Bones of a Witch (16 page)

“Because I saw her there after she left my
body. She stepped out from behind a concrete column into the light
and made the sign of the devil.” He demonstrated the sign by
holding his hands to his mouth and splaying his fingers in random
forms.

“That’s a lie,” I said. “I gasped and covered
my mouth when I saw what he had done. It was no devil
thing.”

“Ah-ha!” said Hilton. He turned and walked back
to me. “So you admit you were there?”

“Yes. I told you that already. I told you I saw
him kill that woman.”

“There, you see?” He strolled over to the jury
box and addressed the members. “She admits to being there and
taking over Mister Putnam’s body so that he could bid the work of
the devil.”

“I said no such thing.”

“Silence,” ordered the magistrate. “I will have
no more outbursts from the witch’s box.”

“Your Honor, he’s twisting my
words.”

“Mister Hilton, will you please
continue?”

Hilton returned to Putnam’s side. “Mister
Putnam, did you have any further contact with the accused after the
garage incident?”

I stood abruptly. “Incident?” Two bailiffs
palmed my shoulders and pushed me back into my seat.

Putnam replied, “I spoke to the accused over
the phone just today.”

“And?”

“And that’s when she told me that she intended
to kill me.”

Again, scattered gasps spilled from both the
gallery and jury box. “She said she wanted to kill you, Mister
Putnam?”

“Yes. Her exact words were: ‘let this serve as
fair warning; I am going to the station’—by that she meant the
train station—‘where I will find you and kill you with my own bare
hands.”

“Taken out of context,” I said. “Tell them what
you told me, how you wanted to annihilate me and my kind. Go on and
tell them how you killed another woman on the boardwalk. Don’t
forget that you little twerp.”

“Is that true?” Hilton asked. “Did you kill
another woman on the boardwalk?”

“Yes, most certainly, but only after Miss Adams
came to me as an apparition and made me kill her. She took over my
body. She wanted me to sign the devil’s book. When I told her I
would not, that I serve only God, she became angry and she killed
that woman on the boardwalk.”

“That’s a lie.”

“That’ll be all,” said Hilton.

The magistrate said, “Witness dismissed. Call
your next witness.”

Hilton rolled his gaze toward the barn door and
announced, “I call to the stand, Abigail Mary Walcott.”

All heads turned to meet Abigail, the child
whose balloons I helped get down from the tree. “That’s my
neighbor,” I said. “You kidnapped a child? Now you’ve really gone
too far.”

“Miss Abigail.” Hilton held a hand out and the
young girl took it. “Don’t be afraid, darlin`. The bad witch cannot
hurt you now.”

“The bad witch? Listen, if you lay one finger
on that child, I’ll hunt you down like the dog you are and destroy
you. You hear me?”

“Your Honor, I would like the court records to
reflect that the accused threatened me with bodily harm in the
presence of a minor and of all in attendance.”

“The record shall show it. Miss Adams, you will
hold your comments for the hanging; at such time you shall be
afforded ample platform for rebuttal. Is that
understood?”

“What?”

“Mister Hilton, whenever you’re
ready.”

Abigail finished settling in and Hilton began.
“Abigail, have you ever seen that woman over there?” He pointed at
the witch’s box, and as soon as the little actress laid eyes on me,
she began twisting and convulsing in fits like a fish out of water.
Immediately, the room broke into hysterics. Men and women on both
sides of the bench recoiled in shock and horror.

“She’s possessed!” a woman shouted.

“The devil has her!” another cried.

“It’s the witch,” said one bailiff, pointing at
me. “Hide her from the witch.”

With that, the other bailiff wheeled over a box
frame with a heavy curtain stretched across two uprights. The
moment the screen crossed the line of sight between me and the
girl, she responded miraculously by sitting up in her chair as
though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. Hilton approached
the jury and took the hand of the distraught woman who had
proclaimed the girl possessed and patted it gently. “She’s all
right now,” he cooed. “We won’t let that witch hurt her
again.”

That seemed to calm the woman greatly, though
the evil eye she kept giving me after that told me she wouldn’t
soon forget about it.

“Can we proceed?” the magistrate
asked.

Hilton smiled obligingly. “Of course.” He
returned to the girl. “Abigail, I’m sorry for having to point out
that mean witch to you, but—”

“Objection! Your Honor, he’s concluding for the
witness that I am a witch.”

“Overruled. Continue.”

“Abigail, that woman on the other side of the
curtain; where have you seen her before?”

Her timid voice returned, “In New
Castle.”

“Where in New Castle?”

“In front of my auntie’s apartment
building.”

“I see, and when you last saw the woman, did
she perform any witchcraft before you?”

“Yes.”

“Tell us about that.”

“The first time was when she got my balloons
down from the tree. The nice man said he would climb the tree to
get them for me, but the witch told him no. She said he should use
witchcraft to get them down.”

“What nice man is that?”

“I don’t know. She said he was a witch, too,
but he told her he didn’t want to use magic.”

“All right, so what happened next?”

“She went like this and the balloons came to
her.”

“Like this?” Hilton stepped around the curtain
so that those seated behind me could see him demonstrate a reaching
motion with fingers wiggling. After the gallery got a convincing
show of that he came back to the girl. “What happened after that?
Did you see her again later that night?”

“Yes. I saw her later from my bedroom window.
She was flying around on her broom in the mist.”

“Was she alone?”

“No, she was with a bunch of other witches.
They were all flying around in the mist. But then she saw me
watching her and she came to my window, only then she was a
bird.”

“OBJECTION! This child has clearly been
coached.”

“Denied.”

Hilton continued. “What kind of
bird?”

“A yellow bird.”

“What did the bird do?”

“She pinched me on the arm and on the
bum.”

“The bird pinched you?”

“Yes.”

“How did she do that?”

“I don’t know, but I felt it. It
hurt.”

“Of course it did. Now after it pinched you,
did she say anything?”

“Yes. She said she wanted me to hurt my
sister.”

“How, by pushing her out the
window?”

“Objection; leading the witness.”

“Denied.”

“Your Honor,” I stood up and pleaded my case
with utmost sincerity. “Isn’t it customary for the accused to face
her accuser? I don’t believe little snot-nose here would make these
accusations if she were forced to look at me. As a great American
once said: Tear down this wall, Mister President.” I figured that
last part was probably a bit over the top for the old coot, but one
should never underestimate the sense of patriotic virtue among
witch hunters. I watched him crowd his brows in serious
contemplation over the issue before ordering the curtain removed.
The strange thing was not so much that Abigail failed to respond
adversely upon first seeing me, but that she flew into
uncontrollable fits only after Hilton cleared his throat to get her
attention and then nodded in my direction. Her performance then was
a real showstopper. Once again, members from both sides of the barn
clutched heart and soul onto one another, cried for the injustice
of a suffering child and wept openly as if the Rapture were upon
them. Old blood and guts gavel boy called for order in a hoarse
shout, barking out commands for folks to remain seated and for the
bailiff to escort young Abigail from the premises. As the dust
settled, Emanuel Hilton came up to me and whispered, “Confess and
we will spare you.”

“Confess to what,” I whispered back, “being a
witch, or conspiring with the devil?”

“Both.”

I looked him square in the eye. “Sorry,
Manny—can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“You know why. We both may be witches, but only
one of us has conspired with the devil, and it wasn’t
me.”

“Then you will hang.”

“We’ll see.”

“Mister Hilton.” The magistrate pointed to the
stand. “Call your next witness.”

Hilton addressed the jurors and announced, “I
call to the stand, Lilith Adams.”

“All right,” I said, jumping to my feet with a
smile as big as Hilton’s ego. I scurried around the witch’s box
with no help from the bailiff and took a seat on the stand beside
the magistrate’s bench. There I looked up at him and said, “So,
what are you, like a hundred years old?”

One of the bailiffs approached the stand with a
King James Bible and directed me to place my hand upon it. “Do you
swear to tell the truth, unmitigated, uncompromised and unabridged
so help you God?”

I looked at him and laughed. “You’re kidding,
right? Do you see that my hands are tied behind my
back?”

He craned his neck to steal a peak behind me.
“Oh, yeah, well maybe you can just say you do and we’ll get on with
it.”

I shook my head. “No. You didn’t ask anyone
else if they swore to tell the truth. Why should I?”

He leaned in and ushered under his breath.
“Just say yes, please, would you? I got to get up early in the
morning, you know?”

“You gotta get up early. They want to hang me
tonight and you’re worried about getting out of here so you can
catch up on some Z’s. I got just one thing to say to you about
that. Are you listening?”

“Yes.”

“Come closer.”

He edged right up to the stand and pitched his
ear in so close to me I could bite it off. “You
listening?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“All right then. GO FUCK YOURSELF!”

He fell back and Hilton stepped in. “That’s all
right, Miss Adams. We don’t expect you to tell the
truth.”

“Why NOT?”

“Because witches never tell the
truth.”

“Maybe in your circle of witches, but I
do.”

“Always?”

“Sure, I mean I may not tell you everything I
know, but I won’t lie.”

“Hmm, we’ll see about that.” He pulled back a
measured step. “Miss Adams, will you please tell the court why you
want to hurt the children.”

“I don’t want to hurt the children.”

“Oh? Is that because you like them?”

“Hell no, I can’t stand the little
fuckers.”

“So you admit it.”

“Yes.”

“If you don’t want to hurt the children, then
why did you pinch Abigail?”

“I didn’t.”

“She said you did. Why would she say that if it
were not true?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because someone
coached her.”

“Do you fly around in the mist on a
broom?”

“No.”

“Abigail said you do.”

“Again, coached.”

“Have you ever shape-shifted into a
dog?”

“No.”

“Mister Putnam said you did.”

“Putnam lied.”

“Why would he do that? Mister Putnam is a
pillar in this community.”

“Mister Putnam is a murderer.”

“Thanks to you.”

“No, thanks to you and the rest of the gang
from Ingersoll’s Witness.”

“So you deny that you directed your specter to
approach Mister Putnam and have words with him?”

“That’s right.”

“Tell the truth, Miss Adams. You came to him in
the form of a dog.”

“No.”

“You spoke to Mister Putnam.”

“No.”

“You told him you wanted him to sign his name
in the devil’s book?”

“No.”

“You told him to kill the woman in the
garage.”

“No.”

“Admit it.”

“Nah-uh.”

“How do you explain the devil’s mark on your
back side?”

“You mean my ass?”

“Yes.”

“I had a guy in Boston put it
there.”

“Was he the devil?”