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AN ERWA Theme Weekend Winner - Presented by ERWA A mass of humanity, tourists, moved like a sluggish river along the Essex Street pedestrian mall. Here and there a few would create eddies around T-shirt stands and reeking pepper sausage pushcarts. Making one's way through this herd was nearly impossible. You either went with the flow, or you didn't go. Then, farther down the mall, there was shouting and commotion. Three figures, two young men and a young woman in archaic dress parted the crowd like Moses did the Red Sea. The woman was bound at the wrists; one of the men tugging her along by a length of rope. They were dragging Bridget Bishop to trial - for the third time that day - on multiple indictments of witchcraft. Salem, the Witch City, probably the only place in America where a bound woman led by two men along a public way would not considered all that unusual; at least not during tourist season. One of the men shouted to the tourists, "Oyez, oyez! Good people, draw near and pay heed. Bridget Bishop is accused of various and sundry witch crafts and will be examined before the court of Oyer and Terminer." For her part, the actress who portrayed Bridget responded, "I know not of witch crafts, I am innocent!" I didn't know how innocent she was, but she was gorgeous, about five-feet-4 with hair the red-orange color of the day lilies that grow wild on Gallows Hill. She was spilling out of her scarlet bodice. The three actors succeeded in reversing the river's flow, leading the tourists to Old Town Hall in Derby Square, where Bridget Bishop would be tried, and amazingly, because her fate was left up to the modern- day audience, she was usually convicted and sentenced to hang. The acting troupe rotated roles, but this actress seemed to have claimed the defendant's role as her own. She was a crowd favorite. Never underestimate the erotic appeal of a beautiful, bound woman in jeopardy. I'd caught the last half-dozen performances and I think she had noticed me, sitting near the defendant's dock. I was one of the few who voted to acquit. The trial ended with the familiar outcome. The verdict was guilty, and Bridget was sentenced to hang. The testimony was pretty much in her favor until Judge Hathorne introduced that business about the headless poppets found at Bridget's former residence. Yes, the poppets, crude little dolls, all decapitated. Even I had to wonder about those. Bridget was led from the dock to her fate on Gallows Hill. Held by the arms by strapping court officers she leaned forward giving me a joyous view of her pushed-up- and-out cleavage. Then, unexpectedly, she smiled at me and winked. I waited for the tourists to dribble out of the auditorium then I made my way backstage. I was stopped by one of the hulking actors who portrayed a court officer. "How you doin'?" I said. "I was wondering if I could have a word with the lady who played Bridget." The actor gave me a leering grin, then knocked at a door behind him. "Hey, Ree?" he shouted, "You've got an admirer backstage. You want to see him, or should we give him the bum's rush?" I could hear her reply from inside what I took to be the dressing room. "Tell him to wait a sec, I'm trying to pry my tits out of this damned costume." What followed were a grunt and a certain sigh of relief. After a minute she emerged in jeans and a black T-shirt with the silver outline of a cat and the legend: "Make a Wish." Her bosom no longer appeared as full. She must have read my disappointment.
"It's the costume," she said. "It really pushes you out."
"Yeah, well, I would have expected you to be acquitted on looks alone." She gave me a sidelong look, one eyebrow arched. "You must really like the show. I've seen you, what, about six or seven times? Must be on vacation with all that time on your hands." "Actually, I catch the show between breaks. The rest of the time I'm scratching around looking for you." She shook her head, "I'm sorry, what?" "Well, not you, but your character." Her face brightened, "Oh, you're one of the archaeologists digging up on Gallows Hill. Gee, that's so interesting. Have you found anything?" I told her we hadn't found squat. It was a quixotic effort anyway, barely funded by a very small grant. We were supposed to be digging for the remains of Witchcraft Hysteria victims, some of whom were unceremoniously tossed in ravines after they were hanged. It wasn't likely we'd find anything after more than 300 years. Remains would have been scattered by animals almost immediately. "I'm Rhiannon," she said, "Rhiannon Matthews, but everyone calls me Ree." "Rhiannon?" "Yeah, what can I say? My folks were big Fleetwood Mac fans. Besides, it was my Welsh great-grandmother's name, too." "Hi, I'm Paul Flynn," I said. "I don't think I was named after anybody. And I'm not so much an archaeologist as I am a very good digger." She smiled and said, "Like a terrier." I let that remark go by and asked if I could take her to dinner. "You can buy me an extra large pizza and beer," she answered. "There's a great pizza joint just across from the fire station, and they sell beer by the pitcher." "I know the place, let's go," I said. It was a short walk to the pizzeria. Ree insisted I order two extra large combos and a pitcher of Sam Adams. "One for me," she said, "And I'll split the other with you." "Wow," I said. "I had heard about starving actors." "Nah, I just love pizza. It's the perfect food, but I have to have a good beer to wash it down. Not that Budweiser crap. That's the Wonder Bread of beers, yuck." In no time, Ree had devoured an entire pizza and downed most of the Sam Adams. I ordered another pitcher. Ree talked as she ate, sauce running down her chin, she reeled back sticky strands of mozzarella into her sumptuous mouth. "You know, Bridget was a tavern keeper," she said. "She ran a regular road house outside the town limits. Sold beer when she had it, but mostly just hard cider. It was just like today, the young kids used to sneak away and get plastered at Bridget's, let off a little steam." "Not what I'd expect of a Puritan wife," I offered. "Not hardly," Ree said as she twirled another errant strand of melted cheese and tossed it down her throat. "She was the original liberated American woman. She loved playing practical jokes, especially on men. Wore scarlet all the time; flaunted her sexuality. She was on her third husband when they murdered her; Hathorne and the rest of that fucking gang." She paused a moment, her jaw set tight and her gray- green eyes narrowed. "I'm sorry," she said, "I really get into my character. I like Bridget. You know, she was the first, the first to be accused. Know why? Cause she was an easy target. But you see what happened? Once they killed her it was easy to kill another 19. I hope the murdering bastards are all roasting somewhere." "Yeah," I said. "And here we are in the 21st century and this town has built an entire tourist industry upon an atrocity. They're just about to wind into their month- long Halloween celebration. Kind of makes you wonder whether 300 years from now some little town in Poland will be celebrating Olde Auschwitz Days, selling balloons and cotton candy on the street." She smiled and lifted her glass. "Well, here's to Bridget, she wouldn't have wanted us to get so serious. Not with all this good beer to be had." She quaffed her last swallows and said, "How about another pitcher?" "Ree, you drank most of the first two," I said. "In my family we drank beer for breakfast," she replied. "I'm okay. It's just a little warm in here." She lifted her T-shirt with both hands exposing her belly up to the bare undersides of her breasts. Her pale freckled skin was moist with perspiration. Suddenly I felt as if I had a flashlight jammed down my right pant leg - a leaky one at that. "Whoo, that feels better," she said, tugging her tee down. Her nipples reacted to the sudden coolness nearly poking through the fabric. "Yeah," she said. "Another cold pitcher of Mr. Adams would really do the trick." "Let's take a walk instead," I suggested. "Hmm," she replied, one eye closed, "I'd guess most guys would want to get a lady all beered up, so's they could take indelicate advantage of her. You must be one of those gentlemen we girls hear about in fairy tales and such." "Never indelicate," I laughed. "Come on, let's take a walk." She slid out of the booth and held her hand out to me. With the other she grabbed a remaining slice of pizza and noshed it down. Her legs were long, and I think probably hollow. Outside she reveled in the cool September air, stretching her arms up and then running her hands through her hair. As she did a hollow appeared between her jeans and the small of her back. I fought an incredible urge to slip my hand in there and let my fingers ski along the slope of her fine up-turned ass. It was twilight under a deep blue velvet sky. We walked up Lafayette and onto Charter Street by the Old Burying Point. Ree shivered. "A bit chilly?" I asked. "No. He's in there," she said, peering into the dark graveyard. "Huh?" "Hathorne. See, you can see his headstone from here. They had to set it into a larger granite stone because it kept cracking. Some say it was Bridget's curse, but I have to believe she had a better curse in mind than a chronically cracking headstone for the prick." I put my arm around her shoulder and steered her away from the graveyard. A little beyond we passed the memorial to the hysteria victims, 20 granite benches each etched with a name. Bridget Bishop's was the first. >From there we crossed Hawthorne Boulevard onto Derby Street and onto the National Maritime Site. "Let's walk out to the lighthouse," Ree said and I readily agreed. The lighthouse was at the end of Derby Wharf, which extended about a half-mile into Salem Harbor. A couple of centuries ago it would have been jammed with China traders, and Nathaniel Hawthorne would have been watching over it from his office in the old Customs House. Now it was barren and forlorn, despite the Park Service's efforts to spruce it up. It wasn't the history most folks who came to Salem were interested in. But, the lighthouse made for a great make-out spot at night. As we strolled past couples cuddled on the grass on either side of the path, Ree hissed, "Hysteria." "What?" "They call it the 'Hysteria.' That's a sexist term," she said. "Hysteria is specific to women, like women were the ones who handed down the sentences and carried them out. And not viciously righteous sons of bitches like Judge Hathorne." "You have to admit, though," I replied, "It started with a bunch of adolescent girls. And all the wives in the colony, I would bet, had no qualms about ridding the town of a woman like Bridget. Anyway, it was another time, people believed in superstitions and witches." Ree spun around with a sly grin. "What if Bridget was a witch? Hmm, in fact, what if I told you I'm a witch?" "Right," I chuckled. "You've cast a spell on me. Got me to buy you pizza and beer and blow nearly a hundred bucks on your show." "Exactly." "Yeah, and you're really an ugly old hag and not a beautiful red-haired actress, whom I really want to kiss right now." I pulled her toward me. Our lips touched in a mutual nibble. My tongue slid around the insides of her lips in a slow perambulation then explored deeper regions. She pushed me away gently and skipped toward the lighthouse. As we came around the building another couple just released each other from a soulful lip-lock and began their return walk down the wharf. The lights of the town and nearby Pickering Wharf were blocked by the squat brick building. Ree and I were alone in the darkness. "I bet I can make you do anything," she said. "What did you have in mind, Ms. Witch?" "Take off your clothes," she instructed. "This isn't exactly a private spot," I said. "Take off your clothes, and I'll take off my clothes." That flashlight in my pants had grown to a heavy-duty utility model. "Okay," I said, "Let's do it." "Uh, uh," she said. "You go first. Then me." I peered around the lighthouse. Nobody was nearby as far as I could see. I pulled off my shirt and unbuckled my belt, pushing my pants down and chucking off my shoes. The flashlight knew just where it was supposed to point. Bridget snatched up my clothes and looked me up and down. "That's a good boy," she said. "Well?" "Well, now I bet I can make you run naked back down the wharf." "What?" She flashed a wide smile by way of answering, turned and ran around the lighthouse. I thought, she's got to be kidding, but only for a second or two. I peeked around the lighthouse to see Ree running with my clothes bundled in her arms turning every few feet to look back and laugh. Other couples peopled the wharf now. Damn, a tour bus must have unloaded. "Oh, shit!" I yelled, and bolted after her. A girl screamed and her date yelled, "Yo, man, go get her." Another girl shouted something and let loose with a wolf whistle and a "Swing it, baby!" I was about halfway along the wharf and had nearly caught up to Ree when I saw her toss my clothes into the water. "Damn!" I shouted and dove in after them. Thankfully, they didn't sink. When I looked back a crowd had gathered on the wharf's edge applauding and cheering. Ree stood there too. "You bitch!" I yelled. "Uh, no, but it rhymes with ..." she shouted back. Now behind me I heard someone calling, "Paul, Paul, my boy. Over here, swim, boy, swim." It was Professor Alyson calling from his boat moored at Pickering Wharf. The director of the Gallows Hill dig, he'd been living on the boat through the course of the project with his companion, Professor Kingway. I swam to the aircraft carrier-sized cabin cruiser and tossed my clothes aboard before climbing on. Professor Kingway helped me over the rail. "Oh my, James," Professor Kingway said. "This is a side of young Paul we haven't seen." "Yes, oh yes," Professor Alyson assented, "Even allowing for shrinkage due to the water temperature, very impressive, Paul." "Please, professor, don't go there." "Just observing, my young friend," Professor Alyson replied. "We're scientists after all, that's what we do, observe, take measurements. Just curious about your dimensions." "Let me fetch my tape measure," Professor Kingway enthused. "Really," I said. "Just let me get dressed and I'll be on my way." "Oh, settle down," said Professor Alyson. "Arthur, give Paul my terrycloth robe." "Really? Seems like a pity." Professor Alyson arched one brow and his companion answered, "Oh, all right." I wrapped myself in the ample garment while Professor Kingway took my clothes to the onboard washer-dryer. First he handed me my wallet and keys. "Lucky they didn't fall out," he said. "Yeah," I said. "Lucky." Professor Alyson handed me a glass of brandy and sat down. "So Paul, how is it you came to be skinny-dipping in this historic harbor this evening?" "A girl," I said. "She threw my clothes in the harbor." "Hmm, no need to ask how she came to get a hold of your clothes. Well, just as well she brought us together. We can celebrate, if that's appropriate, the end of the dig." "Really? How come? I thought we would be here into October," I said. "Those who administer want results," Professor Alyson said. "Those who know the least somehow always manage to control the purse strings. Anyway, we have three more days up on the god-awful hill and then we pull up stakes, literally." Professor Kingway joined us again and we talked and drank into the wee hours. I ended up sleeping on the deck. I awoke to find my clothes piled neatly beside me. The professors had gone on to the dig and allowed me to sleep. It was late morning and my head felt like it was filled with wet concrete. I dressed and decided to walk off the hangover. It was probably a good two miles to Gallows Hill and the dig site. Along the way I passed Old Town Hall. It sounded like the first show was wrapping up. No one was posted at the door and I let myself in. Ree was in character in the dock. The sentencing was about to begin and I stood in the side aisle. The actor portraying the stern presiding judge stared down at the dock. "You will be taken hence to a high place and hanged." "Why don't you burn her instead?" I shouted. It was an interactive play, so the judge character responded, "Sir, we do not burn witches in New England." Ree had caught sight of me. "Then you hang her and I'll hold a torch under her ass, how's that?" A gasp went up from the audience. Ree looked like she was struggling not to laugh while the judge just struggled to remain in character. He never answered me; instead I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was Donny DiLeo, a cop. "Paul, what the hell are you doing?" he asked. "Sorry, Donny," I said. "Just had to get something off my chest." Donny had worked a paid detail guarding the dig at night. When the funds ran low he used to come by on his own time. I thought better of my walk and asked if he could give me a lift to the dig. He escorted me from the auditorium amid the buzz of whispering from the audience. He dropped me off in his cruiser emblazoned, like all city vehicles, with a witch riding a broom. Professor Alyson greeted me. Looking to Kingway, he said, "A police escort no less. Such influence. Perhaps we should have Paul negotiate with our sponsors." I shook my head and went to work scooping dirt and debris from a half-buried cleft of granite. Gallows Hill Park is the remnant of a volcanic caldera formed when there was one continent and Salem was hard pressed beside what would become Africa. Its basin was now ball fields rimmed by granite hills. An enormous blue-green water tank dominated one hill. It too was emblazoned with a broom-riding witch. Outside the park and surrounding it were densely settled neighborhoods. It was a long shot that we'd find anything within the 27 acres of the park itself. The morning blended into the late afternoon. A chilly breeze had blown up as the sun began to settle. Professor Alyson signaled to call it a day, with nothing but a few animal bones and a couple of musket balls to show for our labors. I stood and stretched my back trying to undo the knots that formed while working all day in a half stoop. Then I heard Ree's voice, "Excuse me, I'm looking for Paul Flynn." She was wearing a fire engine red T-shirt and black jeans that showed off her long waist and curvy hips. A long black cape clung to her shoulders. She was striking. I damn near forgot how pissed off I was at her. Professors Alyson and Kingway rushed to greet her. "Let me guess," Professor Alyson said, a finger on his dimpled chin. "You are the young lady who charmed our Paul out of his pants last night and sent him skinny- dipping." "Oh," Kingway added. "This is a distinct pleasure." Both made exaggerated gestures of courtliness, each kissing her hand. I thought if either of these guys ever decided to switch back to direct current they'd be two of the most notorious lady-killers on the planet. Each took a hand and led her in a mock minuet to where I was washing up. They left us and she said, "Paul, I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me." "Yeah, well I know what I'd like to put you over - my knee." "Really?" she grinned. "And here I thought you'd be mad at me." I rolled my eyes and turned my back on her. She came around to face me. "Really," she said, "I am sorry. Something did come over me last night. But at least you didn't lose anything, like your wallet. I'd have felt awful about that." "Professor Alyson told you that?" "No, nobody told me. I just knew." The breeze stiffened and lifted Ree's hair so it seemed to float above her shoulders. Her expression changed and her eyes appeared to look past me at some distant place. "She's not here," she said. "She's not where you're digging." "Who's not here?" "Bridget. They hanged her on the heights from an oak." She pointed to the water tank. "Well, there are no oaks old enough in the park to be the one," I said. I looked up toward the water tank. "Anything up on that hill would have been disturbed when they constructed the tank." Ree took my hand and without a word led me across the ball fields to the hill crowned by the tank. We climbed, startling a convention of brown cotton-tailed rabbits. We reached the graffiti-scrawled tank and descended the western slope where we could see the heights of Danvers where all the trouble began more than 300 years ago. "She's here," Ree said. "What?" "If you look you'll find her," she answered. I suspected another practical joke was in the making. But Ree's demeanor was spooky. I turned and caught sight of what appeared to be a debris mound with a deep cleft. I looked back at Ree and she nodded. I investigated the cleft, which opened deep into a buried ledge. It was the lip of a ravine that had been partially covered with fill, probably from when they built the tank. There was room enough for me to crawl inside up to my waist. I entered hoping a skunk family hadn't taken up residence there. With the aid of my penlight I made out what seemed to be the root structure of a huge, ancient tree. Tangled among the roots I spotted shards of bone. Reaching farther I recovered most of the back of a skull, a partial jawbone and a complete arm bone. I pushed them outside the hole and then pulled myself out. It had become night. The stars spun in place accompanied by a cavalry charge of comets. Twelve moons in various phases arched across the sky. Rhiannon was naked. Her body glowed and her hair floated weightless. She said in a voice not her own, "You were the only one, the only one who remained faithful to me." I embraced her and realized I was naked too. We lay upon the ground still clutching each other. The sky began to spin. The last thing I recall is watching myself with Ree, but it wasn't us. I awoke to a wet tongue slurping my face. It was Lucky, a mutt who hung around the dig mooching everyone's lunch. Ree and I were curled up snug as bugs in her cape, my arm across her naked breasts. It was late afternoon judging from the sun's position. We couldn't have slept through the night and most of the next day, I thought. Ree awoke. "What the hell happened?" I looked at my calendar watch. We hadn't lost a day. In fact, we hadn't lost any time at all. Whatever happened, it happened in an instant. Ree lifted the cape. "Did we have sex?" she asked. "Not technically," I said. "I think we were just along for the ride." I began searching for the bones, wondering if they had been a hallucination too. I found them in a pile next to Lucky who sat, tail wagging, on top of our clothes. Great, I thought, now we'll have fleas. Ree pushed Lucky away and we dressed. I scooped up the bones and said, "I've got to take these to Professor Alyson." Ree stepped in front of me. "No, Paul, that's not what she wants." A shiver ran up my back. "Oh, man, you're not going to start this again." "Paul, it's Bridget," she said nodding to the bones in my arms. "Ree, we can't know that. They could be anyone's bones. We'd need to run DNA tests, providing we could even locate a living relative." "No!" she shouted. "It is Bridget. Don't ask me how I know, but she doesn't want to end up in some university's lab. She has plans. She needs us to carry them out." I shook my head. "Ree, I'd be breaking every code of ethics if I don't turn these over to Alyson." "Paul, please. You'll break a more important ethic if we don't do what she wants. Trust me," she pleaded. I said nothing while she took my arm and we made our way down the hill. No one was left at the dig site and we began the walk toward the downtown and the Old Burying Point. When we got there it was already dark. The graveyard was closed but the streets were lively with tourists. We climbed over the low wall of the cemetery and Ree led me through the darkness to Hathorne's grave. "Bury her right on top of him," Ree instructed. "You're kidding." "No, bury her right on top of him. She wants to sit on his chest for eternity." Her eyes had that faraway glaze again. I looked around for something to dig with and found a flake of slate that had sheared off a tombstone. I dug deep enough to just cover the bones. I stood. Ree said, "She wants just one more thing." She draped her cape over the grave and shed her jeans and tee. She stepped forward and peeled my shirt off, unbuckled my belt, unzipped my pants and let them fall. Together we kneeled. We kissed a long deep kiss while my hands ranged about her back and shoulders, savoring her taut, supple flesh. She softly whimpered as my mouth found her ear, gently nibbling her lobe then leaving a trail of bite-kisses along her neck and onto her shoulder. Her hands were busy milking my cock that was almost painfully rigid, the tip touching her thigh with each stroke. My mouth moved to her breasts sucking her nipples into firm little bolts. She grabbed handfuls of my hair, arching her back and drawing her breath in desperate gasps. She reciprocated my previous nibbles with hard bites along my shoulder and neck. Then pushing me over on my back she mounted me, twisting and working her way up and down my shaft, her tits swinging and jiggling. She held her arms up with her hands in her hair; her moans came like a song. I had the sensation of levitating and the tops of the trees seemed closer to us. She screamed her orgasm and a shooting star blazed across the night. Open-mouthed with eyes closed she seemed to savor the sensation for a moment then resumed her rhythm. Our eyes met and there was a moment when everything blurred. All at once I had the sensation of being in her body. Knowing, feeling how my cock felt inside of her, feeling the touch of my own hands and experiencing her building orgasm. It was nearly too much, becoming fucker and fuckee, and I felt myself on the edge of a swoon. I experienced her orgasm then as it rumbled around her womb and rippled and reverberated from tits to thighs. In my mind I shouted at the sky, "Is this how women come?" Standing now, her eyes told me we were sharing each other's bodies in some magical way. We could have devoured each other, with each bite, nibble and caress played back, feeling each other's thrills, shivers, pleasures. I buried my face between her breast and underarm and felt the tickle it set off and the heat that rose along her spine. She bent over, her hands gripping the headstone as I took her from behind. Her round luscious ass twisted against me, as my balls banged against the back of her thighs. My cock thrust into her, grazing the forward wall of her cunt, reaching that special place that would set off flutters in her womb. Again there was the sensation of sharing one orgasm and my mind was just barely holding on to consciousness. I felt it coming on like a slow boil and then I was ejaculating pure heat. I cried out and Ree screamed again. We fell in a pile on her cape embracing and kissing, our hot breath steaming. Tears filled her eyes. Mine too, knowing we had never, and would never experience this gift with another human being. The sensations subsided and vanished and we held each other without any sense of time. A safe, comfortable stillness seemed to blanket us. Then I heard: "Paul, for crissake, couldn't you afford a room?" Ree and I looked up to see Officer Donny Dileo standing over us. We stood, bare-assed to the world, while Donny lectured us. "I'm going to have to take you both in. Cripes, if you were going to do it in the graveyard, why the hell couldn't you pick a nice dark corner where nobody could see you." "What are you talking about, Donny?" I protested. "Who is there to see?" Donny made a theatrical flourish with his arm toward the gate, where not more than 20 feet from where Ree and I stood naked a crowd of people broke out in cheers and applause. Ree covered her face in her hand and laughed. My hands automatically fell together at my crotch. I didn't laugh. Donny waited while we hurriedly dressed then he escorted us to the cruiser. A delegation of local Wiccans blessed us as we passed, hearty grins on all their faces. More cheers erupted as we were driven away. Donny didn't take us to the station. Instead he dropped us off at my rooming house. He chuckled and drove away. Standing on the sidewalk I said to Ree, "Want to come up?" "Yes, most definitely. Can we send out for pizza? Got any beer?" "Thank god, now I know it's you talking." "Damn right it's me," she said and kissed me. "Bridget is right were she wants to be. Sitting right on top of that old bastard." Then I swear I could hear Judge Hathorne groaning, and Bridget cackling into his face: "Hah! I'm still here, Johnny!" THE END © 2000 By R.E. Buckley 1rbuckley@attbi.com |