A Town Called Salem

My name is Lilith Smallwood. I was a true witch of Salem. I was hanged in May, 1693. They thought they could get rid of me, but little do they know that killing me was the worst mistake of their lives.


1. My Name is Lilith Smallwood

The year is 1700. It was called Salem. Salem, Massechusets. The town where I died. It's already been seven years since I died. Or, was killed, rather. Sometimes time is strange for me, though. At times, I feel as old as the world itself. Other times I feel like it had been mere seconds since the rope had squeezed the air from out of my lungs.

My name is Lilith Smallwood. I was seventeen when I died. The year was 1693. It was May, and it was warm. I can remember it because the shocking cold that had washed over my body as I died had been so startling. Why was I killed, you ask? Well, to put it bluntly-I'm a witch. Or rather, was a witch. I'm still getting used to talking about myself in past tense. I was the last of them to be killed. And the only one of them who had truly been a witch.

”Nice day,” comes the whispery voice of Tituba from beside me. She is swinging on a hammock. We are in the middle of the woods. This is the place that Abigail Williams and Betty Paris used to come to play. That is, before I cursed them.

"Why do you insist on following me around, slave?" I tire of being worshiped by these lesser spirits.

"Am I following you? I hadn't noticed." Tituba floats away, flickering and fading the further she gets from me. I'm a magnet to these kinds of spirits. My power is even more tangible now that I am dead.


I have to concentrate. Why am I here? Tituba had distracted me. The stupid woman had been executed before me simply because she had stumbled upon the town priest's copy of Malleus Maleficarum, and being that she had been the Parris family's slave from Barbados, the townspeople hadn't raised a finger to defend her. She was as innocent as they come, and somehow I had been cursed to endure her throughout eternity.

The sound of laughter interrupts my thoughts. Yes, that is why I am here. How could I have forgotten? I am here to kill Abigail Williams.


While I had been alive, Abigail, Betty, and I had been the best of friends. An inseparable trio. But then, my family was cursed by a Native American medicine man. If I try, I can still remember the way they screamed as they died.

You may assume that I craved power in order to get revenge. But to the contrary. Seeing my family die without lifting a finger to defend themselves only made me hungry for power. I was determined not to die weak and human. That's when I had the dream.

He came to me in a dream. The Black Man. The Devil.

He showed me hell, and I loved it. I summoned two demons who possessed my friends. I would need them when I built my army.

My goal? To take over hell.

Unfortunately, I was caught (after several tries) and hanged. But that's just water under the bridge. A minor inconvenience. The time was coming when I would get my army.





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