The New Neighbors
Word spread quickly through Oak Glen's grapevine: the house at 37 Quincy Street had been sold. Naturally, the people already living in the vicinity of the house were curious about the new owners. Were they young? Did they have school-age children? Were they an elderly retired couple? But of most importance to the people of the tight-knit residential community: were they the "right sort" of people?
So great was the curiosity about the newcomers that when the green and yellow Mayflower moving van appeared in the driveway of 37 Quincy Street telephones began ringing in nearby homes. Less than an hour after the furniture and shipping boxes were unloaded, the owner of 39 Quincy Street appeared on her new neighbors' doorstep with a homemade tuna noodle casserole in hand.
A rather exotic-looking young woman with long, straight, black hair and bright green eyes opened the door.
"Yes, may I help you?" she asked politely with only the slightest hint of a smile as she looked down at the covered CorningWare dish.
"Hi. My name is Hannah Bell," the caller announced cheerfully. "I live right next door. I just stopped by to welcome you to the neighborhood and bring you a casserole so that you won't have to cook or order take-out for dinner tonight."
"Thank you," the dark-haired woman replied. "That's awfully kind of you."
She took the casserole dish from Hannah but did not invite her inside.
"I guess you must be pretty busy now."
"Yes, I am. I have a lot of unpacking to do."
"If you need any help, I'll be right next door."
The woman thanked her again and then shut the door. Hannah went home, phoned her friends in the neighborhood and told each of them about her meeting with the new neighbor who had moved into number 37. Unfortunately, there was not much for her to tell. She did not know if the woman was married or not, whether she had any children or where or even if she was employed. In fact, she had not even gotten the woman's name.
"All I can tell you," Hannah concluded, "is that she's in her late twenties or early thirties and that she's white."
With that one bit of news, however, a collective sigh of relief went up from the good people of Oak Glen.
* * *
During their first week in residence, the new neighbors rarely ventured out of their house. That was understandable; unpacking, decorating, and making minor repairs and improvements took time. Once they had been settled in, they would surely reach out and become part of the community. Anticipating this change, one week later Hannah, accompanied by one of her closest friends who lived at 35 Quincy Street, again knocked on the new neighbors' door.
"Hi. Remember me? Hannah Bell from next door? I'd like you to meet Laverne Cullen who lives at number 35. May we come in?" she asked after a few moments of awkward silence.
"All right," the woman replied after a brief hesitation.
"I see you're still moving in," Hannah said, noting the scarcity of furniture.
"Actually, everything's done," the dark-haired woman replied.
Hannah and Laverne gawked at the oddly decorated parlor. There was a low table in the center of the room on which stood a bubbling water fountain surrounded by dozens of lit candles. There were no chairs or sofas, only giant pillows placed on the floor around the table. What the two women found even more unusual was the absence of a television.
"I'm sorry I forgot to get your name when we met last week," Hannah said, once she had surveyed the room.
"I'm Bethia Kittredge."
"Do you live here alone?"
"No. I have a husband and two children."
"Oh," Laverne said, "you'll be happy to know we have an excellent school here."
"I'm sure you do, but both of my children are home-schooled."
"Really?" Hannah asked with surprise, for no other mother in Oak Glen home-schooled her children. "Then I guess you won't be interested in joining the PTA."
Bethia shook her head.
"Maybe your children would like to join one of the fine youth groups here in Oak Glen," Hannah suggested. "We have several Boy Scout and Girl Scout troops, a youth soccer organization and, of course, the Little League."
"I don't think they would be interested," Bethia answered politely.
"What about you?" Laverne asked. "Our Oak Glen Ladies Group meets every other Wednesday afternoon at the Methodist Church. We hold an annual Christmas dinner, a barn dance, a rummage sale ...."
"I'm sorry," Bethia interrupted. "I'm not a Methodist."
"That's okay. We have Presbyterians, Lutherans and even a Catholic."
"I'm not a Christian," Bethia elucidated.
Laverne looked to Hannah, sending her a silent cry for help. Hannah took over the conversation, bringing it to a quick end, and the two women left the house.
Back in her own living room—which contained the requisite sofa, a loveseat, a La-Z-Boy recliner, two end tables, a coffee table and a fifty-inch Panasonic HD plasma TV with a Sony DVD player—Laverne Cullen drank coffee with Hannah Bell.
"A Jew," she said, shaking her head.
"It could be a lot worse, you know," Hannah pointed out.
There had never been a Jewish or African-American family in Oak Glen. Of course, there had been the two young women who lived alone in a tiny A-frame at 22 Quincy. However, once gossip spread that they were lesbians, the two moved out.
That was not the only time the white, heterosexual, Christian residents of Oak Glen joined together to chase away undesirable elements and keep their neighborhood pure. When a group of Korean investors proposed that an abandoned inn at the far end of town be turned into a religious retreat for Taoists, petitions were promptly signed and presented to the zoning board. The same was true when the owner of an old Victorian house wanted to establish a group home for the mentally challenged. On both occasions, Hannah Bell was instrumental in maintaining the status quo in the neighborhood.
* * *
The Kittredge family continued to keep to themselves, making no effort to befriend their neighbors. They even declined to attend the monthly Homeowners Association meetings.
"It's as though they think they're too good for us," Hannah complained.
"What do you expect?" her husband, Don, reasoned. "You know how clannish Jews are. They must feel like outcasts among all us gentiles."
"Good," Hannah replied. "Maybe they'll be so unhappy here that they'll pack up and leave."
"They may not be the most sociable people, but they don't bother anyone."
"That woman gives me the creeps. Every time I go out in the yard, I feel as if she's hiding behind the drapes watching me."
Don smiled. It was Hannah who often stood behind the curtains of the Bells' picture window, keeping a watchful eye on the other residents of Quincy Street.
It was while she was at this post peering out at Laverne's teenage daughter and her boyfriend, that Hannah saw a landscaping truck pull up in front of the house next door. Armed with chainsaws, the two workmen began cutting down trees in the heavily wooded area behind the Kittredge home. Periodically throughout the day, Hannah returned to the window to observe their progress.
"Our neighbors must be putting in a pool," Hannah told her husband that night at dinner. "The landscapers cut a large circular clearing in the backyard."
"They obviously have money," Don said.
"Don't all Jews?"
During the next several days, Hannah kept a watchful eye on the Kittredges' backyard. After the trees were leveled, the rocks were removed and the ground graded. But there was no sign of a pool. Instead, Bethia, her husband and two children began lining the circumference of the clearing with large stones. Hannah and Laverne swapped theories about what the family was up to, including such possibilities as a rock garden and a patio.
On the evening of April 30, the Kittredges held a party—one to which no one from Oak Glen was invited. Although Hannah could hear music coming from their house, it was not any style she could identify. It was clearly not rock 'n' rock, country, jazz or classical. It sounded like a sitar accompanied by a flute. Thankfully, it wasn't very loud, so it wouldn't keep anyone awake. The new neighbors were considerate if nothing else.
Just before midnight the Kittredges and their guests assembled in the backyard. They held hands and formed a circle within the rocks. Hannah heard a low hum, which she took to be singing, and opened her window, hoping to hear more clearly.
They're not singing, she concluded. It sounds like they're chanting.
Intrigued, she went to her family room, quietly opened the sliding glass doors and stepped outside. She tiptoed through the trees, hid behind a forsythia bush and spied on the group.
What she saw sent a ripple of fear down her spine. From her hiding spot in the bushes, she could clearly see that the people standing along the circumference of the circle were wearing long, hooded robes. Bethia, clad in an ankle-length white dress and wearing a crown of entwined flowers on her head, stood alone in the center of the circle. Her eyes were closed and she spoke as if in a trance.
"I, who am the beauty of the green earth, and the white moon among the stars, and the mystery of the waters, and the desire of the heart of man, call unto thy soul. Arise, and come unto me, for I am the soul of nature, who gives life to the universe. From me, all things proceed, and unto me, all things must return."
Bethia then held forth a sword that had been hidden from her neighbor's view by the folds of her ceremonial gown. As Hannah watched in horror, Bethia used the point of the sword to inscribe a large circle on the ground around her. Inside the circle, she drew a pentagram.
Hannah had seen enough. She quickly returned to the safety and normalcy of her own home, locking the door securely behind her.
Early the next morning she began phoning her neighbors. The following evening an emergency meeting of the Oak Glen Homeowners Association was held. Herb Springer, the president of the association, called the meeting to order.
"I'm sure all of you know by now why we're here tonight."
Most of the people in the audience nodded their heads.
"I'd like to start by thanking Mrs. Bell for alerting us to this problem," Herb announced, nodding toward the owner of 39 Quincy Street.
The applause that followed was cut short when a voice called out from the crowd, "What can we do about this cult of devil worshippers that has descended upon us?"
"That's what we're here to discuss," Herb assured his neighbors.
"I think we should call the police and file a complaint," another voice suggested.
"We can't do that," Andrea Eastman of 17 Quincy, who volunteered her services as the association's attorney, explained. "These people are exercising their constitutionally protected right to freedom of religion."
"You can't tell me that the United States government considers paganism a religion!"
"I'm afraid they do. Unless the new neighbors actually break the law, there's nothing our public officials can do."
"We stopped that Korean group from coming into town."
"That was because they needed a zoning variance to open a commercial establishment in a residential area, but the Kittredges are practicing their religion in the privacy of their own home."
"There must be some way to stop them."
"Legally there isn't. We can do no more to stop them from holding their pagan ceremonies than the people of Tannersburg could prevent the Ku Klux Klan from holding a rally in their town last spring."
If truth be told, the good people of Oak Glen would have preferred the Klan to Taoists, Blacks, gays, the mentally challenged and those who practiced pagan religions.
Mention of the KKK gave Hannah an idea.
"If Andrea is right—and I have no doubt she is—there isn't anything we can do legally. But ...."
Her voice trailed off.
"You're not suggesting we take the law into our own hands, are you?" Don asked.
"I'm not suggesting we do anything illegal if that's what you're worried about. However, I think if we all made a concentrated effort to make the Kittredges feel unwanted here, they might just move of their own accord."
Laverne pointed out the obvious problem.
"Those people have snubbed us since they moved into that house. If they want nothing to do with us, how can we make them feel unwanted?"
"We'll have to use our imagination," Hannah replied with a devious smile that soon spread to the faces of other members of the owners association.
* * *
In the weeks that followed that meeting, the Kittredges were plagued by petty vandalism. Eggs were thrown at their cars. Bethia's herb garden was trampled and her roses plucked. Since she believed these incidents were nothing more than mischievous pranks perpetrated by neighborhood kids, she did not report them to the police. When the Kittredges showed no sign of leaving, though, their neighbors took stronger action. A dead rat was left on their doorstep. The tires on their cars were slashed. Finally, when an inverted cross and pentagram were spray-painted on the side of her house, Bethia knew she was dealing not with the neighborhood kids but with their racially and religiously intolerant parents.
While doing the laundry one afternoon, Hannah heard the doorbell ring. When she answered it, she was stunned to find Bethia Kittredge on her doorstep.
Foregoing the hypocrisy of a false greeting, Bethia simply announced, "We need to talk."
Hannah looked uncertain. What if the woman tried to harm her?
"Don't worry, Hannah, I won't hurt you," Bethia promised, making an effort to control her temper. "Despite what you may think, Wiccans are gentle people. In fact, our rede is 'An it harm none, do what ye will."
"What?"
Hannah had no idea what either a Wiccan or a rede was.
"My family and I are Wiccans, although some of us prefer to be called witches. We practice Wicca, a nature-based religion that adheres to many of the beliefs of early pagan goddess-worshipping religions."
"Goddess. What goddess?"
"She has gone by many names: Gaia, Diana, Isis, Artemis. Some people even believe that the Virgin Mary is an incarnation of the goddess."
Hannah's face grew pale at hearing such blasphemy.
"I'll have none of your devil-worshipping heresy in my house."
"Wiccans don't believe in the devil. Satan is a Christian concept invented by the church in order to control their adherents through fear and intimidation."
Hannah's face grew paler still.
"Look," Bethia said with a sigh, "I didn't come here to argue theology with you."
"What do you want then?" Hannah asked, bravely trying to mask her growing fear.
"I'm here to discuss all these disturbances at my house."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Hannah lied unconvincingly.
"I'm referring to the feces smeared on my garage door, the poison pen letters, the broken windows, the slashed tires, the dead animals left on my doorstep. I suppose you and the rest of the narrow-minded bigots in this neighborhood think you're pretty clever."
"How dare you?" Hannah said, her fear giving way to indignation.
"This is my home now, and I don't intend to move. So I suggest you get on the phone and notify the other members of the Oak Glen Homeowners Association, the ladies' group, the PTA and any other organization to which you belong and warn your friends to stop harassing us—or else."
"Or else what? Are you and your broom-riding cronies going to cast a spell on us?"
Bethia smiled, but her tone was far from pleasant.
"That's exactly what we'll do!"
* * *
The residents of Oak Glen were not intimidated by Bethia's threat. After all, they were all good Christians. They believed in a male God, Jesus Christ, the Bible and the devil. They did not believe in witches. This was Oak Glen, not Salem, and the people who lived in this pleasant, modern Massachusetts town weren't a group of superstitious Puritans. But then, the people of seventeenth-century Salem knew how to deal with suspected witches and with those people they deemed dangerous or undesirable. Perhaps it was time to show the Kittredges a sample of good old-fashioned New England justice.
Hannah searched her attic for the large carton that contained her daughter's old toys. Inside she found a Patty Play Pal doll that had been handed down from mother to daughter since the early Sixties. Hannah looked at the vintage doll, which was still in good condition for its age, and had second thoughts. She knew these dolls were valuable to collectors and that she could probably make a few hundred dollars if she sold it on eBay. Eventually, however, she decided that if the doll served its purpose in ridding Oak Glen of the modern-day witches, it would be well worth the price.
When eight-year-old Bridget Kittredge opened the front door the following morning to let in her cat, she spied something hanging from a low branch of the tree at the edge of her property. It was a doll—one nearly as tall as she was—dressed in a child's Halloween costume of a witch. Pinned onto the high-pointed conical hat was the message "Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live." Little Bridget, named after Bridget Bishop, the first woman hanged for witchcraft in Salem, let out a scream that awakened her father, mother and brother.
Bethia loosened the noose around its neck and took the Patty Play Pal out of the tree. After tearing the venomous note from the hat, she gave the doll to her daughter.
"Here's a new friend for you to play with," she said. "Why don't you take her upstairs and go lie down. It's too early to get up."
After Bridget had fallen back to sleep, Bethia opened her kitchen closet and took out her book of shadows that contained the spells she had learned through the years, her athame (witch's magical knife), her chalice and her wand. She placed these items into her cauldron and carried them to the low table in her living room. Bethia carefully purified her wand with sea salt and used it to cast a magic circle. She then consecrated her circle with the four elements: earth, air, water and fire. Taking a seat on one of the large pillows, she opened her book of shadows and began casting her spell.
At precisely 8:00 a.m., terrorized screams and angry shouts could be heard coming from many of the houses along Quincy Street and in the immediate vicinity. Hannah, Laverne Cullen, Herb Springer and many other members of the Oak Glen Homeowners Association were suddenly struck blind. Once Hannah got over her initial panic and learned that her children were unharmed, she perceived the cause of her current strife to have been the witches who lived next door. She had her teenage son lead her by the hand out the door and across the lawn to the Kittredge house.
"Hello, Hannah," Bethia said when she answered the door.
"You did this, didn't you?" Hannah screamed.
"Yes."
"Why? You told me it was against your creed to harm anyone."
"It's a rede, not a creed."
"I don't care what you call it. You've cast a spell on me."
"I did cast a spell, but I in no way harmed you."
"I've been blinded! Don't you consider that harmed?"
"You and most of the others in this neighborhood have been blind for some time. You wanted me and my family to move out because we weren't like you. Why do you fear and loathe those who are different? We never tried to convert you to our beliefs and never intruded on your privacy. We sought only to be left alone, to be allowed to live in peace and worship as we choose."
"But we don't want you in our neighborhood. You're evil."
Bethia laughed.
"You little hypocrite! You show up here with a tuna noodle casserole one day and then you hang a witch in effigy from my tree on another. And you call me evil."
"You took away my sight, you bitch," Hannah screamed.
"It's witch with a W, not bitch with a B," Bethia said sarcastically; then her mood abruptly changed. "You can calm down now. Your infliction is only temporary. You'll be able to see again in another five minutes or so. Despite your many attempts to harass my family, I hold no grudge nor do I wish anyone harm. I ask again that you tell the others to leave us alone. I know many spells and am quite proficient at my craft. My adherence to the rede prohibits me from casting some of those spells, but should there be further attempts to vandalize my property or frighten my children, then someone's house just might burn to the ground."
Hannah, defeated by what she considered to be a throwback to the Dark Ages, angrily tugged on her son's arm.
"Take me home," she ordered him.
As she neared her own front door, she could already begin to distinguish shadows. Her sight was returning.
* * *
In the year that followed the Kittredges' arrival in Oak Glen, fourteen houses on and in the vicinity of Quincy Street were sold, all well below market value. Among those was the house at 39 Quincy Street that once belonged to Mr. and Mrs. Donald Bell. The Kittredge family remained at number 37, and once the other residents of Oak Glen began minding their own business, they were never bothered by the witches again.
My neighbors don't mind my being a witch. It's my familiar they object to!
