The Burn Room

Chapter 0

Term: Witch

Part of Speech: Noun

Definition: 1. a person, usually female, who possesses black magic and is believed to have dealings with the devil. To be burned at the stake.

2. an ugly and wicked woman

3. A person affected by witchcraft that is burned at the stake, drowned, or pressed to death

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“All men, women, and children accused of witchcraft will be sent to the Burn Room…”

The TV roared through the house as Sophia, my younger sister, turned the volume up. As the man's fist came crashing down on the podium, his light brown hair flopped up and down with the movement. I flinched each time he banged the podium. His purpose was obvious; he wanted to eliminate the witches.

I’d heard numerous stories at school; rumors about what is in the Burn Room. People, including the Agency, refer to it as the Burn Room, so people say they burn witches to death. Others believe that they hang witches, like the gallows in 1692. Some have even said that they cut off the witch’s head. In truth, its name is self-explanatory. They burn witches. But, I had never seen the Burn Room so I couldn’t be sure.

“Everyone, listen to me!” the Agency representative shouted, striking his fist. “Witches are deadly! They will destroy the human race. This species will take over Amerius and rule us. The Agency will put an end to this. Our solution is the Burn Room.” His face turned bright pink as he shouted more angry words to the audience.

Witches are an abomination and dangerous to all of man-kind!” the voice rang confidently. “They deserve to die! This is for the safety of our children and our other loved ones. The Wiccans associate themselves with the devil so they will go to Hell! The occultists have sinned and will die by fire, water, and earth.” He meant witches were to be burned, drowned, and pressed to death, all of which are very cruel and painful ways to die. The crowd behind the man cheered, pumping their fists into the air.

Each night, there would be a program where an Agency representative would come on and accuse witches. It was nothing new, but Sophia watched it religiously.  Each night, I’d ask her why she’d watch it, and each night I’d receive the same answer.

“I find it interesting. It’s not all that bad, Veronica,” Sophia said.  “Don’t be so bitter.”

“It’s just that you’re a witch. They want to send people like you to die. Don’t you get it?”

“Well, I hate being a witch,” Sophia snapped. She avoided my gaze. I blinked hard, keeping back bitter tears. How could she say that? It’s in her blood! It’s in my blood. It was in a whole line of women’s blood. A matriarchal line. My heart began to pound, anger building up.

“I—I…” I was about to say something that I probably would have regretted. My face grew warm and my fingers tingled. The adrenaline began combining with the frustration. Normally, the conversation would end with our mother coming into the room. She was strict about us talking about witchcraft and the Agency.

My father was not as strict, as he would usually dump himself into a reclining chair, flipping on the sports channel. He avoided the news channels because they always had the same things on and he was sick of hearing the same stuff he’d hear at work. He was a lawyer, but not for trying witches. Instead, he stuck with petty criminals. His being a lawyer kept us from being suspicious. Many trusted him and never had a thought about us possibly being witches, the most hated race in Amerius.