“And so upon the Nineteenth day of July in the Year of our Lord, One thousand Six hundred Ninety and Two, Elizabeth Howard were hanged.”



“Is she dead, Mum?”

“Aye, she be dead, Boy! T’were a long, long time ago.”

“Sixty and Eight years, Mum.”

“So they do learn you something at school! Praise be the Lord for --“

“If you please, Mum, may I go halvers on that cranberry scone?”

“I am not pleased by thy impudence, but take it whole, Boy. And a dollop of honey for your tea should be nice, me thinks.”

“Me thinks I should like to hear your story from the beginning.”

“Tis all I recollect, Boy! Elizabeth were put to death by hanging at Gallows Hill for maliciously practicing witchcraft against Mary Walcott of Salem ­“

“Walcott, Mum? But were she not a relation of yourn?”

“P’rhaps, aye. Mary had just birthed her firstborn when she testified afore the Salem Magistrates that Elizabeth Howard appeared unto her in the shape of a ripe berry -- like this cranberry, Boy -- and dripped her juices across Mary Walcott’s teats so that her milk dried up. Thy own father begged her to renounce her testimony but Mary refused, even when her dearest treasure -- her tiny Lydia ...”

“Go on, Mum.”

“Mary Walcott confessed not her false accusation even when baby Lydia’s cheeks grew fuller than the moon on Hallow’s eve last ...”

“Liken yours, Mum?”

“ONLY YOU AND SATAN KNOW THAT, BOY!”