Young Goodman Brown

Once in the school, my next step was to find out where they were holding the Festival without being caught. I gingerly opened the bath room door and peered out in both directions. It was empty...good thing. I snuck cautiously through the school. All the class rooms were all empty and no one seemed to be roaming the corridors. The whole place was as quiet as the grave, and it gave me the willies. I started thinking about all those ghost stories you hear in school: about the homicidal custodian with the scythe or the ghost in the lady's room--just silly stories to scare kids with, but thinking about them was sort of scaring me now. But when I got near the end of the west wing, where the gym was located, I started to hear muffled voices--soprano voices.

Of course! They were all in the gym, which was the only place in the school big enough to contain a large group of people; it was often used as an auditorium. The gym was situated on ground that was at a lower level than the rest of the school, so at the end of the west wing there's a short flight of stairs that leads down to the door. There's another door at opposite side of the gym that goes outside to the woods behind the school. There are windows all along the wall at the end of the west wing that allow you to see down into the gym, and we guys often spent our lunch hours there, watching the girls playing volleyball, or doing gymnastics or something until Mrs. Hawke would come along and chase us away.

Usually, we didn't care if the girls down there saw us gawking at them, and they didn't seem to care either. But today I didn't want to get noticed, so I sort of crouched down and duck walked over to a window, got on my knees and cautiously peered over the bottom edge. It was an uncomfortable position, but from my vantage point I could see everything that was going on down below.

The gym was filled with women, twenty or so, I guessed, and they were all dressed in the same peculiar outfits: a full-length, black robes and wide-brimmed, pointy hats...you know...kind of like...witches.

Witches? Come on. But there they were.

All along the walls, tables had been set up that were covered with all sorts of junk that the girls seemed to be greatly interested in: bells, books, candles, crystal balls and pickling jars full of smoky liquid that held...well...things. I don't know what they held. At one table, there was a girl making a horoscope for another girl, and, next to her, a girl was reading those fortune-telling cards. You know what I mean; the ones with the funny, old-fashioned pictures on them. There seemed to be a lot of fortune-telling going on: palm-reading, tea leaves, crystal balls; all that stuff.

So this was it? The YLF was just some dumb fortune-telling party where they cosplayed witches? And all this in a building named after a famous witch-killer? Ironic, huh? No wonder they wanted to keep it a secret. How would they explain it if this ever got out? (And don't think I wasn't pondering the potential leverage I would have if I chose to use it.)

A platform had been set up at one end of the gym and two girls were moving around on it. One of them was positioning a stepladder against the wall and the other was carrying something that looked like a rolled-up tapestry. It was big and hefty and nearly too much for her to carry. She handed it over to the other girl, who held it much more easily, and scurried up the ladder with it. She attached it to a hook on the wall and unrolled it down to the stage.

Suddenly, all the girls' eyes were on the tapestry as it unfurled and a hush came over the gym. On it was a picture of a tall woman in a sort of Greek-style dress. She had three heads. No—the head had three faces: one in the middle that was the face was that of a handsome mature woman with a benevolent smile; one on the right, in profile, was the face of a sexy young girl; and the one on the left was an angry old woman. The top of her head was adorned with a sort of spiky crown, like the one on the Statue of Liberty, and she carried a torch like Liberty's, only the handle was longer. In her other hand she carried a long knife, or maybe a short sword, and a snake wound around her arm up to the elbow, and at her feet were two large dogs—hounds.

It was the damndest this I'd ever seen. I felt a chill run down my spine but didn't know why. I felt like I was in the presence of something profoundly mysterious, which made me feel silly, because I'm not the kind of guy who has much to do with deep things. Still, I had this weird feeling of déjà vu; like I'd this thing before—like in a book somewhere, or maybe an old, old memory.

The girls in the gym cheered when the picture was fully unfurled. The two on the stage took the ladder away and returned moments later with three three-legged stools which they placed in front of the picture. Then three other figures in hooded robes that hid their faces walked onto the stage and sat down on the stools. The two girls bowed to them respectfully and left.

An aura of expectation settled down over the gym when the person on the middle stool rose up, walked forward and threw back her hood. It was Miz Morgan! But her white hair was loose, freed from that ever-present tight bun, and it sort of stuck out all over the place like wires and made her look more like a wicked old witch than ever.

She smiled and looked out over the crowd of girls below her.

"Daughters of Hecate. Daughters of Hecate. Welcome." she shouted with her arms above her head. All the girls cheered.

Her voice was a little muffled by the window glass and all, but the gym has a high ceiling and pretty good acoustics, so I was able to make out her words when I listened very carefully enough.

"This..." she said, "...is always a special day—this so called Young Ladies Fair." The crowd of girls below laughed in unison. "We gather here on this day—this sacred day--in the house of our great enemy, Cotton Mather, to honor Mother Hecate, the Great Goddess of the Night and Patroness of witches!" Ecstatic cheering broke out among the crowd.

Morgan paused, and turning around, bowed to the picture behind her, and the girls all followed her example. The atmosphere in the gym suddenly seemed to change from light-hearted and festive to all serious and religiousy.

Morgan turned around and addressed the crowd below once more. "As I look out upon your young and eager faces," she said, "I am filled with great pride and confidence in the future of our Craft. May this day provide us all with great and wonderful opportunities to learn new spells and make new friends. Enjoy yourselves to the utmost. However, I solemnly abjure and bind you with words and dire spells never to speak of this to outsiders. There have already been enough rumors in the past, but let's have no more of them. Let what goes on here, stay here!"

Some of the women in the audience laughed nervously, but Morgan frowned, and continued. "Seriously... our Craft has had so many troubles over the long centuries. The Witch Trials may be over for now, but you never know when another Cotton Mather may arise to bedevil us again. So we must never let out guard down. Mum's the word. Say it. Mum's the word!"

"Mum's the word!" they shouted as one.

"Good," Morgan said, pleased. She raised her arms again and shouted. "Praise be the Goddess! Blessed be this day."

The girls went wild, repeating her exhortation.

This was retarded. I couldn't wait to tell the guys.

Morgan put her arms down at her sides with an air of finality and said, "Now let's hear from this year's Queen of Darkness, Tabitha Wycliffe."

Tabitha?

She gestured to the person sitting on the right-hand stool, who came forward, pulling back her hood. It was Tabitha, alright, and she was greeted by polite applause. (Boy, was I ever going to blackmail her over this!)

Miz Morgan went back to her seat as Tabitha came forward, leaned over and whispered something to the person on the left, who was still hooded.

"Greetings, Sisters," Tabitha said when she'd reached the front of the stage. "I know you don't want to hear any long, boring speeches from me..." Someone in the crowd shouted, "You got that right," and was followed by a wave of giggles. Tabitha nodded and went on, "So I will just say in passing that our coven has had a really good year, with lots of mischief-making and malice-spreading. The number of cursings and sickenings performed this year by all of you has been truly outstanding. Thank you for all your hard work. In addition, I would like to offer a special commendation to the 4-H coven, which has been particularly active this year: drying up cows, setting fire to fields and poisoning wells. We love you, 4-H coven! Abigail, come on up here."

There was a bustling in the crowd and Abigail, Gershom's girlfriend, mounted the stage. Her great figure was hidden under her robe, but her glorious blond hair spread out under her witch's hat like a little cape across her shoulders.

"Thank you. Thank you all," she said, smiling and bowed to the crowd. "This is so unexpected. I really don't have anything to say, except that all of us in the 4-H coven...raise your hands, girls...," and about a dozen hands in the crowd shot up, "...will continue to do our best in the coming year to stifle agricultural activity in Ayer County."

Tabitha hugged Abigail and kissed her on the mouth. Abigail kissed Tabitha back, and their lips lingered on each other's for what seemed to me an inordinate amount of time. I didn't realize they were such good friends. When they broke apart, Tabitha said, "In light of your club's many achievements, we're awarding the 4-H coven with the custody of the Black Man this year." And with that, she pulled a huge black rubber dildo from under her robe and handed it to Abigail, who kissed it and rubbed it against her cheek.

I think my eyes bugged out. This was so weird.

"Thank you. Thank you so much," Abigail said, waving the dildo over her head as she left the stage. Tabitha smiled as she watched her go, and I wondered what the hell Abigail was going to do with that thing.

"Now back to other business," Tabitha said with a chuckle. "By now, you should all have received your detailed program books. So...instead of telling you, point by point, about the exciting day we have ahead of us, I'll just hit the highlights: This morning is free time. Mingle. Get to know one another better, and be sure to patronize our dealers, who have many wonderful things on offer for all your bewitching needs. Also, coffee and donuts—or juice, if you prefer, will be arriving soon. Around noon, we'll break for lunch, and in the afternoon be sure to attend one or several of the many fine presentations and workshops listed in the program book. I highly recommend the one on love curses at 1:30 and the presentation on removal spells at 3:00. If you attend that one, be sure to bring a list of unpleasant teachers or love rivals you want to get rid of with you. In the evening, we'll be dining with the girls from Hester Prynne Academy..."

"Yea! Scarlet A!" someone in the crowd shouted, and I saw a pointed hat bouncing up and down in the middle of the crowd.

"Yea! Scarlet A!" Tabitha repeated. "There's one now, ha ha...What?" she said, responding to a question from someone in the crowd I couldn't hear. "No, we won't be having unbaptized baby this year. I mean...honestly...you can have that any time you want nowadays. But Mrs. Lector, our fine cook, has promised us something really special for dinner."

I couldn't believe my ears. Mrs. Lector was the head of the cafeteria. Was she involved in this funny business too? It made me wonder what kind of mystery meat I'd been having for lunch all these years.

"But the real fun," Tabitha continued, "begins in the woods at midnight, so be sure to save a little energy for that. No, save a lot of energy for it!" She winked and a really tremendous cheer arose from the crowd this time.

While Tabitha was speaking, someone walked onto the stage and whispered something into Miz Morgan's ear. She nodded and said something in reply. Then the newcomer bowed and walked off the stage.

By this point, I figured I'd seen enough and didn't want to push my luck and further. I'd be in really deep cow flop if they caught me now; especially since I finally knew the great secret of the YLF.

I left and started making my way back to the men's bathroom, but when I turned a corner, I ran smack dab into Mrs. Hawke, the gym teacher. I mean I literally smacked into her, and the impact knocked me to the floor. She's a hard woman, and there I was, lying on my back, staring up at her. She was accompanied by one of her husky girl wrestlers. They grabbed me by my arms and roughly pulled me to my feet.

"Ow, ow! That hurts." I said.

"What are you doing here, boy?" Mrs. Hawke said fiercely. "You know you're not supposed to be here today, don't you?"

She shook me hard--and I sort of flapped my lips, trying to think up some bullshit excuse to give to her.

"Answer me, you worm!"

"It's a mistake," I finally managed. "I...I forgot what day it was."

"You forgot what day it was. Liar! You thought you'd to spy on us, isn't that right?"

"Sorry. I didn't mean any harm. Let me go?"

"You're not going anywhere, worm. Except with us," she replied. They dragged me down the hall to Miz Morgan's office and shoved me inside.

"Stay here," Mrs. Hawke said. "Someone will attend to you shortly. Charity, you stay here and make sure he doesn't get away."

"Donuts?" her burly assistant bleated.

"Oh, don't worry, Sweetie," Mrs. Hawke said, smiling and patting the young bruiser on the head. "I'll make sure they save you some. You like the ones with the crème filling, don't you?" Then she aimed a malicious glance my way and left the office, leaving me alone with the unhappy Charity, who glared at me sullenly and cracked her knuckles repeatedly. I felt there was no point in trying to engage her in conversation, but I could sympathize with her in a way. My blood sugar was dropping, and I wouldn't have minded a donut myself.

I'd never been inside Miz Morgan's office before. It was a kind of a sancta sanctorum where students were seldom allowed, but it was pretty much what you'd expect a school administrator's office to look like: a desk, some chairs, filing cabinets, etc--and a bookshelf along the back wall. But in one corner of the room there was a large iron pot with a propane heater underneath it. I couldn't for the hell of me figure out that was for, unless Miz Morgan liked to cook lobsters in her office. Next to it, there was a grey, metal shelving unit containing a lot of different things; a rag doll being used as a pin cushion, a statue of the lady on the tapestry, a bunch of red and black candles and a neat row of ceramic pots. Most of them were unmarked, but some were labeled eye of newt, graveyard dirt, tanna leaves, and hanged man's ashes. Hanged man's ashes? Where would you find something like that in this day and age? Were these more props for this witchcraft business?

When I was done looking around, I tried to find a place to sit and make up some bullshit excuse for snooping around and practicing looking contrite at the same time. But the chairs, as well as the desk, were piled high with stuff: old books, folders, ring binders and things that looked like parchment scrolls. All in all, Miz Morgan's kept a pretty a messy office.

I drifted over to the bookshelf to find something to read while I was waiting and to distance myself from the resentful Charity. Most of the books there were the dry, how to-run-a-school type stuff I guess you'd expect to see in any school administrator's collection, but there were also a whole mess of books on witchcraft as well. They must be how Miz Morgan got hooked on this witchcraft business in the first place and dragged all the female students along into her obsession.

I heard the door behind me open with a loud slam. I jumped and turned nervously to see Miz Morgan striding into the room accompanied by another girl student. Charity made to leave, but Morgan said: "Stay here! I'll need you later."

Charity stared daggers at me.

Then Morgan put her hands on her hips and addressed me.

"Goodman Brown...you... of all people. What are you doing here, when you know it is forbidden?"

"It's a mistake," I replied and ratted on the guys at the Rexall. "They put me up to it."

"Hmmm," she replied, stroking her pointed chin. "Well...something will have to be done about that, I suppose."

She walked over to her desk and sat down. On the way, her robe parted briefly, offering me an unsavory glimpse of her boney and pock-marked legs.

"Sit down!" she commanded.

I looked around helplessly and shrugged. All the chairs were piled up with stuff.

"Just pick one and clear everything off it," she said impatiently.

I found a chair near the desk, put the stuff piled on top of the seat on the floor and sat down.

"Again...why are you here, young man? She asked. "You knew it was forbidden...and don't try to blame your friends again. Do you have any idea of what happens to young men who try to penetrate Women's Mysteries?"

No...I didn't have the slightest idea. I didn't even know what Women's Mysteries were; was it a course?

"Uh...detention?" I replied.

"Ha!" she cackled. She seemed to find that genuinely amusing. She stood up, placed her hands flat on the desktop and fixed me with an evil eye. "Let me tell you a story...and a rather amusing one at that. Once upon a time there was a young man who, not unlike you, was too nosy for his own good. He was a hunter, and one day when he was out in the woods with his dogs, he came across a Goddess at her toilette. He should have fled, but he was so entranced by her beauty that he just stood and stared. When the Goddess discovered she was being spied on, she became so wroth that she turned this young man into a stag, right on that spot, and he was chased and ripped to pieces by his own dogs."

She leaned over and, taking my chin in one of her claw-like hands, turned my head up, so that I had to look directly into her yellow, snake-like eyes. "A sad, but appropriate, fate, no? Now, young man, tell me everything that you saw and overheard," she said.

"You mean all that witchcraft stuff?" I said.

"Hmmm...and what do you know about witchcraft, Goodman?" she replied.

"Uh...witches fly on broomsticks and worship the Devil?" I said.

Wrong!" she shouted. "Wrong, wrong, wrong! Your mother should have taught you better. That's a vile lie perpetrated by men. Men like that vile fiend, Cotton Mather." The virulence in her voice made me wonder if she'd known him personally. She was probably old enough. "Witches have never worshipped any male figure," she said. "That business about worshipping the Devil was created by men--Church men in particular--who could not conceive of any group of women could not rule themselves. There always had to be a man at the bottom of it...even if a devil. But, no, we never worshipped their Devil or their God or any other male deity...only the ancient Goddess. Known by many names, but sometimes as Hecate, the Queen of Darkness. She is quite devilish enough for us, heh heh."

"But aren't there male witches, too? Warlocks...or whatever?" I asked.

She shook her head.

"Another lie...a most irksome one, promoted by those annoying wannabes who call themselves Wiccans. They're not true witches, just clueless hippies. Ever since prehistory, women, and women only, have been the true practitioners of magic. Men have no magic in them at all, no matter if they put on robes, wave their wands around and call themselves wizards. True magic comes from women and women only. Men sometimes have their uses in a coven, but they're not magical beings