fainted. They took her. Father went too. When returning, he didn’t talk. He took me to the church next day. People whispered among themselves. They stopped and stared at me. The man sitting highest asked me whether I was a witch. I wasn’t. I denied.
“Lies!” One shouted.
“Speak up, girl.” It was my father.
“I ask again, do you confess to be an associate of the devil, like your mother?”
I denied again. And again. It went on. They didn’t believe me. They tortured me. As if choking me wasn’t fun enough, they used the screw. I had heard about those. They put my fingers in. I wanted to cry out, but I hated being weak, especially in front of my father, who at that moment, simply stood there, indifferent. They increased the pressure. My hands became bloody. I denied. They threw me here, in the corner most room with Meredith, who had had a similar experience.
I think of my mother. Wonder where she might be. I know she’s gone. I think of my father too. I think of my friends- Isabel, Berta, and Ralph. I think of Betty and Abigail. I think of Salem. Today feels like the longest day. It’s still evening. Meredith is still keeping to herself. I’m glad I can scratch my words on the wall.
Judging by the sky outside, it’s not long before midnight. I looked up from the window outside a while ago. Starry.
I’m feeling slightly dizzy. I tried to wake Meredith sometime ago, she didn’t move. I turned her face to see her mouth hanging open, dried blood oozed out. Her eyes were open too, staring right ahead. I closed them and drew a cross on the dusty floor.
I’m thinking of everything that happened to me. My mother, Betty and Abigail… my fault…perhaps… I’m assuming the man in the dream was Devil (Who else would approach me?). He was nice to me even though he’s evil…Then, maybe they’re right, maybe I am a witch after all.
