“Did you hear what happened to Mr. Marshall this week?” asked Elizabeth. Elizabeth was a friend and Mr. Marshall was my nosy next-door neighbor who glared at everything through his soot-covered curtains when he thought no one was looking. 

        “No, what happened?” 

       “Well… his dog died on Monday, he banged his head on Tuesday, cut himself while gardening on Wednesday, and tripped over his own feet while taking a stroll today,” listed Elizabeth, stifling a giggle. 

       “And why are you telling me this?”

        “I’m afraid he might accuse you of being a witch and meddling with his life,” Elizabeth said, suddenly changing her voice to a nervous murmur. “Just… be careful okay? Try not to go out too often.”

        I, of course, thought this was ridiculous. I mean, I’d heard the stories of witches, but it wasn’t like I had any of the attributes that made me a witch. 

        Suddenly, I remembered my father. He was supposed to be home by now. As I paced the house, waiting, a knock perked me up. Was father back? I was too excited to check, and it was only later that I realized if it really was my father, he would’ve used a key instead. 

        I threw open the door, wearing a dazzling grin, only to realize it was the constable and Mr. Marshall. 

        “May we come in?” asked Mr. Marshall. His face was hosting a triumphant grin, accompanied by two chilling eyes that made me want to slam the door in their faces and hide in the attic forever. 

        “Y-yes,” I stammered, avoiding his cold gaze. 

        The two men walked into the kitchen and made themselves at home as mother hurriedly made cups of tea. 

        “Do you know why we are here, Alice?” The constable paused, waiting for my answer, then thought better of it and droned on. “Mr. William Marshall here has accused you of witchcraft, young lady. That means unless we can prove your innocence, you will be hanged.”

        “I-I assure you, I’m not a witch. I’m right-handed, I don’t own any animal-shaped marks,–”

        “See? I told you she was a witch!” Mr. Marshall growled. “She knows every single witch’s mark, yet she is still a little girl.”

        “Now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves, shall we?” was the constable’s reply, though I could already tell that Mr. Marshall was winning him over. “There is another way that you may not have heard of Alice. We’ll take your piss, bake it into a cake, and see if the dog will eat it. Sounds fair enough, right?”

        Actually, it didn’t sound fair at all, but I nodded anyway. 

        The next morning, we lay the cake out on the porch, half of us hoping the dog would eat it. The other half, well, let’s just say they thought I was a witch.  The dog bounded up to the cake, took one sniff at it, and ran away. My face paled as I realized what came next. 

        “Tomorrow, at the gallows?”

        I glanced frantically at my father, but his expression betrayed nothing as he gave the tiniest hint of a nod. 

        “Very well. See you later, witch.”