Legend of Witchtrot Road

chapter 9

I was in for another surprise at the library. Katie was working the front desk and I tried not to cringe and hide. I had to make an effort to smile and wave while worrying about what Emma might say or do. I needn’t have worried.

Emma approached the desk and started asking Katie about where we could find books on the women’s liberation movement. They both started chatting at hyper speed, apparently they had found a shared interest, and Emma was positively beaming. She even graced Katie with her girl power knuckle-bump. Katie squeed with delight and ran off to find Emma’s books.

“I’m starting to like that girl,” Emma said.

“Yeah, me too,” I said. “So you’re cool with Katie dating Gordy?”

Emma shrugged one shoulder and her lips quirked in a semi-wistful smile.

“I never wanted him to be miserable,” Emma said. “I mean, I like Gordy, I wouldn’t have dated him otherwise. He wasn’t right for me, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t right for someone else.”

“So you don’t hate him?” I asked. “You’ve been majorly avoiding the guy for months…which, you know, has been kind of awkward.”

“No, sorry, it was complicated,” Emma said. “It’s like…

I can be his friend now that he’s with someone, but I couldn’t be around him when he was pining over me and wanting me to take him back. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, I hadn’t real y thought about it like that, but I guess that would have been stressful,” I said.

Actual y it made perfect sense. I knew Emma felt guilty about breaking up with Gordy and it must have been hard to see his tearful face every day. Add a side dish of pressure to that guilt entrée and you have a meal that no one would want to swal ow.

We grabbed our favorite table and Emma waited for Katie to return with her books. I was glad that Emma liked Katie and was beyond the whole Gordy thing. Maybe we could al hang out sometime soon…after we made it past the ful moon, I solved the mystery of Dylan’s death, and returned Nera’s amulet to the Salem witches, of course.

I went in search of more books on Witchtrot Road. I had been distracted during my earlier search by the papers documenting past Wakefield atrocities, and what that could mean regarding Samhain and my future. This time I needed to focus on learning more about the curse.

I hauled a huge pile of books, even a local map or two, back to our study table where Emma was furiously taking notes. Her eyes never left the page as she raised her fist over the pile of books for an encouraging knuckle-bump.

Oh yeah, Emma was total y in her element. Some guys get a Dear John letter, but Gabriel was about to be delivered a thesis.

I laughed quietly and started flipping pages. What I discovered was fascinating.

Katie had been completely right about the history of Witchtrot Road. The road got its name from the freaky events that took place there back in 1692. The library books confirmed what Katie said about the Wakefield man accused of witchcraft.

Reverend Burroughs, a Wakefield minister, had previously worked as a minister in Salem and apparently made some enemies there. An opportunist named Cotton Mather, a Puritan minister in Massachusetts, used the witch trial frenzy to get rid of Burroughs by claiming he was a witch. Evil jerk.

The crazed town folk, with the egging on of Mather and his cronies, sent their agents to Wakefield to arrest Burroughs. Burroughs, a family man, was woken from his bed as the three officials broke into his home with the intent to drag him back to Salem to stand trial. Reverend Burroughs was so confident of his own innocence that he offered to go wil ingly with the officials. He kissed his family goodbye and began his journey to Salem.

Burroughs even offered to take the officials on a short cut through the Berwicks. The Salem constables fol owed Burroughs on horseback on dark, remote, thickly forested roads. At nightfal a storm unleashed, bringing with it thunder and lightning. The riders’ horses were startled by the storm and the superstitious men claimed that Burroughs, who wasn’t afraid of the storm, had cast a spel on them. Apparently the constables were too studly to admit that their terror was due to a simple storm. As the tree branches lashed threateningly over the road, the men declared that Reverend Burroughs must in fact be a witch.

When Burroughs reached Salem he stood trial. At one point during the proceedings, when he flawlessly and reverently recited the Lord’s Prayer, it looked as though he may be found innocent of witchcraft. Mather, who was beginning to remind me of two nasty pieces of work I knew al too wel , made a rousing speech that final y convinced the mob-like crowd that Burroughs was indeed a witch and should be destroyed. The constables also added to Mather’s claim that they had witnessed a large number of toads at the Wakefield residence. Since toads were thought to be the Devil’s instruments and the pet familiars of witches, their story added weight to the accusation of witchcraft. Reverend Burroughs was found guilty and sentenced to be executed by hanging. Poor guy.

Finding information about the curse was more difficult.

I used the library computers to go online and Google the legend of Witchtrot Road, Burroughs, and a curse. I found a few paranormal sites that claimed Burroughs had cursed his accusers and that his ghost continued to haunt Witchtrot Road, where he was marched to his death, to this very day.

“Dude, you okay?” Emma asked, startling me from thoughts of Cotton Mather. I’d given him Jared Zempter’s face and a pilgrim hat, which was probably al kinds of wrong. “You look like you just ate something nasty.”

“Ugh, I hate bul ies,” I said, pointing to the open book.

“Even back in 1692 there were creepy, horrible bul ies.” I told Emma about what I’d learned.

“So when do we go check it out?” Emma asked.

“Check what out?” I asked.

“Witchtrot Road,” Emma said, rol ing her eyes. “You have bul ies of your own to deal with and we stil don’t know what caused Dylan’s death.”

“We could go out there, I guess, but shouldn’t we wait until after Wolf Camp?” I asked.

“Since when do we need guys to protect us?” Emma asked.

Son of a dung beetle. Emma had just spent hours researching women’s rights. She wasn’t going to take “we need the big strong guys” as an excuse.

“Um, okay,” I said. “I do want to clear this up, and get the J-team off my back, as soon as possible. When should we go?”

“Tomorrow night,” Emma said, raising her fist to bump knuckles. “Girl power, yo.”