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.


3. One More Soul

My skin itches. I hate standing here. The dusty benches sink of mold. The dry turning of hymnal pages makes me want to cover my ears, only I can't because I don't have any.

Samuel Parris droned from the pulpit. "...principalities, and powers...," he read.

"Where is she?" The demon asks.

I point to the first row. Excitement bubbles up in my ghostly heart. "Betty Parris." I smile. "How you've grown."

I glide up the center aisle. A few of the parishioners look in my direction, an expression of discomfort and slight apprehension on their faces. And as soon as I pass, they shake their heads in confusion and focus on the Reverend once more.

I stand directly in front of her. Her soft, mousy brown hair is drawn back into a tight Puritan-style bun. I nearly gag in disgust at the expression of righteous awe in her brown eyes as she looks up at her father. If it wasn't for this bitch, I would still be alive, and the host of hell would be at my control.

"I can't wait to kill you," I say, and am somewhat surprised and delighted to hear how deep and angry my voice has become. Betty Parris' eyebrows knot in worry suddenly, and she looks away from her father.

"You were supposed to crack. You weren't supposed to overcome the demon." I touch her face. Her eyes suddenly focus on me, and then I know that she can see me.

"Lilith?" she whispers, terror in her voice.

"Hello, Betty." I smile and then reach my hand into her chest and start pulling out her soul.

She screams. The parishioners stand and rush around in confusion. Samuel stops preaching. He grips his Bible and screams his daughter's name.

She dies. The second demon is standing beside me.

"It's about time," she says. "You failed. You promised that you wouldn't get caught."

"Yes, my apologies. There has been a slight change in plans." I shrug apologetically as the preacher runs straight through me. He stops cold and grips his heart.

"Oh, dear," I say in mock dismay. "Forgive me, father."

And then he is dead. One more soul.



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