Wicked Girls Read Online Free PDF

name
    from not twenty paces away.
    Isaac hands back my bonnet
    and with a fast wave good-bye,
    he makes his leave of me.

A NEW WITCH ACCUSED
    Ann Putnam Jr., 12
    Uncle Edward asks, “Ann, what clothes
    doth Goodwife Corey wear when she attacks ye?”
    My breath quickens, and I gasp like I be drowning.
    I cannot see what clothes Goody Corey wears.
    â€œI cannot see the Invisible World,” I say.
    â€œI feel Goody Corey choke and prick me.
    She tells me it is her who torments me so.
    She says my sight will not return until evening
    and then she will pay me off for daring
    to name her to you.” I collapse under my words.
    Uncle and Deacon seem satisfied
    with my explanation, satisfied
    as one feels after a hearty meal.
    The men journey off to Martha Corey.
    Only Mercy’s eyes contain questions.

HEARSAY
    Ann Putnam Jr., 12
    Mercy looks up at me as she lifts the baby.
    I feel tall. She motions for me
    to press my ear against her lips.
    â€œWho is Martha Corey?” she asks.
    â€œFather and Reverend Parris say
    Goody Corey speaks against
    the existence of witches in our village.”
    â€œAnn, dear.” Mother stands behind me.
    â€œWhisper not in Mercy’s ear.
    I can hear plain what you say.”
    She sits on the ottoman.
    â€œGoody Corey also gave birth to a child
    out of wedlock with one of her slaves,
    or maybe ’twas just a servant,
    but the baby was not only Puritan white.”
    â€œSo then all believe her to be a witch,”
    Mercy says.
    â€œNot all, for Martha Corey be pious
    and a church member,” Mother says,
    and smooths the hair off my forehead.
    â€œBut she will be judged a witch.”

FIRST SIGHT
    Mercy Lewis, 17
    Master Putnam tests his daughter
    like a cruel schoolmaster.
    He walks her tormentor, Martha Corey,
    into the house. Ann bends and shrivels,
    and when she claims Goody Corey
    is the cause, her tongue shoots
    from her mouth and her teeth
    clench down on it until blood comes.
    When I bend to aid her,
    Ann whispers to my ear alone,
    â€œDo you not see a man on a spit,
    Goody Corey roasting him like a boar?”
    She squeezes my hand,
    but I yank it away. I feel a pang of pity
    for her, but ’tis not my place to bear
    her father’s investigation.
    Ann says, “I see the Invisible World.
    There,” and she points to the left.
    â€œA man skewered on a stick
    turns roasting like a boar.
    And Goody Corey turns the spit.”
    â€œCome, Mercy.” Ann’s whisper to my ear
    is a plea and a command. “Come with me, now.”
    I shake my head at Ann.
    Hot as the man roasting on the stick
    I feel the eyes of the Putnam men
    scathe my skin.
    I wish for twelve shawls
    to burrow beneath,
    for my own dress feels ripped apart.
    I split and chasm—Ann’s voice calls,
    â€œHere, Mercy.” She offers me a place
    the others cannot touch,
    a place I can crawl inside and wear as home.
    I blink my eyes. Mister Putnam
    and the other men blur to a low hum.
    But will any believe the servant girl
    sees the Invisible World?
    Ann’s moaning and writhing envelop me.
    I let myself slip into the cavern.
    I fathom Goody Corey’s specter
    strikes me swift with an iron rod.
    I fall in pain worse than a whipping,
    and gasp, “I see it too! I see it too!”
    Ann points at the real Goody Corey.
    â€œMake her go.”
    Master Putnam sends Goody Corey away.
    My limbs twist and shake
    even more violently than Ann’s,
    for I am bigger than she.
    It takes three men to hold me down,
    though none seem unhappy for the task.
    The night cools and howls
    near midnight.
    But only Wilson dares
    close his eyes.
    The wooden chair
    I rest upon trembles, then rocks
    back and forth on its legs.
    All believe ’tis the witches
    who tremor my chair.
    The men study my every movement,
    but this staring be reverent.

WHAT IS GOOD, WHAT IS GREAT AND WHAT IS AMAZING
    Ann Putnam Jr., 12
    What is good about witches
    is that when I call out