𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇

𝟎𝟗. 𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐭

𝐒𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟔𝐭𝐡, 𝟏𝟔𝟔𝟔

Three knocks sounded against your bedroom window.

You sat upright in bed, blinking back at the lamplight from your bedside table. You hadn't been asleep, but you were far from awake—floating through that space between for hours after the massacre at the meeting house.

Thomas was the one who saw you home. Solomon and Elijah were too busy digging the fresh batch of graves to be laid at the edge of town. Some of the Union women had already taken to collecting wildflowers to place at the headstones. You suspected the stonemason would be richer than the mayor in a week's time.

You didn't speak a word to Solomon since he killed the pastor. Part of you wished he hadn't—that he had just left you to die.

The floorboards creaked outside your bedroom door for a good few hours after Thomas walked you back. He paced around the rest of your house; never knocking, but never having to. The fact that he was there made you feel safe enough to close your eyes without picturing Cyrus Miller standing over you with that rusty sickle.

But when night came, men with torches appeared at your doorstep and called Thomas away to the meeting house. The word witchcraft was used and it made you shiver and think briefly of the widow in the woods.

You finally went to the window and pried the panes apart far enough to see Hannah and Sarah standing just below. Sarah lost Henry today, and while the man had tried to kill you, your heart still ached for Hannah, who also lost her father.

They both wore their grief differently than you did. With determination and purpose. In hushed voices, they convinced you to sneak away and join them in listening in on the gathering of men who had congregated in the meeting house.

The three of you crowded together under the window sill and peered up into the church. Inside, the pews were all full—with living bodies this time.

"Good people of Union, listen!" Mr. Berman banged his gavel against the pulpit. He had taken over the meeting in the absence of the pastor. "There is a dark and evil force at work here. If we are ever to end this misery, we must root out the guilty!"

Roars of agreement were silenced as someone in the front row stood slowly, as if afraid to agitate the angry, grieving man. It took a moment longer to squint through the frosted panes and realize that it was Solomon.

"Jakob, please. The man responsible is dead," he cut in. You chewed on your bottom lip. The tension was choking you even from behind the glass. You couldn't imagine how suffocating it would be to actually sit inside.

"Our pastor was a man of God," Mr. Berman spat. "This was not him. Our children—our entire bloodlines—have been stolen from us. Someone must pay."

The shouting began again and you pulled away from the window, suddenly light-headed. Isaac was twiddling his thumbs in the very back row, eyes darting around, looking for others who shared in his hesitation.

Hannah ducked down and placed a hand over your shoulder. "Are you alright?" She whispered. "Shall I walk you home?"

"No," you said quietly, bracing yourself against the side of the house. "I'm alright."

But that was the furthest from the truth. You just wouldn't allow yourself to walk away.

When you focused once again on the meeting, Jakob Berman had stepped down. In his place, Thomas Slater was leaning over the pulpit with a devious smirk. 

"Lord have mercy," you shook your head, eyes squinted shut in silent prayer.

"I saw...some little lambs of our town...laughing, dallying under the full moon last," he chuckled his confession darkly. His choice of words had Solomon clenching his jaw shut. No one ever asked Thomas how he knew of the meeting in the woods, or what had happened there. No one ever would. Everyone knew that his word was as good as dirt.

Issac cautiously took the stand a few moments later. He confessed almost instantly. "There were some of us in the woods..." he said, wincing at the whine of angry voices that followed. "But there was no witchcraft. We drank applejack and danced. We are young! This is not a crime!"

But the others obviously did not agree.

"You are sinners!"

"You must be punished!"

"We must purge this evil!"

You grab for Sarah's hand in the dark, just to find that she was already doing the same. You laced your fingers together, squeezing every so often to ground yourself. You were out there, away from the roar of angry villagers. They couldn't hurt you. Not yet.

Solomon had heard enough of the mongering and took to the stand like a vulture descending onto a carcass already half-eaten. "Listen to yourselves!" He cried and the room went still. He had that impact on people, even in their maddest state. "Hear these accusations and speculations. You're chasing shadows and imagined curses, but you have no proof! None of you!"

Isaac looked down at his lap and Thomas sat back in his seat with his arms folded over his chest. Of course, he had the nerve to be bored.

"I have proof."

A few heads turned and a figure in the furthest corner of the church rose and stepped into the light. Caleb Abery.

"No," you hissed, clutching your forehead with your free hand. Thomas' ramblings were one thing, but Caleb could spin the wildest tale of vice and virtue and Union folks would believe it all before it completely left his lips.

"It was some nights back when the full moon had risen just beside the sun," he purred his words like an old barn cat, scanning his audience with the confidence of a pope. "As I lay sleeping, she came to me. She bewitched me and led me to the woods, naked and riding a red mule."

He paused and the silence in the wake of his words made him smirk. "The red mule became a horned man. And she made me watch as she laid with the devil. As both of them laid with the devil."

A few gasps escaped from the few women who were allowed to be in attendance—the pastor's wife and a handful of mothers who demanded answers.

"Who? Who was it, boy?" Someone called out.

Caleb was glowing under the lantern light, and you knew that he'd been dreaming of this moment ever since he cornered Sarah behind her pig's sty; ever since he lost his chance to take you in the dark woods. This was his revenge. This was his reckoning.

"(Y/N) O'Connor...and Sarah Fier."

Your jaw dropped in unison with the uproar of voices from within the building. Sarah's father jumped to his feet along with Solomon and Thomas, who no longer looked bored. Something akin to terror had washed over his features as if he had just realized the power of the monster he had created.

Untameable was the fear of man when stoked by the mystery of God.

"Witches!" Mr. Berman barked, and it took mere seconds for dozens of others to join in.

"Witches!"

(A/N: I'm getting bad at updating on time. Listen ok so I'm actually working on the next Slasher Girl chapter so expect that sometime soon. I can't wait for 1978. I wrote so many cute moments into that. Although I love writing old-timey words. And Thomas. I love Thomas. THAT'S ALL BYE!)