Bones of a Witch

by Dana Donovan

  “Confess to what,” I whispered back, “being a witch, or conspiring with the devil?”

  “Both.”

  I looked him square in the eye. “Sorry, Manny—can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “You know why. We both may be witches, but only one of us has conspired with the devil, and it wasn’t me.”

  “Then you will hang.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “Mister Hilton.” The magistrate pointed to the stand. “Call your next witness.”

  Hilton addressed the jurors and announced, “I call to the stand, Lilith Adams.”

  “All right,” I said, jumping to my feet with a smile as big as Hilton’s ego. I scurried around the witch’s box with no help from the bailiff and took a seat on the stand beside the magistrate’s bench. There I looked up at him and said, “So, what are you, like a hundred years old?”

  One of the bailiffs approached the stand with a King James Bible and directed me to place my hand upon it. “Do you swear to tell the truth, unmitigated, uncompromised and unabridged so help you God?”

  I looked at him and laughed. “You’re kidding, right? Do you see that my hands are tied behind my back?”

  He craned his neck to steal a peak behind me. “Oh, yeah, well maybe you can just say you do and we’ll get on with it.”

  I shook my head. “No. You didn’t ask anyone else if they swore to tell the truth. Why should I?”

  He leaned in and ushered under his breath. “Just say yes, please, would you? I got to get up early in the morning, you know?”

  “You gotta get up early. They want to hang me tonight and you’re worried about getting out of here so you can catch up on some Z’s. I got just one thing to say to you about that. Are you listening?”

  “Yes.”

  “Come closer.”

  He edged right up to the stand and pitched his ear in so close to me I could bite it off. “You listening?”

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  “All right then. GO FUCK YOURSELF!”

  He fell back and Hilton stepped in. “That’s all right, Miss Adams. We don’t expect you to tell the truth.”

  “Why NOT?”

  “Because witches never tell the truth.”

  “Maybe in your circle of witches, but I do.”

  “Always?”

  “Sure, I mean I may not tell you everything I know, but I won’t lie.”

  “Hmm, we’ll see about that.” He pulled back a measured step. “Miss Adams, will you please tell the court why you want to hurt the children.”

  “I don’t want to hurt the children.”

  “Oh? Is that because you like them?”

  “Hell no, I can’t stand the little fuckers.”

  “So you admit it.”

  “Yes.”

  “If you don’t want to hurt the children, then why did you pinch Abigail?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “She said you did. Why would she say that if it were not true?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, maybe because someone coached her.”

  “Do you fly around in the mist on a broom?”

  “No.”

  “Abigail said you do.”

  “Again, coached.”

  “Have you ever shape-shifted into a dog?”

  “No.”

  “Mister Putnam said you did.”

  “Putnam lied.”

  “Why would he do that? Mister Putnam is a pillar in this community.”

  “Mister Putnam is a murderer.”

  “Thanks to you.”

  “No, thanks to you and the rest of the gang from Ingersoll’s Witness.”

  “So you deny that you directed your specter to approach Mister Putnam and have words with him?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Tell the truth, Miss Adams. You came to him in the form of a dog.”

  “No.”

  “You spoke to Mister Putnam.”

  “No.”

  “You told him you wanted him to sign his name in the devil’s book?”

  “No.”

  “You told him to kill the woman in the garage.”

  “No.”

  “Admit it.”

  “Nah-uh.”

  “How do you explain the devil’s mark on your back side?”

  “You mean my ass?”

  “Yes.”

  “I had a guy in Boston put it there.”

  “Was he the devil?”

  “No, but he had one hell of a killer smile. I think his name was Ron, or Tom or something like that.”

  “Miss Adams, I thought you told me you always told the truth.”

  “That’s right.”

  “But isn’t it so that not one answer you’ve given me here tonight is the truth?”

  “No.”

  “No, it’s not so, or no you’ve not told the truth.”

  “No it’s not so.”

  “Then you deny you’re a witch?”

  “Oh no, not at all.”

  “Not at all what? You’re not a witch, or you’re not denying it?”

  “Look, Manny, let me spell this out for you so that we can stop pussy-footing around the May pole. I’ve never shape-shifted into a dog; I’ve never asked anyone to sign the devil’s book, I’ve never flown around in the mist on a broom, or anywhere else for that matter and I’ve never told anyone to kill someone. Mind you, I’ve helped others kill before, but that’s another story. The problem here is that you haven’t asked the right questions yet, and you might save all of us here a whole lot of time if you just come right out and ask me point blank if I’m a witch.”

  Hilton drew back, a curious scowl deforming his face. I could see him thinking of all the smartass answers I might give him if only he asked that most pertinent question of all. In the end, however, he realized he had to tread there, regardless the outcome. So he shook the brood from his grimace, cleared his throat and asked outright, “Are you a witch, Miss Adams?”

  I sat up tall in my seat, smiled proudly and said, “You’re damn right I am. I’m a witch and a damn good one at that. But now you’re all gonna die.”

  Spectators and jurors alike recoiled in a collective gasp that nearly sucked all the oxygen right out of the room. Strangely though, no one uttered a single word. I waited until those who hadn’t yet exhaled were about to faint before admitting, “Nah, I’m only kidding. You guys are all right. Now, why don’t you just cut these ropes off my hands and I’ll be on my way.”

  It’s funny how you can misread a room sometimes. The simple folks of Salem seemed plenty virtuous and all when I first sat down on the witness stand. Though I didn’t really expect them to condone my lifestyle, I surely didn’t think that every last one of them would turn back the hands of time to a period in history that even the Puritans admit was a grievous mistake; especially after hearing the facts about James T. Putnam and his murderous crusade. But you know that’s just what they did. The bastards threw me right under the bus. I swear a witch just can’t catch a break sometimes. Even as the murmurs were beginning to sound a lot like the chants of a lynching mob, I tried appealing to the clerical nature of Pastor Hilton.

  “You can’t really let them do this,” I said. “There are people looking for me. They will find me.”

  “Who, your boyfriend and his incompetent sidekicks?” he snipped. “The truth is I hope he is the one who finds you. Maybe seeing your lifeless body swinging from the top of Gallows Hill will persuade him not to pursue his own inclinations towards witchcraft. But then, it’s not for me to say what happens to you now, is it?”

  “No? Then whose?”

  Hilton rolled his eyes up at the magistrate. My eyes followed, and what I saw were two beady oil-soaked pearls swimming in blood red pools, staring down at me like vultures. It was then I realized I was in the presence of pure evil; for this man was no ordinary human being. His soul had been stripped of humanity and laced with venom. Death had come for him and passed him up a thousand times,
and in return he delivered Death to a thousand innocent souls. I struggled to find a voice, for my lips could hardly part, but when they did I asked him in a cracked utterance, “Who are you?”

  He smiled through bent, crooked teeth, pitted as if etched in acid and caked in a yellow-brown tartar like baker’s crust. “Who am I? You mean you don’t know?”

  I shook my head. “It’s why I asked.”

  Hilton answered, “That’s G. Thomas Ingersoll. Maybe you’ve heard of his tavern?”

  “No, you’re not that Ingersoll,” I said.

  The old man struck his gavel down once and proclaimed, “In obtaining a confession from the accused, this court finds Lilith Adams of New Castle, guilty on all charges and therefore decrees the punishment as proscribes by our forefathers: Death by hanging on Gallows Hill. Court dismissed.”

  Carlos Rodriquez:

  After Tony told me to run the siren and lights, I started making some good time. We’re really not supposed to do that, of course, without first notifying the cops in whose district we’re crossing, but I figured the worse that could happen was we’d pick up an escort here or there along the way and that would get us there faster. As it was, no one challenged us, and we made Salem within the hour.

  “So where to now?” I asked Dominic. He had been feeding me directions off his Merc-Vector 280, but as soon as we crossed the Salem city limits he clammed-up. I caught his eyes in the rear view mirror. “Well?”

  “I’m working on it. There. Take a left at the stop sign,” he said, adding, “I think.”

  “You think? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing. Take the left and go straight.”

  I took a left, went straight and then followed the road to a dead end. We got out there and looked around, but for a couple of teen punks smoking cigarettes on a bench seat under a streetlight, we found no one else around. I went up to the oldest looking kid and asked him if we were at Gallows Hill.”

  “`Swhat the marker says,” the kid replied, “ain’t it, Pops?” He pointed with his cigarette in hand at a small granite slab and pedestal behind us. I turned and nearly tripped over the damn thing. Dominic shined his penlight down on it and read the inscription aloud.

  “O What breath we here have taken

  Damn thee now and crush thy will

  The Lord we trust hath not forsaken

  Thy souls He claims from Gallows Hill”

  When finished, he looked back over his shoulder and added, “Guess we’re here.”

  “Yeah,” said Tony, “but where’s Lilith?” He walked up to the punk kid who had called me pops and crowed him back into his seat. “You guys see a young woman here tonight, maybe with an older guy?”

  The kid looked up at Tony, showing him a touch more respect than he had shown me. “No. We ain’t seen no one here tonight.”

  “You sure?” Dominic said. “You’d remember her; she’s smoking` hot.”

  I elbowed him in the side. The kid nodded up at me. “What, is she your daughter or somethin`?”

  “She’s my girlfriend,” said Tony, and he grabbed the kid by his shirt and pulled him to his feet. “You sure you haven’t seen anyone?”

  “Tony.” I stepped between them and broke the two up. “He said he hasn’t seen her.”

  “Yeah, Mister, give me a break. What-a-ya, high or somethin`?” He flicked his smoke into the bushes, and then he and his friends soldiered off.

  Tony dropped his head in despair, scratching the ground with his foot before taking a seat on the bench. I brushed the boards next to him with a clean handkerchief and sat down beside him. Dominic took the seat to his left. We sat there, not speaking, taking turns checking our watches and wishing—me anyways—that we smoked so that we would have something to do with our hands. I remember feeling hopeless about the situation and wondering what the hell we were going to do next, when out of the blue Tony said, “I don’t know.”

  I looked at him. He was still staring down at the ground. “You don’t know what?”

  He looked over at me. “What we’re going to do.”

  “Oh, yeah.” I blinked a couple of times and then turned away.

  A moment or two later I started thinking how maybe we should have stayed in New Castle, that maybe Putnam didn’t take Lilith to Salem like we thought. But again Tony shook his head, and without prompting, said, “No, she’s here. I can feel it in my bones.”

  This time even Dominic looked at him like he was crazy. He started to say something, but I motioned with a subtle gesture for him to hold his words. Then I thought, Are you sure?

  Without hesitating, Tony nodded and replied, “Yeah, I’m sure. We’re close.”

  “Tony,” I said, “how are you doing that?”

  He looked up at me, puzzled. “Doing what?”

  “You’re reading my thoughts.”

  “Huh?”

  “Yeah, you’re reading my thoughts and answering my questions without me asking.”

  A thin, suspicious smile inched across his face. “No I’m not.”

  Dominic said, “Yeah, Tony, I think you are.”

  “Really?”

  I slapped his knee. “Yes, you are, and maybe that’s good. You say you can feel it in your bones that Lilith is here somewhere?”

  “Yes.” His gaze drifted off into an empty patch of darkness beyond the reach of the streetlight. “She’s here; she’s close, very close.”

  “Can you connect with her?” Dominic asked. “Maybe pick her up like psychic radar.”

  “Yes,” I said, “it’s your witchcraft. I bet it’s heightened because of where we are. This place is rich in witch history. There’s probably an aura of witchcraft residue all around us. Use it, Tony. Use it to find her.”

  I watched him reel his thoughts in and focus all his concentration on Lilith’s radiant energy. Before long he lifted his head high, sampling the air as a hound might after catching scent of a lost trail. He stood and faced south, pointing as he spoke. “This way. I think she’s closer to downtown.”

  “But he’ll take her here,” said Dominic, “won’t he? Shouldn’t we wait here for them?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “Something’s not right about this place. I don’t know what it is, but she’s not coming here; I can assure you that.”

  “Then we go,” I said. “Everyone in the car. We’re heading downtown.”

  I thought after we all got going that Tony would lead us right to Lilith, but it seemed the longer we drove around, the more lost we became. Finally, after passing the same gas station four times, he told me to stop the car.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “Didja lose the scent?” Dominic followed.

  Tony shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t have that feeling anymore. I have to get out and walk around.”

  “You want us to wait here?”

  “No, you guys come, too. I can use your support.”

  We parked the car at the curb along a strip of mostly closed retail shops and small restaurants. Pedestrian traffic was nearly nil, and even for the few establishments open, business seemed pathetically light. Dominic commented how ghostly the streets appeared and wondered aloud where everyone was.

  “Conducting a trial,” Tony remarked. Somehow, we knew he was right.

  We had made a brisk hike of the brick-lined stretch of pedestrian mall linking the downtown historic and commercial districts and had barely started back when I causally pointed into a shop window and said, “Look there, isn’t that strange?”

  “What is?” said Tony.

  “That.” I zeroed in on a peculiar looking stone dangling from a string up in the corner of the window. “See there?”

  Dominic cupped his hands to the window and pressed his forehead between them. “You mean that colored stone?”

  “Yeah, did you notice that virtually all the shops have something or another just like it hanging in the window? What do you suppose it is?”

  Tony cupped his hands to t
he glass similarly and commented, “That’s a chunk of dolomite.”

  “Doodle-mite?”

  Dominic returned, “No, dolomite. It’s a common sedimentary rock sometimes used in ceramics and fertilizers.”

  “Why has everyone got it hanging up in their windows like that?”

  Tony rocked back from the window. “It’s a scarecrow.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, I found out recently that dolomite is often used as a kind of witch repellent. What you’re looking at is called a witch’s stone. In sufficient quantities and proximity it can dilute a witch’s power or zap it altogether.”

  “Like kryptonite,” I said.

  He rapped the back of his hand against my chest. “Exactly.”

  “That’s why you can’t connect with Lilith anymore,” Dominic remarked. “Look at this. The entire town is ringed in dolomite to ward off witches. We have to get back to Gallows Hill so you can reconnect.”

  “No.” Tony trained his gazed back up at the stone. “Something still is not right. I get a feeling of misdirection back there. Frankly, I don’t think that was Gallows Hill.”

  “But the marker said—”

  “What? Think about it. What exactly did the marker say?”