Stories About The Salem Witch Trials Novels & Stories

The global werewolf (Lycanthropes) population is making a comeback after a long period of decline. It's estimated there are approximately 5,000 remaining in America alone; some living in packs; and others have gone rogue, preferring to live apart from the pack. In the 1690s, the Lycans fought to survive their eradication during the Salem Witch Hunt. Bombarded with propaganda; the people came to fear those who could transform into the beast; to believe they were cursed by a dangerous cult of witches and warlocks. This fear grew into mass hysteria. To protect their families from their perceived enemy, the people organized into mobs, hunting down the Lycans, Werewolves, and anyone else they bel

“You think you might find something in the history section?” I paused, thinking about what he had just said, my mind suddenly running a mile a minute. The Witch Trials were a dark part of our history, a time when witches who practiced dark magic were made to pay for their crimes. There were many tales about the atrocities and terrible things they did with their magic before they were brought to justice by the Alpha King at the time. “What is it?” Griffin asked, noticing the change in my expression. “Do you think that could be it?” I asked, my words coming out quickly as excitement coursed through me, the pieces finally coming together. “Is that why we kept missing it?”

His only mistake was to fall in love with the wrong person - with me. " Her name was Aurora!" His words caught me out of the guard. " A white which, in her twenties. I never believed in love until I've met her, she thought me how to laugh, how to care, and the most important thing was how to love." He sights unable to finish what he was saying, closes his eyes for a while. Then adds " In between 1692 and 1693, more than two hundred people from Salem were accused of practicing witchcraft—the Devil's magic—and twenty were executed... Well, that what was written on stories, not what really happened. Twenty females were convicted of practicing witchcraft during a trial. As for the rest, they wer

“My name is Jenna.” Kristi could not know it, but Jenna was a witch. She was more than three hundred years old. As a teenager in seventeenth century Massachusetts, she had managed to elude the zealots of the Salem Witch Trials, even while dozens of women were being hanged as witches, most of them innocent. If she could have helped any of them she would have, but there was nothing she could do except save herself. She had made a habit of keeping a low profile ever since. “I’m going to ask you a few questions,” Jenna said. “Blink once for yes, twice for no. Do you understand?”

Seeing how a woman of her station and breeding was having to make do in a dirty cave was heartbreaking. “It started a few weeks ago and has escalated beyond reason. Where I was once accepted in society with the grace afforded the aristocracy, I am now on the run. I have seen ten women who were accused of being witches burned at the stake in one week. Two of them were dear friends.” “What do you think she did?” Davina asked with concern as she slipped into the dress Margaret provided her. “From what I can tell, she shifted things in the seventeenth century. Instead of them coming to reason about witches, they have gone off the cliff. The mere whisper that one is a witch and she is condem

Jon said. “Course she fucking was,” the near albino laughed. He licked his gums in an obscene manner. “But the family was cursed and whoever did it got away scot free. In these cases the innocents are always hurt. In all the witch trials in America only one ever got the right person, Bridget Bishop.” “You’re very sure.” “Oh, yes,” he said. “It was mostly about hurting the husband of the family. He was a real prick, poking his nose in everyone’s business.” Black eyes sparkled. The grin dropped to a leer. “He had to go. Had to be distracted.”

I could notice something etched on her forehead. It was a mark, a sigil of some sorts. It was a straight line with two other lines crossing on it, meeting at the top intersection. I knew that mark, I have come across it before. It was the mark of Saetani, the sleep demon. During the late 1600, Saerah Dumire was a witch caught during the Salem witch trial and was accused of practicing dark witchcraft.

They took delight—especially around Halloween—in scaring kids with talk about the coven of witches who used to frequent the area, one of whom allegedly wrote The Book of Shadows, a grimoire of great power. The author was thought to be one Delores Mellor who, along with her four other coven members, died at the hands of the Witchfinder General in the 18th Century. Summer tourists often came to the cove, fascinated with its macabre history. For, although the true nature of the tales surrounding it was fantastic, it was also a fact that five women had actually died as a result of a witch trial, and such an event would only continue to serve to fascinate.

I was about to say something when that woman who had been following me around at the festival appeared. "Ms. Stephens I've been waiting for you by the river. What is taking you so long?" She asked, placing her hands on her waist. How did she know we were going to the river? "I know you boys." She said looking at the group of men. "If I remember correctly your grandfathers tried to have me killed back in 1692 during the Salem Witch Trials. Do I need to do to you what they did to me?" The men backed up at the threat and she smiled.

I gesture to the book in my lap, “I guess I was inspired.” “The Salem Witch Trials is a dark subject to touch on.” The girl remarks. “But since we live in Massachusetts and it's kind of like our 'claim to fame' we have to do reports on it, every year around this time. This is my ninth report on the witch trials.” I say. Every Halloween is when we study this fascinating subject. I feel myself being drawn to the violence and misery of the stories. Morbid, I know, but I can't seem to help myself. It just fascinates me to no end.