Afflicted

Redemptive Fiction Award Winner

When two young girls act out in strange and violent behavior, the village doctor diagnoses them as bewitched. Accusations fly among the village people, and no one is immune to the dangers of an unseen force. Lydia watches her loved ones suffer, but can she stop the supernatural evil that has taken over her community?

Lucifer’s plan to wreak havoc on the community is working, and his demons revel in the turmoil they are inflicting upon the innocent people of Salem. The small village becomes a battleground between the angels of God and the demons of Satan as an evil plot unfolds in the spiritual realm.

Brace yourself for a new and suspenseful insight into one of our nation’s most tragic events. This riveting read offers a spooky account of spiritual warfare in early American history.

Chapter Two

Salem Village, Massachusettes

January 1692

Sonneillon, the first of the four dark shadows, moved boldly through the trees that surrounded Salem Village. Behind him, Carreau, Belias, and Verrier crawled with anticipation, hungry for this new mission. They didn’t know what was planned, only that it was of high priority. It had to be, with Sonneillon personally escorting them to the site where they were assigned to wreak havoc. Sonneillon stopped. He spread his enormous, red, reptilian wings in front of the other creatures, blocking their view from anything other than his impressive span. He enjoyed doing that. It reminded the lower hierarchies who was in charge. It was the same reason he walked, and they crawled while in his presence. He smirked before he turned around. The movement of his wings in the moonlight mimicked flames of fire flashing before them. It had the intimidating effect it always did. Sonneillon saw it in their eyes. He gave them a hard stare as a bonus.

Belias belonged to the lowest order of the demon hierarchy. He cowered beneath Sonneillon’s stare. Sonneillon reveled in his fear. Next to him, Carreau and Verrier stood as a team. They were from the same order, but it didn’t mean anything. Either of them could unleash wrath upon the other in seconds, if threatened in any capacity. Sonneillon knew how to keep them in line, and he’d be sure to for this assignment. Everything had to be in order.

“Lucifer has commanded us here to this village. Check out your new mission.” Sonneillon pulled in his wings and stretched his clawed hand in the direction of the small spread of houses and scanty structures. Carreau and Verrier spewed obscenities, spitting on the ground in front of them. Their pride controlled them. Belias remained silent. Sonneillon knew it wasn’t from allegiance, but from fear. That was good. He worked well with fear.

“This is the important mission? A handful of people in a pathetic little village who mean nothing to anyone?” Verrier said.

Sonneillon seized him by the throat and squeezed until his eyes bulged. He slung him to the ground and then looked at the others. Carreau sneered at Verrier who was coughing and gasping big gulps of air.

“Need I remind you of the time you were assigned to a little boy named David? The one who slayed the giant, and whose Psalms are now read and recited by Christians everywhere? Let’s see…what did you say then, Verrier? Ah, yes. You said that a little boy couldn’t possibly be a real threat. When will you ever learn, you filthy piece of swine? There are no insignificant Christians. Every prayer uttered, every act of faith, every single step of obedience and allegiance to the Christ will cost us a victory. Lucifer has his reasons for sending us to this ‘insignificant’ crummy little village and its neighboring town.”

He reached down and lifted Verrier by his head. “And-you-will-do-your-job!” Sonneillon tossed him aside again, then turned to Belias and Carreau. “Is that clear?” His hot breath singed their faces. They bowed and nodded as a humiliated Verrier crawled back to stand next to them.

Sonneillon turned back to the village. “What makes this mission easier is that we have actually been invited to Salem. Take a look.”

The vile creatures arrived in a house where they saw a group of young females engaged in rituals they knew all too well. Sonneillon filled them in on all the details of their purpose there. As he talked, and Lucifer’s plan unfolded, the three subservient demons grew more excited and hungrier for the evil that they would begin to inflict on the poor souls in Salem Village.

***

The Parris parsonage grew darker, and large shadows danced on the walls from the flames of the fire. Tituba whispered in a foreign tongue, and the girls leaned in to hear, as if getting closer would grant them an interpretation.

Lydia shrank back. She wished she hadn’t come. She feared Tituba, the slave that Reverend Parris brought with him from Boston, along with her husband, John Indian. Tituba had shown them strange rituals, activities Lydia knew would get them into trouble. During their last meeting, she had danced for them, and moved in such a way that Lydia blushed. She had never seen anyone move that way. Dancing was strictly forbidden in Salem Village. So was fortune telling, which brought them together today. Tituba had promised them a fortune telling session. She said she could reveal the names of their future husbands. Lydia shivered. Fortune telling was witchcraft, and witchcraft could get them hanged. She looked around the room at her companions. Reverend Parris’ daughter, little Betty Parris, looked as frightened as Lydia. Her cousin Abigail Williams lived with her and made her do whatever she said. Lydia wished Betty could live with her. They’d be great sisters. She never had a sister. Or a brother.

“Lydia!” Ann Putnam’s sharp voice snapped her out of her thoughts. Ann summoned her closer. Lydia complied. They all did what Ann said. Even the older girls who ranged from sixteen to nineteen. Ann was the youngest of their group at just twelve years old. Somehow the younger girl commanded a following from her peers. Lydia had seen Ann’s mother, Goody Alice Putnam, manage to draw the same response from many women in Salem Village. Abigail often tried to dominate the group, but ultimately Ann won them over again. Abigail and Ann often fought the battle of their strong wills. Lydia longed to be like them.

Tituba held out the glass of water and started chanting something unintelligible. The chants sent shivers up Lydia’s spine. Mercy Lewis asked, “Are you sure this will show us the identity of Ann’s future husband?”

“Shhh!” Tituba whispered. She put the glass down in the center of their circle and reached down beside her to pick up an egg one of the girls brought from their hens. She cracked the brown shell and separated the yolk from the egg white. Picking up the glass again, she dropped the egg white into the water. She held up her dark slender hand, motioning for them to wait for it to settle. Then, she looked down into the glass. Her brown eyes widened, and she stilled.

“What?” asked Ann. “Whose face shape is it?” She grabbed the glass from Tituba’s hand. Lydia elbowed her position between the girls to stare at the contents in the glass. She jumped back, along with the other girls. The gasps of those around her echoed her own terror at seeing the shape of a coffin in the glass.

Death.

Death for whom? Ann? Her future husband? For all of them? Lydia looked to Tituba, hoping she’d clarify. A log in the fire crackled.

Mavis Walcott spoke first. “It’s the sign of the devil!”

“Hush! It’s no such thing!” Ann said. Her shaky voice belied her conviction.

Tituba just stared at the glass; its contents partially spilled from the sudden drop to the floor. She picked it up, held it out and chanted something like her earlier ramblings. She swayed back and forth, holding the glass over her head. The girls watched, both fascinated and fearful.

Finally, she spoke in English. “Death is coming to Salem Village.” She held out the glass and swept it in front of their faces. “Death is coming. And you will partake in it.”

Ann reached out and slapped Tituba in the face. Tituba didn’t flinch. She just stared a solemn gaze.

“I told you she’s a witch!” Mercy exclaimed.

“Ann, this isn’t fun anymore. I’m going home.” Mavis stood up, smoothed her waistcoat, and walked toward the door.

“No one is going anywhere until we make a pact.” Ann said. Mavis sat back down.

“A pact?” Abigail asked. “What kind of pact?”

“A blood pact. We will tell no one what happened here today. No one can know.” Ann pricked her finger with a pin from her petticoat, then passed it on, so each girl followed suit. Tituba refused to prick her finger. Mercy Lewis sighed, then gave the pin back to Ann, who grabbed Tituba’s hand and pricked her finger. Tituba still stared at her motionless.

Lydia’s finger stung, but she was glad they were making the pact. As she pressed her finger next to each girl’s finger, she hoped no one would tell what happened. She pictured her father’s rage, and she shivered. What would he do if he knew she had participated in such acts? Lydia feared for Tituba, too. Although Tituba frightened her, she didn’t want anything to happen to the slave. But what if she was a witch? Didn’t she deserve to die? Did Lydia deserve to die, too? After all, she had been listening to the stories and playing the devil’s games. God’s wrath would be on them all.

Ann instructed the group to hold hands. “We are joined by blood and by this promise to each other. We will not tell a living soul what transpired here today. Our blood binds us to this promise. Now, let’s swear to it.”

***

The girls had no idea they were being watched. As they began to recite, “I swear on my blood and the blood of those around me that I will not tell a living soul what we saw here today”, the creatures retreated to gather their minions. Sonneillon couldn’t wait to get started. He looked back at the girls. Their eyes reflected fear, even those of their bold little leader. This was going to be fun. The people of Salem village and Salem town would never be the same.

***

The Reverend Samuel Parris led his wife Ellen to the door of the parsonage. He looked at the woodpile. It was dwindling fast. His flock still refused to do their duty for their shepherd. Anger surfaced, but he calmed himself for his wife’s sake. He would save his emotions for the next committee meeting. His anger was certainly justifiable as it classified as righteous indignation. How dare these people who call themselves Christians not tend to the needs of their minister and his family? No matter how much he preached against neglecting one’s faithful duties, week after week, he received only a small portion of his salary, and he resorted to ordering his slave John Indian to chop his firewood, although his contract clearly stated that duty fell to the congregation. He knew the villagers wanted to drive him out. They did not care for his traditional theology and strict policies, but God needed him to purge these people of their evil tendencies. He would be faithful to his duty, even if they would not. He did have a few supporters. The Putnams had managed to influence a group of followers on his side. John Putnam and his wife wanted the church strong for their own reasons, but at least he had someone to stand with him on church matters such as attendance and giving. If he hadn’t had faithful tithers, he would have had to leave Salem village by now.

He and Ellen entered the parsonage to find the group of girls in a circle around his slave Tituba.

“What folly is this?” he asked. “Betty, Abigail, why are these girls here?” He stared at his daughter and niece. They stared back with wide eyes. Ann Putnam stood up.

“Hello, Reverend Parris.”

“Why, Ann. I didn’t see you here. Perhaps you could enlighten me on why you girls are not at home, tending to your household obligations. It is the late afternoon, is it not?”

“Yes, sir, it is, and we all must be going to do just that. We wanted to check on Goody Parris. We had heard she wasn’t feeling well, and we thought to cheer her up today. But when we arrived, your Betty told us her mother was out on visits with you, sir. So, Tituba was kind enough to let us sit by the warm fire for a bit before we go.”

Ann smiled the smile of her mother. Reverend Parris wasn’t fooled. He knew Alice’s persuasive tongue all too well. Ann had inherited her gift of manipulative speech, but he had the gift of a keen eye and ear and neither had missed the signs of guilt from the other girls. The gasps when he and his wife opened the door and their wide eyes contrasted the calm, gentle tone of their friend. He looked at Tituba. She would not meet his eyes, and he could have sworn she had hidden something under her skirt. He could not afford to anger Ann’s parents, though. Without them as his allies, he would surely have to leave Salem village.

“Well, of course. You girls warm yourselves before you go. This winter chill has its way of gripping your soul like the devil himself. Tituba, you should bring in more wood for the evening. Where is that husband of yours?”

“He’s splitting wood for the woodpile, Reverend. He said he’d better do it now before another snow comes.” The Reverend noticed she held her skirt as she walked to the door. He also noticed how the girls watched her.

“Ann, did you harm yourself, child?” His wife pointed to Ann’s apron, a smear of blood visible on the front.

“Oh, yes, but it’s just a finger prick from my sewing needle. No real harm has come to me. Well, I’d better get on home and help mother with the chores. Thank you, Reverend. The fire was most helpful. Goody Parris, I am glad you are feeling better. Come along, girls. Let’s be on our way. Goodbye, Betty and Abigail!”

She briskly put on her wrap, and the other girls followed her to the door. It struck Reverend Parris how readily these girls jumped up to follow her. Again, he was reminded of her mother, Goody Putnam. He looked at his own daughter and niece, who busily attended to his wife to help her get settled. Of the two, Betty was the most congenial, while Abigail possessed a more determined spirit. He had to watch her, for the devil liked stubbornness. He would also have to watch Betty. She was heavily influenced and in the presence of both Abigail and Ann Putnam, the devil could easily win her over. If he could win one over, he could easily get to a whole village. Samuel Parris wasn’t about to let that happen.

***

Outside, Tituba stacked wood into the crook of her arm. Ann stopped in front of her, bringing her face close to hers, and gave her a pointed look. She held up her bloody finger. “Remember the pact, Tituba.”

As the girls followed Ann down the pathway away from the parsonage, Lydia heard Tituba whisper, “Death is coming. You can’t stop it. It is already here.” When she looked back, Tituba was gone.

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"A battle of good and evil plays out during the Salem Witch Trials in this haunting inspirational from Ott (A Time to Heal). Lydia Knapp and three of her friends ask Ann Putnam, the daughter of an established local family, to lead them to clairvoyant slave Tituba. Lydia is looking for the name of her future husband, but instead she unknowingly opens a door to evil. Meanwhile, the demon Sonneillon, along with three other demons, has been called to Salem for the upcoming witch trials, and Tituba's ritual helps their cause. When Tituba predicts that death is coming, Ann forces everyone into silence. But soon, two girls who accompanied Lydia come down with a strange sickness blamed on demonic possession, and the town of Salem is thrown into an uproar. With angels of God posted on guard (unbeknownst to Salem's Christians, whose prayers summoned them), awaiting permission from angel Raphael to intervene, Sonneillon and his demons put Lucifer's plans into action by possessing anyone they can. With the angels holding on to the prayers of the faithful few and awaiting more faithful adherents to create a "prayer cover" so that they can intervene, Lydia must confront her family's dark history and the role they played in bringing about the trials. Ott skillfully recasts the Salem Witch Trials as a Christian battle for the soul of the New World in this thrilling tale."--PUBLISHER'S WEEKLY

"A very engrossing novel. Highly Recommended." --Perspectives by Peter, Feedspot's Top 50 review blog