We Don't Talk to Edith Thompson Part 3

Ch 3: History Lesson

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I felt like I was floating; slowly hovering through a black realm of blackness. I couldn't feel cold or warmth, just indifference. And then it happened. I was lying on a wooden, splintering table, and a man twice my age was having sex with me. We were both wearing old clothes, like something someone would wear in the 17th-century. He didn't speak, just grunted and panted as he thrusted between my thighs. It burned. More than I thought it should. Almost as if I were being torn apart from the inside.

If this was what sex was really like, I never wanted to do it again.

The man finished, leaving me feeling sticky and used. He pulled his trousers back up and straightened his button-up shirt. I slid off the table and shoved a piece of cloth that looked like animal hide between my legs. It soaked up his semen.

I smiled, feeling a strange mixture of guilt and pleasure. I said, "Shall we reconvene next Sabbath, Mr. Endecott?'

Endecott? I think I read that name somewhere.

He scoffed. Clearly disgusted by the idea. "I shall think not, Ms. Thompson."

Wait, 'Ms. Thompson'? That's Edith's last name. I wasn't myself? Am I in the body of her ancestor?

" I-I do not understand..." I sputtered, grabbing onto his arm."Do I not please you? Do I not perform duties that Elizabeth-"

Mr. Endecott slapped my face. Hard. I cried out in pain. "Do not sully your whore tongue with my wife's name!"

He smoothed out his garments and hair before storming out of the room.

I tidied myself up, glancing at my reflection in a bucket of clean water. I looked just like Edith Thompson! Well, if she were about ten years older. Long black hair; full bosoms, dark onyx eyes, and thin lips. I painted my lips red. The color of a whore, aptly confirming his insult.

After a while, my stomach swelled with a child. Mr. Endecott got me pregnant? What a nightmare!

Frantically, I hobbled into a church, moaning in pain, calling out, "Help! Something's wrong!"

Horrible, stabbing pains wracked my body. I fell over, clutching at my bump. Blood spilled from between my thighs. An ill omen that the pregnancy was in danger. Several women rushed to my aid, while the men stared at me with disgust and indifference.

They would not accept my baby. An illicit affair led to her conception.

I survived the horrible labor, although barely. Because of the time period, no medication was available for pain or bleeding. They only used home remedies and archaic rituals, which barred men from entering the Birthing Chamber—a hut filled with various objects and furs—and employed assisted positions like squatting or kneeling to aid in delivering the baby.

I was grateful to be from a century where women have access to proper medical care. If I really lived back then, I would've died quickly.

Another period passed. My baby was six years old instead of an infant. Her name was Agnes. It was supposed to mean pure or holy, but the townsfolk didn't treat it as such. The townsfolk ostracized her because of my affair with John Endecott, which, evidently, wasn't a secret. 

Elizabeth, his wife, claimed that I was a witch who cast a lustful spell on her husband. I was a homebody who had no husband, rarely attended church, and made money using bizarre herbs and rituals to help people. The evidence, in their eyes, was staggering.

It was all ridiculous! John came to me for years, begging for sexual favors his prudish, frigid wife would not provide! Not to mention, nearly every townsfolk purchased herbs, teas, or needed services from me! So what did they do in return? They threw me to the wolves because it makes their beloved governor look bad. Because they wish to cleanse their hands of my existence. Everyone knew that if someone accused a woman of witchcraft, they killed her.

A year or two passed after my arrest. They beat me, starved me to the bone, sodomized me repeatedly with animal bones, and interrogated me about my "abilities", when I had no such things! No woman did!

Man created the 'witch' deity to pass blame onto or to explain away bad or suspicious behavior. They would rather put good women to death than accept another way of living. That their 'faith' constantly failed them!

Two men brought me to the town square, wearing tattered rags that barely covered my bony body. They then tied me to a pyre and covered me in dried wheat and alcohols. John Endecott held a torch as he announced I was to be burned as a witch. For spreading treachery and evil in their humble community. He then tossed the torch onto the pyre. It engulfed me in flames immediately.

My skin felt like brimstone. Too hot to touch, yet needed coverage for some comfort. It was molten rock that pulled at my flesh. My fingernails melted into puddles, dried-out, brittle hair reduced to ash, eyeballs popped out of their sockets from the heat, lungs filled with blood that boiled out of my chest cavity, and then my heart exploded. 

This splattered blood all over the onlookers.

Agnes broke down in tears, clawed and kicked at the townsfolk. Trying to help me. But she couldn't. Nobody could. I died a horrific death with rage and vengeance in my heart. All because a man couldn't be faithful.

Gasping, my eyes popped open, but I wasn't awake yet. I was still in the void. Oh my God, what was that!? I was in the past, but not really? In another body, but dead? How was that even possible? Where was I? What was happening to me?

Before I had the chance to think more, it took me away. To the past again, I'm guessing.

My body was... different. It was similar to my current one: a young, slim, teenage girl. The townsfolk took it upon themselves to keep Agnes Thompson alive and to raise her. They forbade her from speaking of her deceased mother, absent father, or her ostracization from most things. She was disciplined more than other girls, had to recite twice as many prayers, and the other children/teenagers would not acknowledge her.

She was truly alone.

Agnes’ hatred for the townsfolk and her father grew to an uncontrollable level. She attacked the men and women indiscriminately, burning off the women’s hair, and attempted mutilation of the men’s genitals. Allegedly, it was unprovoked. It wasn’t. One man, a middle-aged churchgoer, raped her. He pinned her in a shed as she was doing chores. He claimed that she was the daughter of a whore so that she would be used as one. Then, he viciously took her innocence.

She fought him off, albeit too late, lodging a sharpened trowel into his thigh near his testicles. She ran away; he reported her. She plotted her revenge.

Although Agnes's mother was accused of being a witch, she was not one. She was a healer who had an affair with a married man, but not a witch. Just a flawed person. She realized this after looking into her mother's journals. Full of fury, she fled deep into the woods.

To both distance herself from the unholy town and to find an old hut that her mother mentioned. One that provided a solution.

The hut was carved into a cliff side and centuries old. Within it was a pristine black book written in Latin. It was full of spells, good, bad, and everything in between. Spells to revive the dead, to bind souls, and to summon demons.

The book stated she needed a blood sacrifice to do anything, so she smeared her forsaken virgin blood on the pages and read the incantation. It glowed with acceptance. She didn't ask for a demon to solve her problems. No, she wanted to do it herself.

"Give me the power to avenge my mother! To cast Salem into eternal hellfire!"

A voice echoed through the hut, causing Agnes to convulse and shake. She fainted. When she woke up, she felt powerful. Like she could destroy the entire world by snapping her fingers.

"Honey!" I heard my mom cry.

Wait, my mom? Am I back in my time, in my world?

My eyelids lifted. I groaned as my head spun in circles.

Mom grabbed my hand gently. "Oh, honey. You had me worried!"

"About what?" I rasped. My throat was raw almost as if I were screaming. "Weren't you at work?"

She nodded. "I was, but then the library called, saying you fainted and were having seizures! They sent you to the hospital. I told my boss and came straight away!"

A tear escaped my eye. I guess my mom cared about me more than her dumb job.

"Oh, and when I arrived, this lovely lady told me she's been with you the whole time!" Mom beamed, pointing to the corner of my hospital room. "Isn't that nice of her?"

It was Edith Thompson. Staring at me with a wicked smile.

Disclaimer:

This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places, and incidents are fictitious and the product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, organizations, or events are entirely coincidental.

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