Salem Witch Trials volume one

The heavy, humid air of Salem Village clung to Samuel Abbott’s skin as he stood alone, his hands rough and shaking, gripping the cold iron bars of the small window. The courtroom beyond was packed, murmurs rippling through the crowd like the hiss of a flame. His breath came in shallow gasps. He tried to calm himself, but the hysteria swirled around him, pulling him under.

Samuel wasn’t a woman. That much was true. But it didn’t matter anymore. The witchcraft accusations had reached him just as easily, as if the flames of fear had scorched through every pretense of reason. It hadn’t started with him, though. First, they’d come for the women — Sarah, Abigail, Martha — but soon enough, whispers had started, fingers pointed, and men, too, were dragged into this madness. The suspicion. The paranoia. Samuel had watched as the town he had once known twisted in on itself, like a serpent eating its own tail.

He was a farmer, not some highborn merchant from Salem Town, not someone with influence or wealth. But he had seen things, spoken up when perhaps he should have remained silent. Samuel remembered how it all began, with a fit of shrieking, the young girls in the town throwing themselves to the ground, writhing as if possessed. And then the accusations, like wildfire, sparing no one who didn’t fit into the safe little boxes the village had built for themselves.