A cold rain beat down on the windows, a rarity for this time of year. I sat on the window sill with a bible on my lap, looking out at a sea of inky blackness. I heard the sound of hooves in the distance; panic flooded my body. Heart pounding, I quickly blew out my candle. I quivered as the lantern in the distance quickly grew brighter, and the sound of hooves grew louder. I held my breath as the man on horseback passed by. What was only a few seconds seemed to stretch on for minutes as the horse’s hooves danced across the gravel road.  I breathed out a sigh of relief as the lantern and the man on horseback faded into the darkness.

        The summer heat was slowly coming to an end as the leaves just started to change; cool breezes picked up leaves and danced them through the air. I was having dinner with my family; we didn’t have much to eat because of the burning hot summers and the freezing cold winters. As we ate what little food we had, there was a knock at the door.

        “I’ll get it,” announced my brother. The floorboards loudly creaked as he strolled over to the door. 

        “Who is it?” I heard the door slowly creak open, and my brother yelped in surprise. My family all turned to the door; there stood a witch hunter, a stoic look on his face. 

        “Isaac Archer,” said the hunter, “You have been accused of practicing witchcraft and will stand trial in three days.” My entire family was flabbergasted; my brother never skipped church, studied the bible, and was always kind to others. 

        I was helpless as my dear brother was hauled away to one of the many jails made for those who were accused of witchcraft. I had heard awful things about those jails, that people were chained to the walls and that there were rats everywhere. I didn’t think anyone deserved to be kept in such conditions, especially my brother. My family sat there in shock, staring at the door.  

        After a few minutes my father broke the silence.  “Go to bed Elizabeth,” he ordered, and I obliged.

        As I lay in bed still shaken up by the day's events, I imagined my poor brother alone in a dark, damp, freezing cell chained to a wall, rats skittering across the floor, wanting to cry for help but knowing that no one would notice over the cries of all the others in the jail. The thought of all of the innocent people killed and imprisoned by paranoid fools made me lose hope that things would ever get any better; sure, now there were people who say that the trials were unjust, but soon they would all be silenced by the enormous, dark cloud of fear over this town. There were no men on horseback tonight; they got what they wanted.

        I awoke early on the morning of the trial and got ready for the day. I felt hopeless as I knew the only way my brother would survive was to confess to a crime he didn’t commit, and even if he confessed he would go to jail for life. The night the witch hunter came was the last night I would ever talk to my brother in my life; I felt like I should have been nicer to him when I had the chance. I walked to the door, a feeling of hopelessness slithering after me like a giant snake.

        My parents and I entered the hall where my brother's fate would be decided. My family was the first to arrive, our footsteps on the hardwood floor echoing loudly through the room as we made our way to a bench near the front. People filed in through the large double doors; some of them I knew, most of them I did not. I saw a range of emotions from scared to angry to something in between. 

        I watched as two burly men brought in my handcuffed brother; his black hair was a mess, and his clothes were dirty.  It looked as if something had been gnawing on his pant leg. I watched as the judge strode in with an almost smug look on his face. There was also a small girl who had to be no more than six who was whimpering in the front row. I assumed that she must be the accuser. The bright sunlight streaming in through the window highlighted the overexaggerated terror on the girl's face. 

        As the hall filled up, dust filled the air as it was displaced from the benches. Soon it was time for the trial to start, and I felt fear, hopelessness, and worry coil around me and squeeze tight like a python. 

        “Isaac Archer, have you made contact with the devil?” asked the judge, an accusatory tone in his voice.

        “No, sir, I have not,” answered my brother. I knew the only outcome would be his death if he didn’t confess.

        “Why have you hurt this child?”

        “I have not done such a thing.” 

        I could feel the tension in the room growing.

        “He’s lying!” the small girl screamed. “His spector hurt me!” She pushed up her sleeve to reveal several bruises.

        “If you have made no contact with the devil then why do you hurt her?” 

        It felt like a wild animal was trying to claw its way out of my stomach.

        “I have not hurt her, she pinched herself.”

        “Liar! You are a witch, and you will be hanged for this terrible crime!” 

        My body was burning with rage, not for my brother, but because a judge would take a small child's word over that from a respectable member of society. It was almost impossible to refrain from screaming. Everyone looked like my brother had killed someone, their faces pale with fear, which only fueled my rage further. I had known this was going to happen, but it was still unjust. 

My parents almost had to drag me home, and when we got there I was still steaming with rage. Fuming and stewing, I stomped out to the backyard, for I still had chores to do. My anger slowly faded to an empty feeling as slowly I scrubbed away all the dirt and grime off my family’s clothes.

        I sat on the window sill, leaning against the glass, cold and hard, watching as the last light slowly faded away; I had been doing this every night ever since my brother had been hanged. 

        After a while, people stopped being accused; I never asked why. I felt like I was only half there. The people who were hanged were found innocent too late. I gazed out the window, waiting for a lantern to appear, for this nightmare to start again, but one never came. 

        I should be happy; it seemed like it was finally over, but a part of me was still on that rocky hill watching as my brother's limp lifeless body swayed in the cold wind.

-Madeline S.