Hour of the Witch

by Chris Bohjalian

Dost dream of things beyond the moon, And dost thou hope to dwell there soon? —Anne Bradstreet

She contemplated a mystery: How is it I am humiliated when I am alone? Does not humiliation demand an audience?

Yes, she thought, revenge belongs to God. But justice? That will be mine.

“She was sent to the scaffold because she had a sharper tongue and a shrewder mind than her accusers. It is always the case when men hang women. Look at Magistrate Caleb Adams: there is nothing that frightens that man more than a woman who does not live happily under a man’s thumb.”

“Men call bright women dim whenever they are threatened. So, take no relief in the names that any man calls thee. There is no safe harbor there.”

“A person with hair that is white and a face well lined,” she said. “In other words, the sort of person unlikely to be noticed, unless one is looking for those who are easily demonized and bullied.”

“Am I a harlot or a witch? When I was here last, I stood accused of lusting after Henry Simmons. Today? It is my own son-in-law!”