Story by ayoura

[Alex]

Reader's Note This story was requested by me to ayoura at Gaia Online. It's about the Procters. Now the people may be real but how the events went down is fictional. John did get hanged, his poor wife Elizabeth was convicted but spared due to the child she carried. Abigail Williams and Mary Walcott were two of the accusors and Mary Warren was the Procters' slave. Thank you ayoura so much for this work

[Alex]

“The Devil hath been raised amongst us, and his Rage is vehement and terrible, and when he shall be silenced the Lord only knows.” Father Samuel Parris stood at the pulpit, his congregation before him, silent and terrified. “We know, because of the confession of the accused witch Tituba that there are at least five other witches in Salem Village plaguing our daughters. Let us now bring in these poor afflicted girls and pray for them. Pray that the Devil may be purged from their hearts and that they may tell us of those who tried to damn them.”
He gestured and the girls were brought in. They struggled and fought, trying to escape the house of the Lord. The nine of them hissed and spat, a few barked like dogs, eyes glazed. The Father started the prayer. “Our God that art in Heaven, Hallowed be thy name…” A howl went up from one of the younger girls, Abigail Williams, his niece, as the congregation clasped their hands and bowed their heads. It hurt him to see her so, but he could not grant her relief, he could not allow her to leave until the devil had been driven out of her.
The howling continued, other girls joining in and Ann Putnam the younger going into fits on the floor. Father Parris raised his voice to a thunderous roar and his arms to heaven. “Who bewitched thee child?” He demanded of all of them.
There was a moan and the candles’ flames flickered, the congregation whispering prayers desperately. “Who bewitched thee?” He repeated, outside lightning struck and the rain began to pelt down onto the roof but the Devil could not enter the house of the Lord directly.
Abigail the loudest of the children cried out. “John Proctor. John Proctor and his wife! They make my body twitch, and burn my soul in the pits of Hell, haunting me with their spectres! They… Agk….” Her voice caught in her throat as she convulsed eyes rolling back in her head. The other children paid her no heed, each caught in their own deliriums.
Then slowly Mary Walcott, who was almost a woman raised her head. Glassy eyes bored into the Father and her mouth gaped slightly. “She speaksss the truth.” She hissed. “It is the Proctors, the damnable Proctors who are sending us to Hell!”
“Enough!” Yelled Father Parris, he walked down to the girls laying a hand on each of their heads in turn. “The devil be gone from thy souls! Rest while in this house of prayer. In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, Amen!”
“Amen!” Echoed the church, the afflicted shuddered and fell silent.
“This is grave news.” The Father spread his arms wide. “Does anyone else speak against John and Elizabeth Proctor? If you have evidence against them, bring it forward at the trial, three days hence. For now these girls need rest. Go back to your homes and pray for the Lord to save your souls. May the Lord be with everyone in these coming days.”
Everyone slowly stood and left the church quietly walking out into the rain. Those with daughters among the afflicted came to collect them and take them home in silence. Father Parris watched them all leave and a bright white anger burned inside of him. The Proctors had not come to the prayer vigil. This was all the proof the Father needed.
“Constable Herrick?” Asked the minister, putting his hand on the constable’s shoulders.
Joseph Herrick turned his face dour and grim. “I know what you’re going to ask of me, Father and I will gladly do it. I already have a warrant.” He held up the vellum the ink still drying. “They will be in jail before the morning.”
Joseph left the church, the rain outside soaking through his clothes and down to his skin within moments. His horse was tied to the fence out front and whinnied when he came into sight. “My gravest apologies, Ash.” He told it, freeing the reigns and pulling himself up onto the saddle. He clicked his tongue before urging the horse into a gallop. The wind the whipped up the rain driving it into his face. There was a light not too far away, the light of the Proctor farm house. He slowed to a trot to walking up the lane to the house. He tied Ash’s reign to the nearest tree and went up to the door.
He knocked respectfully and stood there, there was the patter of feet and their servant Mary Warren opened the door. She had been one of the afflicted but her fits had stopped almost as suddenly as they had started. “Can I help you constable?” She asked.
“I need to speak with your Master. “ Joseph said, stepping into the house, a small puddle forming around his feet.
Mary nodded and ran off, her voice echoing up the stairwell. “Mr. Proctor! Sir?” There was a muted conversation, Joseph could see their shadows on the far well. John Proctor’s was twisted and distorted into a long thin shape. The constable shivered, and steeled himself as Mr. Proctor came down the stairs. He was an old man well into his sixties, hair receding and gray.
“What do you want Constable?” He demanded, “Why do you come to my house so late to disturb my rest?”
Joseph held out the warrant. “You and your wife are under arrest for being witches, as accused by Abigail Williams and Mary Walcott. You are further under suspicion for missing the prayer vigil held by Father Parris at the church this evening.”
“This is madness sir!” John exploded, “My wife is sick with child, I stayed home to comfort her. You cannot claim that is grounds for us meddling in the dark arts.”
“Never the less.” And never the less it was. He bundled the protesting John and Elizabeth out into the rain, their hands cuffed behind their back. Elizabeth had not said a word the entire time, nor did she speak as Joseph hooked up their cart to Ash and put them into it. John scowled and opened his mouth to protest some more.
“Mr. Proctor.” Joseph said sharply. “If you speak another word, I will be forced to put the witch’s bridle on you.”
John closed his mouth, and huddled close to Elizabeth who looked at him with sad eyes. Joseph urged Ash into a trot and the silent trio made their way through the mud and the rain to the jail.
“Here you are.” Joseph said, throwing John out of the cart and dealing a little more gently with Elizabeth as he feared to hurt her child.
He hustled the two of them into the jail and chained them to the back wall with the other witches, the other ones who had sold their souls to the devil in exchange for unholy power. They reached out for him, chains clinking, begging for freedom. Constable Joseph Herrick spit. “ Your trial is in three day, may God have mercy on your soul.” He walked out, closing the door of the cell. He gave one last look at the two, John Proctor doing his best to comfort his wife who cried quietly on his shoulder and there he left them.
Three days later the judges and jury stood in the court room. They heard the evidence from the girls who had accused the Proctors the first time. They said the spectres of the couple haunted them and drove them to madness. Abigail stood in tears, while Mary Walcott stood, strong but shaken. “And,” She continued, “Mr. Proctor grasped my around my neck and began to tighten his hands, trying to force the life out of me and send my soul to the Devil like he had promised.” She refused to look at John, her eyes cast firmly on the floor. A murmur of sympathy went up from the villagers that had assembled to watch the proceedings.
“What about Mary Warren?” Asked the judge. “Was she not one of the afflicted?”
Mary stepped forward, “It is true your honour.” She said. “I was, and when my fits stopped I was so thankful to the Lord I put up a prayer bill in the house of Mr. Proctor.” She glanced at him but John was sitting with his eyes closed and his body tense. “He threatened to beat me if I did not take it down. So out of fear I did and then…” Mary faltered, “Then he made me touch the Devil’s book to damn me.” She wiped her eyes. “Forgive me your honour.”
“This is outrageous!” John burst, standing up. “That you will condemn me and my wife because of the hysterics of girls and women, is unjust and unfair.”
“John.” Elizabeth took his arm and urged him to sit, the much younger woman looking worried.
“No my darling I will speak. I have lived and farmed here my whole life, I am a god fearing Christian who has offered harm to none who did not deserve it. “He stood strong and proud. “The words of these girls are not evidence, they are slander. My friends and associates have signed a petition for me, there are thirty two names on it, testifying I and my wife have lived a good Christian life.”
He watched as the paper was presented to the jury. They read it brows knitting together and looked up. The judge read it after, and shook his head. “This is inadmissible Mr. Proctor. You will still stand this trial with your wife, petition notwithstanding.”
John sat back with Elizabeth and watched as the judge addressed the jury . He held the hand of his wife, she was looking at Abigail in disgust and frustration. The young girl caught her gaze and went into fits, shrieking and howling, her head back so far John thought it was going to snap. Father Parris hurried over and lay a hand on Abigail’s forehead as Elizabeth looked away. She quieted, taking deep breaths.
“I saw Elizabeth hex her just before she went into her fit.” Mary Walcott said sombrely, voice shaking. “The black man stands beside her, and urges her on even now. “
“I can hear the voices of Mr. Proctor’s dead wives.” Abigail said, her voice quiet. “They say he has sold his soul to the Devil as has his wife.” She covered her face with her hands. “They cry to me that he is a witch and his wife with him.”
The judge frowned. “Have they been stripped and searched for the Devil’s mark?”
Elizabeth blushed and John squeezed her hand. “Yes your Honour.” Father Parris said. “I looked myself, their bodies were clean but that does not always mean their souls are as free from such blemishes.”
The judge nodded, “It is now for the jury to decide. They will retire and return with their decision.”
The jury left and John hugged his wife, feeling her shake gently in his arms. “It will all be fine darling.” He told her, “The petition will sway them, they know us and they know we have done no wrong.”
Elizabeth nodded numbly. “But what about our child John? If we are found guilty what shall we do?”
“I don’t know love. I don’t know.” They stood in silence, holding each other as close as the chains would allow for, oblivious to the murmurs of speculation of the others who had gathered.
The jury returned less than an hour after they had retired. One, who John couldn’t quite make up stood up. “We have decided on our verdict.” There was a hush, all eyes turned to the figure, already expecting, already knowing the words that would come out of his mouth. “This jury finds John and Elizabeth Proctor, guilty.”
There was no uproar from the assembly, John’s friends just shook their heads and John himself could not muster the energy to fight the verdict. His chains felt too heavy, and he was so tired after days spent in the cold damn cell, pressed against all the other unfortunates. His eyes closed as the gravel banged down. “Guilty.” The judge repeated. “However, the court acknowledges that Mrs. Proctor is with child, and so her sentence shall be postponed until she gives birth. Mr. Proctor however is sentenced to be hanged at the neck until dead.”
They were taken back to the cell, and as soon as John hit the cold floor he got back up, despite the protest from his joints. “Please!” He did not know why he did not think to protest before. “It is a dying man’s wish. Let me serve my punishment at the same time as my wife, so we can pass into the next world together!”
Laughter greeted his proposal, and Constable Herrick stood outside the bars. “I cannot grant you that Mr. Proctor, best to start thinking about your will.”
John did, he thought about it while he comforted his wife and he wrote it that very night witnessed by the judge that had presided over his trial. The very next day, he was pulled out of the cell, the jailer kicking at Elizabeth’s arms as she hung onto him. “I beg you, do not take him. Please do not take him!” she cried. All she got in return was a sneer.
John looked at her. “Elizabeth, please have some dignity.” He said gently. “The Lord will provide.” He let himself be lead away and herded on a cart with others who had been similarly convicted. He recognized all the faces there, faces he’d grown up with, faces he’d shared parts of his life with. He said nothing to them but sat in the corner as the cart bumped and jolted its way out to Gallows Hill. Nothing seemed real, the world was to sharp and the sun shone down, mocking his apprehension and his fear.
The ride took forever and a few seconds and the guilty were herded back up and out onto a scaffold. John did not struggle and he did not fight. He would have dignity as he had told Elizabeth to. When he stood there though, hands tied tightly behind his back, gazing out upon the masses assembled to watch him dance the hangman’s jig, he prayed. He prayed harder and more sincerely then he ever had before, begged God that it would not end here. Here there was no dignity, there was only cheap entertainment for the faces he used to know. John Proctor gazed up to heaven as the scaffold gave way beneath him.
****
Reverend Cotton Mather stood in the sitting room of Father Parris. “Has there been any change in the girls?” He asked gravely, his hands clasped in front of him.
Father Parris shifted in his chair and sighed. “No, I am afraid there has not been. The village children are much the same, still bewitched and speaking in tongues.” He shook his head. “The devil is walking in Salem, Reverend, bringing us a plague of witches.”
The reverend sat down, “It is a plague of witches indeed. We have hung so many and still they fill up our jails, and haunt the country side. It is clear what must be done.”
“Indeed,” Father Parris said nodding slowly, white knuckled hands holding tight to the bible in his lap. “The trials must continue.”