May 23, 1697
Salem Village, New England
Dear Diary,
Today my heart burned with the fires of hell, that bitter and vile woman Goody Procter has thrown me out unto the dismal dirt of Salem. She has knowledge of my dear John's relationship with myself. She flew into a disturbing coldness that chilled me, for this was why I think John was so easy to leave her.
To make my existence worse? He has stayed true to his insufferable wife and not but spoke a kind word to me. Though his eyes I sometimes find wander over to my desolate figure and his cheeks dust with rouge. For with that God sent glance I am filled with warmth. His resistance is crumbling I think, and soon he and I shall reunite as one, if only there was a way for her to leave.
No matter, I now, after that horrendous night of being put out upon the horrid streets I have been graciously received by my uncle, the minister of this traitorous village. Uncle cares more about his darling candlesticks and salary than the welfare of those under his care, leaving me hopefully to do as I will and escape labor.
Their slave from Barbados is, from what I have hear from Betty dear, is acquainted with spells and enchantments, I think I will proposition to her to make a curse upon that cold woman Elizabeth Proctor. Maybe I shall invite the other girls as well, in case we get caught of course then the blame can be forced on others and I will perchance be spared the indignities of a whipping or worse, the charge of witch craft. For indeed that is a most horrible and evil charge.
Yours truly.
Abigail Williams
May 27, 1697
Salem Village, New England
Dear Diary,
I finally did it, my girls and I; Mercy Lewis, Betty Parris, Mary Warren, Ruth Putnam, and a few of the other girls all went into the woods and summoned the spirits of Ruth's baby siblings and I made a charm to kill that frozen woman. But disaster struck, just as Mary Warren stripped bare my bumbling uncle came upon us. Betty flew into a passion and immediately quieted and went into a deep slumber, the villagers all fear for her life. +However we all know it is an act to cover her embarrassment for being caught.
Uncle brought in a young priest from Beverly, he is supposedly an excellent witch examiner. Both he, Uncle, Mr. and Mrs. Putnam all came to examine Betty today and began mentioning the villagers crying witchcraft. Apparently Ruth has had the same symptoms as Betty has. I began to fear for my life, for it is a hanging for a person who has committed witchcraft, only a whipping for dancing. Luckily through a bought of quick thinking the blame was placed on that slave woman, Tituba. She confessed to witchcraft and after nameing a few of the more recluse members of the community of consorting with the devil I saw my chance. This was how I could rid the world of that woman! So quickly I proclaimed my love for God and admitted to casting spells, and named a few women I have had previous disagreements with. Ill work my way up the ladder and then I shall dance on goody proctor's grave along with John of course.
If I see John I will confide in him, he deserves to know that soon his salvation will come and he will be free of her frigid hold.
With abundant hope,
Abigail Williams
May 29, 1697
Salem Village, New England
Dear Diary,
The village is consumed in the flames of jealousy, hypocrisy, and revenge. I am heralded as a saint and people flock to see the girls and I accuse the witches and touch my garments in hope that they will be spared the terrors that I have suffered.
John does not glance my way anymore and my heart turns to perilous sorrows and ice encases my soul. Where the sun should shine a brittle and cutting darkness sweeps over me. And it is all that vile woman's fault!
My plans to accuse that woman were almost foiled by that bumbling dunce Mary Warren. I mentioned the woman's name in court for the usual torment, but Mary had to save the good name of her mistress. That child is gracing on my last nerve, perhaps one day I might fall into a fit because of her for attacking me with a bird or perhaps a black cat, yes those always stir up the crowd. But I digress dear diary, I do not have to fear for I came up with a quick solution. I saw Mary slip a needle into a poppet she was making for that woman and later after lunch I ran to the meeting house with a needle in my stomach. She will not be able to escape my grasp this time.
With dark intent,
Abigail Williams
May 32, 1697
Salem Village, New England
Dear Diary,
Rebecca Nurse, George Jacobs, Goody Good, Martha Corey, numerous others, and that woman are awaiting either a hanging or a trail. Whether they live or not is in the girls and my hands.
Alas though it came with a price, I no longer have John within my grasp, and its all that dunce Mary Warren's fault. The child was brought before the magistrates with John saying that we were pretending and that every death was a murder based on the vengeance of jealous and greedy people.
I almost began to panic. How dare she? She dares accuse me? The judges actually looked as if they believed her, and just when I had them turned against her, by saying she signed the devils book, I was deeply wounded by the man my heart was sold for. John told the magistrates of our affair. I lost it! This would not happen! I have worked so hard and had the woman right where it wanted her, and they dare questioned me? Why, I could claim them a witch and have them put to death! I threatened that man Danforth and he called in that woman. She was questioned for my leaving her service and John's faithfulness. She answered untruthfully and now sits in jail.
Mary However was still afraid of her being accused of being a witch and pressured by a enraged John and Uncle she said that my John was the devil's man. John I fear, will never confess and accuse others just to save his own life, it is his nature and it will be the end of him. My heart trembles for his slowly diminishing life.
With a sorrowful heart,
Abigail Williams
April 8, 1697
A ship bound for friendly territory
Dear Diary,
John is dead, gone from the world to a place where I feel I will never see him again. For I doubt that even God can not forgive me for the horrors I have committed.
The village was in chaos when Betty and I left. Currently we are still on the run from our nightmares of crying orphans and cows that wander aimlessly without their owners. The people soon instead of treating us with respect and a healthy dose of fear now just treat us with fear and deep pity, as if we had the plague.
I have become dissatisfied with life and wake every morning with a sickening ache in my chest for those who my childish actions I have sent to the grave. I hope one day I will be forgiven, but I fear my chances of that are slight and I have lost may way. Mayhaps I might be that prodigal son so spoken of in Bible stories of the church. I doubt it, all I can do is pray and dream.
Humbled and Appalled,
Abigail Williams