Journal 5

I am watching in awe as my fib turns into a brilliant breakdown of society. Almost 100 people have confessed and hangings have been happening left and right in Salem and surrounding towns. People are not only scared of witches, but that they themselves will be accused of witchcraft. It is beautiful madness indeed. Proctor has been brought in and accused. I cannot foresee a viable future in this town and I have decided to leave. I took Mercy and stole 31 pounds from Reverend Paris’s strongbox and disappeared with her. I feared the consequences if anyone were to find out about our lie. I had always imagined a future beside John, but it no longer seemed possible. He hated me with every ounce of his soul and despised what I had done. It was only through this that I finally began to see our differences. It was astounding to me that one could not appreciate the beautiful effect I had yielded with a few simple lies. However, two question remains. What is left in store in the future? Where can we go? I had grown up in Salem my whole life. For the majority of my life, Salem was the only place I knew. We journey on a road never traveled before. We had taken the life of dozens of innocents with zero regret. However, here we were, fleeing the very place we sought to influence. As for John, he must either confess or be hung. Knowing John to be quite stubborn, either outcome would not be surprising. The thought of death disturbed me. Surely my actions would go punished either in this life or the next.

Journal 4

Unfortunately, Elizabeth cannot be hung because she is pregnant. For now, I just need my troop of girls to work together and formulate our stories.  Unluckily, Mary is weak. I cannot afford for a single link on my chain to be fragile. In court, Mary tried to maintain that it was all an act. However, under all the pressure, she claims that she was mistaken and that she indeed saw spirits. When Danforth shifts the pressure on me, I find myself shivering. In my quick-witted genius, I hint the other girls to follow suit and blamed Mary for bewitching us. The following events were quite interesting. John Proctor, with his delightful jawline, stepped forward and began publicizing our affair! He even went as far as to call me a whore. This is quite the insult to throw at a young woman such as I. The clever bastard saw right through my plan to rid of Elizabeth so I could take her place. Elizabeth’s story was entirely different however. She claimed to have fired me on the basis that she suspected John to have fancied me. I was so tempted to tell her he did well more than fancy me. Hale then enters and claims to that I have always struck him false. How dare these plebeians question my stories? Starting to panic as I felt the court slowly turning against my favor, I simply let out a forced scream. The other girls quickly followed suit. We pretended to be terrified, pointing to Mary as we screamed. We looked up at the “bird” that was tormenting us. Surely everyone was convinced Mary was bewitching us. Proctor approached Mary, as he was dazed and confused. To my astonishment and amusement, Mary began to claim Proctor as the devil’s man. She looked genuinely afraid and began to shout her praise for God. Things were not exactly going to plan, but suspicion had been shifted away from me. Proctor is visibly furious, but there is nothing I can do.

Journal 3

As a young Puritan girl, power is something I had not processed before. It was strange to realize that whomever my girls and I named would be arrested for “bewitching” us. There were now 14 people in jail. Growing up on Christian values, I would have expected me to feel guilt. If any of these people do not confess, they would be hanged. Oddly enough, I seemed not to care. As numbers grew and grew, the numbers of those accused rose to 39 people. I personally accused Elizabeth Proctor, but Mary Warren was physically uncomfortable with the allegation. Within minutes, she pleaded that Elizabeth was not a witch and vouched for her good person. Nevertheless, I had a plan and would not be stopped. I gave a doll to Mary with a needle in it and told Mary to gift it to Elizabeth. I had the perfect plan in place.

            Around suppertime, I stuck a needle into my abdomen and gave a fit. I cried that Elizabeth was bewitching me. Since Cheever went to look further into the Proctors, I was positive he would find the doll. There was no way this obvious “voodoo” would not force Elizabeth out of John’s life. I hear that Elizabeth was lead away and John was left furious. Thinking of this whole plan leaves nothing but a giant smirk on my face. I was exceptionally proud of myself for concocting my brilliant plan. Elizabeth is going away and John, my love, will be all mine. I was shuttering with excitement. Is what I’m doing unmoral? Yes, but never had I processed such great power. How great it was to wield the fates of others in my hand; the ability to mold the world and bend people to the way I desired was truly incredible.

Journal 2

Without a doubt, trouble is afoot. Betty is in a horrible state, lifeless and unresponsive. Reverend Parris stays deep in concentration; never before have I seen him so concentrated in prayer as he kneels besides his daughter. My chest pains from the anxiety stemming from this; the reverend grows more and more suspicious. Word quickly spreads that Betty is a victim of witchcraft. My head aches, pounding harder by the minute; I mentally prepare myself for the questions that might lie ahead. As time passed, something terrifyingly unexpected happened. Reverend Parris outs me! He describes seeing me dancing with several other girls along with his slave, Tituba, in the woods at night. How dare he throw accusations at his very own niece? Stubborn as I am, I denied all accusations and denied any association. Soon after, Thomas Putnam enters along with his wife. Mrs. Putnam, who has always been quite a yahoo, began to spout some preposterous stories. She claimed her own daughter had been inflicted with the same symptoms as Betty. This however was not what I found to be outlandish. Her second claim was that she saw Betty flying over a barn. I understand that any controversy will aid the cause to throw out Reverend Parris. To uncover these mysterious occurrences, Reverend Hale is called forth to come to the town. At this point, I am terrified. Any lie necessary to save me will be exploited. I refuse to allow myself to go down as a witch, no matter who the accuser. I inform Mercy of the current situation as Marry Warren is almost handicapped by concern. I was quite ambivalent when Betty woke up. Though a little glad she was all right, she quickly protested that I had not told everyone that I had drank the blood. Without a second thought, I smashed her in the face. When being questioned by Reverend Hale, I continue to deny all association to witchcraft, maintaining that there was no witchery involved with the dancing. Tituba claims that there are many witches among us. We then begin the greatest excuse of all. We claim we are being tormented and begin to name “witches” in the town. Betty, Tituba, and I collectively named Goody Osborn, Sarah Good, Bridget Bishop, George Jacobs, Goody Howe, Martha Bellows, Goody Sibber, Alice Barrow, Goody Hawkins, Goody Bibber, and Goody Booth.

Journal 1

The days in Salem seem to grow longer and longer. This painfully mundane town is taking its toll. Boredom acts like a disease, infecting all the young ones of the town. Dullness has made me extremely easily tempted. One of the greatest indulgences the girls and I humor is listening and being thoroughly entertained by Tituba’s magical acts and tails that she describes in both an accented English and a foreign tongue. Without a doubt, she is the most interesting slave I have ever encountered. Mercy, Betty, Marry, and I often watch in awe and shock as Tituba tells her stories and shows us voodoo upon my request. The greatest thrill of all is knowing such witchcraft is very dangerous and can even result in a hanging. The excitement of breaking the stringent rules of our Puritan society is one that brings much joy to me. On one occasion, Tituba guided us to the woods and conducted a strange ceremony. I voluntarily drank blood as I was promised great benefits. We danced and danced with smiles on our faces. Our laughter could not be contained! Our hair was down and our shoes were off. It was a wondrous feeling to be free from the social pressures of Puritan society. Nonetheless, we had to be vigilant because being caught dancing in the woods would surely result in severe punishment. Admittedly, this voodoo is not my only flaw. I miss John Proctor more and more everyday. Though our affair was short, he has found a special place in my heart. It pains me to see him so blatantly unhappy with his current wife.  Unquestionably, he would be happier with me, but such a relationship would surely be deemed unacceptable with his wife, Elizabeth, in the way. Being the niece of Reverend Parris, I am no stranger to social pressures and exorbitant expectations. Much of my time was devoted to pretending to be a perfect Puritan girl, being free from temptation, and putting the church above all else. I was interesting to see how some blindly followed the church while some cared little for it. Of course, being the niece of the new reverend, I had little choice in whether or not I was going to church. As a growing discontent with the current church matters seems to pile up against Parris, I only hope no one learns of the secret between Tituba, the girls, and I.