Supernatural: One Year Gone by Rebecca Dessertine Page A

pigs and a vegetable garden. Thomas and Caleb knew her only by sight.
    Inside the house, the men decided that they had to tell Abigail’s mother what had happened, and the doctor’s servant girl was sent to fetch Widow Faulkner.
    The widow arrived some twenty minutes later, already upset. Abigail hadn’t returned home from a quilting circle she had attended at the Putnam household with a couple of other girls the previous evening. Her mother thought perhaps she had stayed the night with the girls and would return home today, but she had not.
    Nathaniel gently explained to her what had happened and showed the widow her daughter’s body. Straight away she began to wail and weep. Nathaniel spoke to her in calm tones, telling her that he should administer the Last Rites immediately. Eventually she seemed to understand and nodded, allowing the doctor and the other man to help her into another room.
    Nathaniel closed the door behind them then went to the window and opened it. His sons waited beneath.
    “Hand me my bag. I haven’t much time,” Nathaniel directed.
    They swiftly hoisted their father’s large leather bag in through the window, and Nathaniel got to work. First he examined the girl’s limbs looking for any strange bites or marks, besides the obvious cut through her throat. He found nothing. There was no smell of sulfur or scorching around the mouth, so no demons had been involved with her death.
    Next Nathaniel took some herbs from his bag. He sprinkled them over the girl’s body, lit a candle and chanted some Latin phrases. Nothing happened. Nathaniel looked at her palms and feet—nothing suspicious there either.
    Finally he checked the back of her neck, and gently probing with his fingertips he realized something very strange—her neck was completely limp.
    Nathaniel went briefly into the other room to speak to the widow, and thank the doctor and the man. He then took his leave.
    When their father emerged from the house, Caleb and Thomas jumped onto the cart. Nathaniel reigned the horses in silence, and the boys knew better than to speak to their father when he was deep in thought.
    Once they were near the edge of the village, Nathaniel spoke.
    “Her neck was completely broken,” he stated.
    “Broken?” Caleb asked.
    “Like a chicken’s. But there wasn’t any bruising. Usually, such as with a hanging, there would be bruising,” Nathaniel mused darkly.
    “How was it broken?” Thomas asked.
    Nathaniel shook his head.
    “There’s one obvious way to break a neck without touching someone.”
    “Black magic?” Caleb hazarded.
    “Exactly.” His father nodded.
    “Didn’t her mother say that she was at a quilting circle at the Putnam household?” Thomas offered.
    “Indeed,” Nathaniel said. “You boys go round to the Putnam house. Take some eggs. Say you want to trade with them. Find out when exactly Abigail Faulkner was there last. Also, look for any signs of witchery.”
    “Yes, sir, right away,” Thomas said. He grabbed his brother, climbing off the cart and pulling Caleb after him. They grabbed a basket of fresh eggs off the back of the cart. In their line of business it was wise to always carry something to trade.
    The boys waved goodbye to their father and trudged through deep snow back toward the village.
    The Putnam house was just off Old Meetinghouse Road. When they reached the residence, they climbed the steps to the imposing front door and knocked determinedly. The echoing sound of their knocking was followed by a piercing scream from inside the building, then the heavy tromp of boots could be heard approaching the front door. There was another scream, and then a man with a long nose and a small birdlike bridge to his face opened the door.
    It was Reverend Parris. His face was wracked with pain.
    “What is it, boys?” Reverend Parris asked.
    “We’ve come to trade some eggs and perhaps speak to Anne and Prudence? Is everything all right?” Thomas asked boldly, trying to peer