She woke up to the sound of loud voices coming from outside her window. Anne peered out of her small cottage window and could see a dozen or so people in the distance, among the trees, carrying torches. Her first thought was that the natives were attacking, but that thought was put at ease when she saw a pitchfork. The natives didn’t carry pitchforks. A silly thought but true. At their distance, she couldn’t distinguish any of the people’s faces, but she knew that it was the townspeople. Anne’s mind began to race with questions. Why would they be coming to our house at such an hour? She suddenly remembered how earlier that day she had told off one of the other children in town who had called her mother insulting terms. She began to panic and think the worst. Are they coming for me? They called my mother a witch and said she’d end up like Bridget Bishop! They deserved what they got! Maybe I took it too far…

Just as Anne was about to rush out of her room, her mother quickly entered her room. Her mother appeared to still be wearing her day clothes which had somehow become stained with something brown. Anne looked scared as she peered out the window and back to look at her mother. 

“Mother, what’s happening?” Anne asked, becoming more scared as the noises grew louder from outside.

“It’s alright, sweetie. Everything is going to be fine,” her mother said, “We need to leave though. Come now.” She reached for her daughter’s hand and pulled her from her bed.

“Why do we have to leave? Was it something I did?” Anne asked and stopped moving as her cheeks failed to stay dry from tears sliding down her face.

“No, no, it’s not your fault. Hush, now and keep moving,” her mother quickly said, trying to soothe her daughter’s emotions.

“Ar-are they going to do to you like what they did to Miss. Bishop?”

“I’m not sure honey, but you need to be strong for me, okay? We need to leave now,” her mother said as she pulled her daughter towards the front door. Just as she was about to reach for the handle, a loud bang came from the other side of the door. They both jumped. 

“M-mother, I’m scared,” Anne said as she tightened her grip on her mother’s hand. The pouding on the door gained almost a rhythm as the men on the other side try to break down the door.

“Here, honey, take this,” her mother lets go of Anne’s hand to remove the necklace from around her own neck. She holds it in her hand, staring at the small crystal on the string for a moment. Another loud bang on the door shakes her out of her daze. She quickly takes her daughter’s hand and closes it around the necklace. As she holds her daughter’s closed hands in her own, she says, “I want you to have this. It will protect you”

“What do you mean? Why are you giving me the necklace daddy gave you? Why- BANG” The front door gave way to the men on the other side. Anne looked up as she sees a man standing in the doorway.

“There you are, you witch!” is all the man says as he quickly starts toward Anne. Anne closes her eyes as she cries, preparing to be hurt. When she doesn’t feel anything, she opens her eyes and notices the man has grabbed her mother. The man starts to drag her squirming mother out the door and is quickly aided by other men. Anne jumps to her feet and runs out the door after the men. Once she was out the door, she was presented with a mob of people. She starts after the men restraining her mother, but is quickly grabbed by someone. Anne looks back at the man who grabbed her. She quickly recognizes the man from his tall stature and grey-bearded face as Joseph Jansen, the town farmer. He held Anne with one hand as he held his torch in the other. The light from the fire danced across his face, outlining his deep scowl. Anne fights his strong grip fruitlessly as she panics. She makes one last attempt to break free, but is roughly knocked down to the ground. Too weak to stand, Anne lays there as her tears turn the dirt into mud. She watches helplessly as the mob drags her mother away. 

After hours of crying, Anne manages to rise into a sitting position, feeling numb. She notices a pain, not just in her heart, but in her hand. She looked down at her hand and opened it. There, the crystal her mother gave her laid covered in blood. Her grip had been so tight that the crystal had cut and created an outline of itself in her hand. Anne looked up at the sky, noticing the rising sun, and suddenly was overpowered with a surge of rage. She screamed with everything she had at the sky, releasing all of her anger. She returned her tight grip on the crystal, eyes and a heart filled with rage, as she vowed to take revenge for her mother.

****

Anne was 11-years-old on the night her mother died. Five years later, she still finds herself going back to that frightening night. Now, Anne has grown to become a beautiful young woman, who is haunted by her mother’s appearance whenever she sees her reflection. Following the death of her mother, Anne had found a place to live with the town baker, Torkel Thompson. Mr. Thompson took Anne under his wing as his ward. He taught her how to cook, bake, and most of all, forgiveness. Anne had forgiven the townspeople for the murder of her mother months ago. She was reluctant at first, but she eventually forgave them all.

 In the beginning, she had helped out with simple tasks such as cleaning the floors and delivering bread around town. Now, Anne has almost surpassed her mentor with her baking skills. Anne extraordinary baking abilities had not gone unnoticed in the town. Together, Anne and Torkel Thompson run the small bakery out of their small cottage in town. 

On one late night, Anne heard someone enter through the shop doors. She quickly climbed out from under her covers while carefully covering her necklace under her nightgown. Anne peered out the small opening of her bedroom door and into the main room. All she could see was the darkness and shadows that were casted around the room from the moon’s light. She noticed movement from the  shadow on the far side of the room. Anne didn’t make a sound as her eyes tried to adjust to the sudden light of a candle. The light from the candle illuminated the face of Torkel Thompson. Her worries were put to rest, but were soon brought back when she realized the time of night. Anne knew that Torkel was an odd man and shouldn’t have been surprised by his odd behavior. Torkel had lost his touch with sanity following the death of his wife many years ago. Anne heard rumors around town about what happened to his wife, but she never tried to pry it from him. Anne decided to dismiss Torkel’s odd midnight arrival and went back to her straw bedding. She looked back one last time at the door before she closed her eyes and returned to her dreams.

***

“Have a beautiful day Mrs. Williams!” Anne calls after the older lady.

“Oh, why thank you child. You take care now,” The elder lady replies with a smile as she exits the small shop. Anne noticed the silence which had presented itself in the room. The only thing that could be heard was the light rainfall sliding down the roof of the bakery. Anne took the time to enjoy this temporary moment of solitude as she takes a seat on one of the stools. Anne looks around the shop at the now empty bread baskets which litter the tabletops. She sighs to herself. She had refilled those baskets just that morning. Suddenly, the shop doors open and in limped Joseph Jansen. His foot falls were heavy as clumps of mud fell off of his boots leaving behind a trail.

“Hello there. Dreary day, isn’t it?” he greeted while tracking in mud. 

“Indeed,” was all Anne replied. She studied the old man in front of her as her mind returned to that dreadful night five years ago. She remembered the way the flames danced across his face as he had pushed Anne to the ground. Anne may have forgiven the people who murdered her mother, but there was something about Joseph Jansen that angered her.

 His grey eyes bore into Anne’s.

“You look much like your mother,” he said. Anne’s eyes hardened as she resisted the temptation to scold the older man. After collecting her self-control, Anne questioned the man’s presence in the shop.

“How may I help you?” Anne asked, putting on a fake smile.

“I’m lookin’ for that mentor of yours. Is he around?”

“No, I’m afraid I haven’t seen him today,” Anne truthfully answered. 

“Well if he shows himself, you let him know that I was lookin’ for him,'' Jansen said as he turned his back on Anne and left the shop. Anne was perplexed. There was only one thing Joseph Jansen does other than tend to his farming and that was accuse people. Anne knew this because her mother and many others had been victims to his scrutiny. Fearing for her mentor, Anne left the shop to find and warm Torkel about Jansen. 

Anne searched all around town, but couldn’t find her mentor. She had a few hours till the sun set, so Anne decided to continue to search for Torkel. She began her search of the nearby woods. After a few minutes, Anne began to smell smoke. She looked around until she found the direction it was coming from and followed it. She eventually came to a clearing. Anne was overcome with a mixture of emotions by the sight that had presented itself. In front of her stood her childhood home. She hadn’t been there in five years, but it appeared to still be habited. Freshly cut wood lay just outside its door. What drew Anne’s attention though, was the smoke coming out of the chimney. Who could be in there? She thought. Anne walked towards the house, one brave step at a time. As she reached the door, she laid one hand upon the door. Memories of her childhood quickly found their way into her head. She brushed them aside and slowly opened the door of the house. Inside, sitting by the fireplace, was Joseph Jansen. He looked up at Anne. They locked eyes as neither said anything. Jansen slowly rose from his place by the fire and began to speak.

“Hello there, Anne. I would say I’m surprised to see you here, but I’m not,” he said in his rough sandpapery voice, “I’d expect nothing less from a witch’s daughter.”

“My mother wasn’t a witch!” Anne quickly lashed out and closes the gap between the two, so they both only stand two feet away from each other. 

“Oh, she most certainly was, child,” he replied with a grin.

“You know nothing!” she barked back.

There was a thick tension before Jansen replied 

“I’m here trying to find Torkel.”

“So you admit it? Of course, I should have figured you’d aid your mentor with his evil deeds. You’re no better than your witch mother.”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, don’t play dumb,” he says as he reaches into his cloak and removes a dagger. Anne had barely any time to react as Jansen thrusts the dagger straight into the middle of Anne’s chest. The knife hit something hard. Anne looked down to see that the knife had hit her crystal necklace that she had hidden under her clothes. Anne takes this opportunity to knock Jansen down, causing the dagger to slide across the floor. As Anne tried to flee, Jansen grabbed her leg, causing her to fall face first into the hard wooden floors. Anne turned so her back was to the ground and tried to kick free from the older man’s surprisingly strong grip. As she finally frees herself, her eyes locked on the dagger across the room. She quickly starts toward it and wraps her fingers around the handle. Just then, Jansen grabs her arm. As Anne fights his grip, she manages to stab the man in the leg. Jansen howls in pain as Anne scrambles to her feet. She looked down at the man on the floor and then to the dagger in her hands. Her heart was filled with rage as she remembered the night her mother was killed. With little thought, Anne grabs Jansen. She stared into the man’s eyes as she said, “This is for my mother.”