The Werewolf of Salem, Part the Third (Patreon)

Two days passed, with Robert hiding in the woods like a wild animal. His instincts led him to Giles Corey’s cave, where he assumed the old man had spent the past four years. The moon had waned, and he did not feel the same rush of power as he did with every night, and his bestial form was diminished. Still, while he was human, it gave him time to think. To repent. Even sleep; the same, gnawing hunger did not overrule his instincts, and although the stone floor of the cave was no feather bed, it was perhaps what he deserved. He had acted as a monster in his killing of Reverend Parris, however justified, and now God was punishing him while a true witch had free reign in Salem.

He stared at the fire he had built, and bowed his head. “I’m sorry, father. I wanted to clear your name, but… now I’ve sinned. How do I wash the blood away? Giles Corey ran and hid, hunting in the woods for revenge. Is that my fate?”

There was no answer, and Robert turned away from the fire with a bitter look on his face. The sun set, yielding to the pale moon, and he felt the transformation take hold of him. The red-furred werewolf was not as large or as strong as he had been, but the other beasts of the forest still kept their distance. He was alone in the dark. Perhaps it was better, this way.

Curling up as best he could, Robert yearned for sleep, but as he was about to drift off, there was a thump next to him. He opened his eyes, and spotted a book at his side.

“The Benandanti Account?” He then looked up, leaping into a defensive stance. He growled, with fur standing on end. He smelled a witch.

“Calm yourself, Burroughs.” There was a flash of light, and the fire rekindled itself, revealing Tituba standing before him, her face half-covered by a hood. “I don’t mean you no harm.”

“Tituba? You really are a…?”

“Witches don’t all serve your Old Scratch, boy,” she said. “Abigail Williams was a stupid teenage girl dabbling in things she don’t understand when she first came to me. When I wouldn’t tell her more, she tried to reveal my secret, and now she’s even more of a terror.”

Robert turned away from her. “Then why don’t you face her down? I’m a monster. The Red Beast. I can’t trust my own strength.”

Tituba rolled her eyes, tugging on the werewolf’s ears to drag his face back to her. “I haven’t practiced her type of magic in years. My connection to my spells is weak. Besides a few parlor tricks, I’m just a harmless woman. Besides, Burroughs, you know better than that. You’re Benandanti, ain’t you? You saw for yourself.” She gestured to the book. “You’re no more a monster than I’m a servant of Satan.”

“What do you expect me to do? I could barely hold my own against her when I was at full strength. Now the moon has waned, and…” he held up his arms, his once mighty muscles greatly diminished in the dim light of the moon. 

Tituba knelt down, tapping the book with her finger. “Benandanti are ancient, boy. They know of more ways to tap into their power than a full moon. All you need is the cover of night. You killed my master, and I’m not waiting around to be sold off at old Mr. Parris’ estate auction. You nor any other Englishman will ever lay eyes on me again, but because you paved the way to my freedom, I’m giving you my boon.” She rummaged amongst her cloak, and produced a piece of paper. It was a calendar of sorts, with a diagram of the moon scribbled on it. “I can’t protect you from her magic, but I can give you knowledge. There’ll be an eclipse tomorrow, casting all the world in night. And if you want to feel that power again? Harness all your strength? Then when the moon itself eclipses the sun, you will have the power to fight your way to Hell itself. And there’s one other reason you’ll be wanting to take your fight to Williams tomorrow.”

Robert frowned deeply as he looked up at Tituba. “What would that be?”

The former slave furrowed her brow. “There’s going to be a hanging, tomorrow. And it’s from the same person I got this book from.”

A pit hit Robert’s stomach. “Temperance!”

The following day, the people of Salem gathered on the public green at high noon. A scaffold and noose had been constructed, and the accused witch was being dragged by the town watch. Minister Philas stood on the scaffold, with Goodie Strigg behind him.

“Temperance Gooding! You have been accused and found guilty of the crime of witchcraft!”

“No!” Thomas Gooding shouted, the red-faced fisherman held back by the crowd. “That’s my girl! My Temperance is no witch!”

“Silence, in the name of God!” Minister Philas thundered. “Temperance Gooding has been found guilty of consorting with demons, practicing dark arts, and the murder of Minister Samuel Parris. For these crimes, she shall be hung by the neck until dead!” Minister Philas turned to the brown-haired woman before him as the noose was tightened around her neck.

“May God have mercy on your soul,” Philas sneered. 

Temperance glared at him and Goodie Strigg, spitting at their feet. “I know where my soul stands. And I know where yours do as well, monsters.”

“Insolence!” Philas snarled.

“Wait! The witch still walks among us!” Robert shouted, running into the crowd. Pushing his way through, the broad-shouldered man leapt on the scaffold, standing between Philas and Temperance, staring down the visage of his father. “Goodie Strigg is Abigail Williams!”

There was a stunned silence amongst the crowd, broken by Goodie Strigg laughing. “Truly? People of Salem, Robert Burroughs has had his mind addled by the witch. What else could we expect, from the son of a witch and degenerate priest?”

Robert glared at Goodie and stood tall. “Our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.”

“What do you think you’re doing?” Goodie demanded.

“Witches can’t bear the Lord’s word. If Temperance is a witch, then hearing it will be torture,” Robert turned to the Minister. “Isn’t that right, Reverend?”

Philas glared at him, but then Temperance continued the prayer. “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is heaven.”

“Stop!” Goodie spat, her eye twitching. “This is not a trial! The condemned has already been found guilty!”

Robert looked out to the crowd, meeting eyes with Thomas. The Fisherman joined his daughter in the prayer. “Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive our trespasses, as we forgive those that trespass against us.” The prayer began to pick up, spreading through the crowd as Temperance led them. “Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil, for thine is the kingdom—”

“Silence!” Goodie shrieked.

“And the glory, forever and ever.”

The raven-haired woman began convulsing, tearing at her hair. “Stop this!”

“Amen.” Robert levelled a glare at her. “You can’t bear to hear it, Williams. Because you are a witch.”

“Me?” She turned out to the crowd. “You think I’m the monster in your midst? How wrong you are! Behold!” Abigail held out her hand, and a rush of magic enthralled Robert, driving the young man to his knees. “The Red Beast!”

Under the noonday sun, Robert’s transformation was painful. His limbs and body grew haphazardly, trapping him in a halfway state between human and beast. He groaned in agony as his fangs grew out of a malformed muzzle too small for them, and his red fur only showed in patches. But still, just as before, the hunger filled him. 

“Eat her,” Abigail’s voice hissed in Robert’s mind, as his head jerked towards Temperance. His hunger was gnawing at his stomach, and Abigail’s spell had him enthralled as he lurched towards Temperance.

“Robert,” Temperance shook her head as the werewolf drew closer. “Please, don’t do this. You’re a good man, I know it!”

“Forgive me,” Robert muttered through his misshapen mouth, and he lunged for her, his fangs raking her arm. He did not go further, fighting every ounce of his bestial instincts, and for a moment, their eyes met for a moment of understanding. But the people in the crowd had recovered from their shock, and the blast of a musket tore through Robert’s back, making him howl in pain as half a dozen men rose up to drag him to the ground, grabbing rope to bind him.

“Hanging is too gentle a death for this monster!” Abigail declared. 

Minister Philas nodded. “Stone him! Like the Israelites of old, crush the unworthy with the wrath of God!”

Abigail locked eyes with Robert, and her voice invaded his thoughts. “What did you think that pitiful display would do? Do you think a mere prayer would save you? What has it brought you?”

Robert glanced up at the sun; already, the day was beginning to darken. “The time I needed.”

As a dark shadow passed over Salem Town, the crowd looked to the sky. Some fell to their knees in prayer, others could only stare as the light of the sun was snatched away, shrouding them in darkness. “God has forsaken us!” “The Devil walks in Salem!” “Kill the beast!”

But if the people of Salem had wanted to kill Robert Burroughs, they had missed their chance. Under the shadow of the eclipse, the werewolf threw off his captors with a burst of strength and roared, scaring the crowd away.

“Hang her! I want her dead!” Abigail snapped, pushing Philas towards the noose, who quickly kicked Temperance off the platform. She swung out, and her father screamed in terror. The rope snapped from her weight, but the creature that hit the ground, the noose snapping off her thick neck, was not Thomas’ little girl. 

Robert’s bite had done its work. Her waifish form had been replaced by something much more bestial. Cast in shaggy, brown fur the newly transformed werewolf stood, shaking from the sudden shift. Temperance's clawed hands clenched, causing her arms to ripple under her pelt, muscle that had only just recently grown swelling out. Claws clacked on the ground as her stance widened to accommodate her thicker thighs, back arching and spreading as she breathed heavily. The world was suddenly very overwhelming, sights, sounds, smells all amplified and assaulting her. 

But she was free. And, understanding Robert’s hunger in an instant, she launched herself at Abigail, knocking the witch to the ground.

“Temperance!” Robert shouted, throwing the crowd off of him. He leapt up on the platform, nearly splintering the wood under his weight. He towered over everyone, the power of the eclipse rushing through him. He had never felt stronger, and never been bigger. His blood-red pelt was stretched across a back as wide as a barn door, a geographical mass of bulging muscle. His arms surged, biceps like swollen pumpkins mashing against a mighty chest hard as stone. His tree-trunk sized legs rolled off each other as he stalked towards Minister Philas, casting the Reverend entirely in his shadow. His glowing eyes stared at the face of his father, and he hesitated.

“Is it really you?” he growled. Minister Philas stared at him blankly, then turned to Abigail pleadingly. The witch screamed, still struggling with Temperance.

Robert bared his fangs, closing his eyes. “Forgive me, father.” He raised his arm, massive muscles tensed, as he swung his claws, slashing Philas’ face. The Minister let out a strangled, hollow gasp, and when the werewolf opened his eyes, there was no blood. The distorted face of his father stared at him, with sand seeping out of the tears in his skin.

“A golem,” Robert spat, as Philas collapsed at his feet.

The townsfolk surrounding the scaffold had slowly backed away, some clutching bibles and charms to ward against evil, others their guns, but they didn’t know who to strike. Upon seeing Philas disintegrate into sand, some screamed, “Witchcraft!”

With a shriek, Abigail summoned a burst of magic, throwing Temperance off of her. “Yes! Yes! You finally recognize true witchcraft when you see it, Salem!” the raven-haired woman cackled, shooting a ring of fire around herself to keep the werewolves at bay. “I am Abigail Williams, and I am the witch that has haunted this miserable cesspit for years. You blind fools hung nineteen innocents, not a single one of them was a witch. Blinded by your arrogance, your piety, and your fear of the dark things in the woods, you would’ve hung your own mother had I told you.” She sneered, spitting on the ground. With a wave of her hand, a wave of magic rushed through the crowd, forcing the townsfolk unto their knees. “And in doing so, you did exactly what my master wanted you to do. Even as you glared down your nose at anyone under suspicion, filled with righteous zeal, you did the work of the Lord of Hell. Nineteen sacrifices for my master, and all I needed was one more!”

Abigail struck the scaffold with lightning, making Robert and Temperance hit the ground hard. “And this time, I will not be deterred! Salem belongs to the Devil!” The pile of sand that used to be Philas shifted, swirling around until it formed into the shape of a hulking monstrosity, a shambling creature of sand and mud the size of a house. It let out a roar that shook the ground, swinging a fist the size of a boulder that smashed the remains of the scaffold. Temperance managed to dodge the golem as it took another swing, but Robert was hit hard, being thrown into the air as he hurtled towards a house, splintering the timbers of the wall.

The golem let out another roar as Temperance rushed to Robert, tossing off timbers and pulling on the hulking werewolf. “Robert! Are you alright?”

The red beast growled, steadying himself as he stood back on his feet. “Get Abigail. I’ll take down the golem.” Robert looked towards the monster terrorizing the townsfolk. He palmed his fist, biceps digging against his pecs as he took a deep breath, every part of his immense body rippling as he summoned up all his strength. Charging the golem, he wound back his fist, his tremendous muscles tensed as he punched a hole through the monster.

Temperance struck Abigail, raking her claws across the witch’s face. Williams shrieked, clutching her bloodied head. “You wretched mongrel!” The witch lashed out at the werewolf, Temperance’s arm swelling as she pulled her off her feet. Distracted, she couldn’t control the golem, leaving the monster directionless and mindless, lashing out at Robert blindly.

He sidestepped a clumsy lunge from the golem, then the werewolf tackled, his clawed hands digging into the monster’s stony skin. Roaring in defiance, Robert threw all his effort into lifting the beast over his head. His arms tensed, swollen biceps jostling his mountainous shoulder swallowing up his bull-neck. His surging flanks spread wide and his cliff-like pecs puffed up, his muzzle pressed against the cleft of his chest as he shouted. “Temperance! Move!”

The female werewolf gave one last snarl at Abigail before throwing her down to the ground. The witch only had a moment to look up as Robert hurled the golem towards her. The mass of sand and stone collided into her with a deafening crash, and when the dust settled, Abigail Williams was no more.

As the people of Salem stood, freed from the witch’s curse, the moon passed out of the rays of the sun, illuminating the two werewolves. Touched by the light of day, they began to shrink and shed their bestial features, until the two returned to their human forms. The crowd could only stare, but Thomas Gooding ran to his daughter, draping a cloak over her and hugging her close. The old fisherman turned to Robert, grasping his hand. “Thank you, Burroughs.”

The next few hours were some of the most sobering hours Salem had experienced in the past few years, as people didn’t really know what to say to each other, least of all to Robert and Temperance. As the sun began to set, Robert had bridled Felicity, with Temperance’s arms wrapped around his middle, standing on the road out of Salem.

“Are ya sure ya can’t stay, Robbie?” Thomas asked. 

Robert grinned sadly, shaking his head. “Honestly, I should have left Salem years ago.”

“Temperance?” the fisherman asked pleadingly.

She shook her head, nestling her chin on Robert’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, father. But I don’t think we’ll ever be comfortable here again.” She nodded towards the town elders, clustered in a small group at the edge of town, watching the two werewolves warily.

“Since you were kind enough to buy the deed to my house, we’ve got enough money to get us to New York,” Robert said. “When we get settled, we’ll send a letter. I’d like to invite you to our wedding, Father Gooding.” He exchanged glances with Temperance, wrapping his hand around hers tightly.

“Right. Well,” Thomas nodded, pulling his cloak around him tightly. “Godspeed, Mr. and Mrs. Burroughs.”

Robert dug his spurs into Felicity, and the horse began at a trot, putting Salem behind them. Temperance rested her chin on his shoulder. “Are you so certain about leaving this late? What will we do when nightfall comes?”

Robert flashed a smile at her, showing a sharp fang, and tensed the arm she was grasping, letting the muscle swell. “Whatever’s out there, they’re going to end up scared of us.”