To Bait a Mouse

Everything started when I was six years old, in the summer of 1692. My parents and I had gone into town for shopping and visiting. It was getting windy and we were about to go home when the town bell rang. “Cristyn, wait right outside the church, all right? Your mother and I will be out in a few minutes.” my father told me. I didn’t want to wait in the wind, but I nodded and sat down by the church door. “Good girl.” They went in. I waited for about five minutes before it started to rain. It wouldn’t do any harm to sit right by the door, I figured. I pushed the door open very slowly and crept in. The church was filled with adults, all looking towards the front. Father McAllister was standing behind his pulpit. Standing front of him was eighteen year-old Christopher ‘Kit’ Bishop. He was being restrained by my father and the town butcher. Set up nearby was a makeshift gallows. I didn’t catch much of what Father McAllister was saying, but after a minute he silenced and pointed to the gallows. “No, please, I’m innocent, you have to believe me! Mother, can’t you…” The butcher, Mr. Lawton, cuffed him in the back of the head and he shut up. Mr. Lawton and my father took him onto the small platform and tied a rope around his neck. Just as Mr. Lawton tugged on the rope, Kit got his hands loose and grabbed at it. My father seized a rifle from someone in the front row and fired it just as Kit shouted, “Please!” When the smoke cleared, Kit was swinging at the end of the rope. Father McAllister bowed his head and murmured, “May God forgive him.” The audience followed suit. I backed out into the rain, trying to stop crying. “Cristyn?” my mother asked. “Cristyn, are you all right?” “I-I saw lightning.” I lied, pointing towards the forest. “Let’s go home, baby.” I buried my face in her skirts, trying to erase what I had just seen. My father came out and picked me up. “Did you trip, Pumpkin?” “She saw lightning.” my mother explained quietly. “Oh. We’re going home now, honey.” I wanted so badly to ask about Kit, but I didn’t. No one ever mentioned him again, and his mother left the following year. I had nightmares about that day for years, always waking up to the gunshot that had killed him. And I always woke up screaming.