The supermarkets and farm markets are all in a buzz with happy customers and some not so happy customers. Everyone was frantically shopping for turkeys for the night’s festivity. Elementary schools made their kids dress up as their ancestors and the higher grades do a concert and then high school projects on your heritage and history.
But in Salem, the festive thanksgiving is not so festive. The town celebrates in the morning and at night the town’s folk board up their shops, homes, schools, even pets and livestock are brought in homes and barns. Salem is boarded up like the tornado cities would be. No one leaves their home until 6 am the next morning.
Salem is known for the witch trials and executions; many witches had cursed the little town. Yet no curses took place, as most of the ‘witches’ were none other than poor women that just didn’t fit into society, or they made home remedies for the sick and so on. But there was one true witch that was captured on a Thanksgiving night and burnt at the stake.
Her name is lost to the history, but everyone refers to her as The Salem witch, some have even dubbed her as Salem itself. Either way, her curse was deemed true and ever since then, every thanksgiving night her curse was awake and the town would be plagued from the moment the witch was believed to burn right up to her dying breath.
The curse’s translation has been lost over the centuries and was never recorded so no one even knows what the true curse is anymore, only that if you are outside you are plagued with madness that you can not recognize foe from friend and just before dawn your mind comes back just long enough for you to remember the horror you caused before taking your own life from quilt and sorrow.
Many researchers, scientist, paranormal seekers, hunters, myth busters have come to our little town to see the curse, in action–as they had put it–or to explain the strange happenings as nothing more than a myth, with all their fancy equipment and body guards the curse still defeated them. Entire teams end up dead either way, and the camera footage was just as bad because who ever watched it met the same horrible fate.
There had been rumors of one house on the edge of Salem Park. There was a house with its residents that were never affected by the curse. It’s believed that they are the descendants of the witch as they are also the oldest family in town and apparently weird and outcasts. So that is where I am headed. I just hope that whoever these people are, they can help break the curse on Salem, as the town is about to become a ghost town or demolished. The mayor somehow wangled it that the town is becoming bankrupt or some BS like that for the government to take notice and the deaths of outsiders didn’t help the town’s case either, so Salem has one chance before they build a wall up around it.
I look at the time and feel the butterflies return, am I nervous yes, scared not really, I have a rare condition that dulls my sense of fear and danger and I also don’t feel any pain so I am the one to walk around town recording the phonemes and go to the untouched house. The rest of the office team that actually cares about our town will wait for me to view the footage granted I survived the night. And if I did not, they prayed nothing happened to them for when they had to view the footage.
The alarm sounds warning the town’s folk they have 5 minutes before the horrors start and I check my gear one more time before walking out of the shelter. My co-workers smile a sad smile, giving my hand a quick squeeze before locking and barricading the door.
Slowly, I turn around to face the now empty street with a fast-darkening sky. The street lamps flicker as a fog slowly creeps into the roads and through the houses and buildings as though it is searching for any weakness of its victims. I let out a shaky breath and hold up my camera to film while saying a quick prayer. I make my way into the street away from the building, not wanting to temp the searching fog to target my co-workers.
The fog surrounds me, its cold and dark. I can’t see further than my hand when there is a loud screech loud enough to make me almost drop the camera and cover my ears. But I hold firm, touching my hand to my ear only to discover that it’s bleeding. I let out a breath as the screeching stopped but screamed when a floating, ghastly face came straight at me, making me duck and fall to the ground.
I stumble, getting to my feet before feeling myself to be dragged from behind. This time I don’t get a fright and stay focused on trying to get footage. I hold the camera up above my head to capture whatever entity is dragging me. There is no pain on my shoulders, but I feel pressure on my shoulders. I am dropped right in front of the Untouched house with a force.
I gasp and turn the camera to face the house, not even bothering to dust myself off. I can sense the air is warmer here. The house is dark except for a single black candle in the window. I wonder if that is the reason why the house is ‘untouched’. I move closer, only to be pushed back. I frown and push forward, only to be thrown back a few feet before landing on my back.
The wind is knocked out of me and I cough and wheeze while trying to get up. The fog gets thicker and cold around me, obscuring my view of the house, and I shiver slightly. The fog is like a blanket wrapping itself around me, trying to suffocate me as it seeps into my mouth, nose, and ears. My eyes prickle with the cold.
I am now convinced the fog is the source of the curse. I can feel my senses are dulled even more. If I were a ‘normal’ person this would be freaking me out and it is possible that the lack of sense and almost being render blind with fear is enough to drive anyone nuts. But because I am accustomed to my rare disability, this has little effect on me.
Shrugging, I start walking back to the house. The fog is throwing everything at me, but it honestly is not phasing me much. It’s like a dull throb of a headache or so I have been told that’s what headaches feel like by friends.
As I reach the house, I open the gate and the fog disperses immediately and there on the porch is an angry mob of women dressed in robes and daggers in their bloody hands. Hissing, they surround me as I am frozen in place.
“How?” one woman shouted, pointing a long, thin finger at me.
“What?!” I responded in confusion.
They closed the circle around me enough for me to see all their faces. Many are old wrinkled woman that in all honestly put the warts and all stereotypes to shame. I cringe at their appearance when they clear a path and a woman walks up to me, throwing her hood back. She is beautiful, with soft ivory skin and dark green eyes with full red lips. My lips part in shock at her beauty among these hags.
She stares at me for a long time, making me and the hags become restless. She hisses and everyone stills bowing their heads. I assumed that she was their coven leader. The air warms and I feel a dull throb before I feel something trickle from my nose. I touch my finger to my nose, only to see that it is bleeding. The hags all hiss in anger and fear before the beautiful woman holds her hand up.
“She is a descendant.” She announces loudly, frowning.
“Come again?!” I blurt out in confusion.
“Impossible.” Another hag hisses.
“She does not feel pain, nor has she become infected with the madness.” She states, indicating to me standing with my arms cross.
“I’m sorry what?! I have a rare disease that takes my ability to fear, sense danger and pain. I am not… not a hag.” I splutter with discomfort at her assessment.
“Only witches are not affected by this curse. You are a descendant of this coven. No other witch is able to survive this curse. It does not to affect us.” She declares with irritation. “Who is your mother?! Who is the traitor that has denied you your heritage?!” she screeched, making the fog surround us, trying to suffocate me.
“I was adopted.” I growled, swatting the fog from my face.
The fog disappears as the hags all seem to look lost at my statement.
“Anyway, I don’t care about my linage. I just want to know why is Salem still been cursed and how to break the curse.” I remark with annoyance.
“My ancestor was betrayed by one of our own. Therefore, the curse will continue until that bloodline has made amends by suffering the same fate as she did.” The beautiful woman explained.
“Who was it? Is the blood line dead?” I asked, pulling my notebook out.
“The traitor was in love with a town’s folk and his father demanded a witch be killed in order for them to live their lives in peace as they were with child. No one knows where they went after the execution. They left the coven and town never to be seen or hear of. There are rumors that they left by sea to another world.” She explained as I took notes.
“Where were you born?” a hag asked me, poking me with her finger.
“I don’t know, but I was adopted from Scotland when I was 5 months old and have lived in the DC until my parents retired her to Salem 10 years ago.” I answered, pushing her finger away.
“The traitor’s bloodline.” Another hag hissed.
The beautiful woman studied me for a long few seconds before sneering. “Bring the traitor!”
“Wait! What?!” I cried out as they grabbed me, pulling me to a pile of wood in the center of the yard.
I struggle against them, but they were very strong for such frail old hags. They got me tied up to the pyre, all the while I tried to break free from their iron grips.
“Beg for mercy. Perhaps your bloodline will be granted that much for your treachery.” She spat, lighting the wood with spit.
I held my head up high, refusing to beg and plea for something I didn’t do, or had any knowledge of, but if this is what it took for Salem to be saved, then so be it, at least my disability would be a relief for a change by sparing me the anguish which I know will follow soon.
Before the fire has a chance to lick my feet, a surge of bright white light explodes, lighting up the sky as a figure emerges from the light. The flame dies and my bonds come loose. All the other witches squeaked, falling to the ground, cowering and whimpering as I looked up at the figure in confusion.
“The curse is ended with the bravery of this selfless witch descendant that has saved her town.” The voice echoed before disappearing again.
And just like that, the figure is gone, and the sky is pitch black with a slight sliver of moonlight. The witches scramble to their feet, crying and screaming about me being cursed and that the end of days is near. I climb off the pyre in confusion and stunned. I stand there for what felt like hours before the sun starts to break over the horizon. I let out a sigh of relief and head back to town, exhausted but happy that the curse was broken. Well, I hoped it was guessed we would have to see next year.
I checked my camera’s footage and saw that the entire ordeal didn’t show on the screen. I let out a sigh of relief as I wasn’t sure how I would explain a bunch of crazies thinking I’m a witch or descendant of a witch. That would be hilarious, I chuckled to myself.
I reached the town hall with my co-workers rushing out to pull me into hugs and ask a million questions about what happened. I just laughed and hugged them back, declaring that Salem was curse free. I don’t think anyone will mess with our town again, so long witch trails don’t start up again.