Nothing Is Scary Anymore Except Real Life Part 5: Salem

Witch House...I Guess

 Ask any author what the best part about putting out a book with an independent publisher is and they’ll all say the same thing: begging bookstores and venues to allow you to read from your book. Nothing is quite as humbling as being ghosted by Twiddle Shit’s Book Barn in Nowhere, Iowa. Yet, I persevere.

With a new book out, my goal was to read in cities I had never read in before. I was able to book a quick 3-day tour to the East coast starting Providence, RI, then on to Boston, and ending in Manchester, NH. Once again Paris, Tokyo, and Barcelona would have to wait.

Originally, I was planning on taking trains between cities but after a summer of work-related travel, I was in no mood to sort all that out. Once I made the decision to rent a car, I mapped out all of my routes. I would fly into Boston and spend the first night in Providence followed by a couple of nights in Boston. All of my shows were booked for the evening so I’d have a lot of free time before heading off to a gig. Boston is a major city with great museums and I was planning on spending all my time there until I saw how close Salem was.

Y’all know Salem. Y’all know that a bunch of innocent people were killed for being witches. Y’all know that it’s supposed to be haunted as all get out. I could not tell you when I first learned about Salem. It’s one of those places that’s just ingrained into you at birth like Washington D.C. and the Bada Bing. Salem was only an hour from Boston and it was sorta on my way to Manchester so I decided to get spooky.

I entered Salem via State Highway 128. As soon as I exited, I was greeted by my first bit of evidence of Salem's tragic past. On a lonely traffic median is a marker for John Proctor’s Tomb. If you read “The Crucible” in high school, you know John Proctor. If you slept through High School English because you stayed up too late playing Mario Kart with your dipshit friends like I did, Proctor is the main character of the story based on a real dude who was executed as part of the Trials. Is it his actual tomb? Probably not. Folks executed during the Trials were unceremoniously buried in shallow graves near the gallows. The legend goes that his family surreptitiously dug him up and gave him a proper burial. He might be at the marker. He might also be under the local high school. I did not have time to dilly-dally with this uncertainty (also there was nowhere near to park) so I headed straight to Gallows Hill. 

Though I was assured that the crowds would not be crazy, I was still surprised to find the Gallows Hill site absolutely deserted. There is no parking lot, just street parking which was empty. The hill is a mass of rock and trees sandwiched between the backyards of neighbors who must not have learned any lessons from horror movies.

At the base of the hill is Proctor’s Ledge. For hundreds of years, people thought the execution site was at the top of the hill. It wasn’t until 2016 that the spot that occupies Proctor’s Ledge was proven to be where the hangings actually took place. Proctor’s Ledge is a small stone memorial in the shape of a half moon. The wall is lined with the names of all the victims of the Witch Trials in the order in which they were killed. In the center, a small tree grows from a patch of earth with the words, “We Remember” engraved in the surrounding stone. Taking away from the somberness of the memorial were the trash and recycle cans crammed inside the already tight space. I guess they’ll come in handy if you like picnicking at murder sites.

I don’t know what I was expecting, but I was expecting more. I had assumed that the site of the actual gallows would be the most important site associated with the events. I assumed I would have to navigate hordes of middle-aged goths sweating under their cloaks in the August sun. I was pleased, however, at the lack of commercialization. There was no Witches Brew Coffee House next to the site. There was no Salem Auto Repair offering broom tune ups. I found it refreshing. Afterall, this was a tragic event where real people were murdered by their neighbors who were too scared to step in and help. Who could possibly use something like that as an opportunity for a cash grab?

Turns out, lots of people.

With my show still hours away, I made my way towards downtown Salem. There were a couple of lesser sites associated with the Trials there and I needed to grab lunch before heading up to New Hampshire. Downtown Salem is a lovely New England neighborhood full of lovingly restored homes, tree-lined parks and typical businesses such as real estate offices, inns, and restaurants. As I drove around looking for a parking spot I noticed the other businesses. There’s the Salem Haunted Magic Show, the Witch Dungeon Museum, The Salem Witch Museum, Count Orlok’s Nightmare Gallery, and myriad shops with witch references in their names.

Why not?

This was where the people were. Droves of tourists in bedazzled witch hats sauntered through downtown sipping iced lattes from Black Craft Coffee (which is honestly, pretty good). They posed for pictures in front of the “Bewitched Statue”. But why would they have a statue related to a fictional character of a sitcom in the center of their historical downtown? Man, I don’t fucking know. I guess they filmed a couple of episodes here but Chicago doesn’t have a Steve Urkel statue and he actually deserves one.

Though the area was thick with witch-kitsch, there were spots that tied back to the Witch Trials. Kind of. The most famous of these is a wood paneled house with a sloping back wall. It is called “The Witch House” which is a bit of a misnomer and it is the only building in Salem with direct ties back to the Witch Trials. It was owned by Judge Jonathan Corwin, one of the chicken-shit dudes who sent 20 innocent people to die because he was afraid of 12 year-old girls.The house was preserved back in the 1940s and now serves as a museum on 17th-century living. So no, there were no witches or accused witches ever living here but there is plenty of old furniture, sooty fireplaces and looms galore!

Salem Witch Trials Memorial

From the Witch House, I made my way to the Salem Witch Trials Memorial. The Memorial is basically a larger version of the Proctor's Ledge Memorial. Under the shade of locust trees, you walk along a path surrounded by a stone wall. Emerging from the stone are 20 granite benches with the name of a victim, when they were killed, and how they were killed carved into them. It is a poignant memorial even when you can hear bad EDM music blasting from the open windows of a nearby bar. 

Next door to the Memorial is the Burying Point Graveyard which has a bunch of skinny headstones I thought only existed in Scooby Doo cartoons. There are no Witch Trial victims buried in the graveyard but you will find the grave of one of the Trial judges, the marked grave being a luxury not offered to the victims.The graveyard is small and for $2 you can purchase a map from a visibly hungover and sunburnt college student home for summer break.

With historical sites checked off, I couldn’t leave Salem without getting a little kitsch fix. There was the Real Pirates Museum that contains artifacts from a real pirate wreck. Unfortunately the cosplay pirate drumming up business out front reminded me too much of the gutterpunks who used to squat on Milwaukee Ave and call me a poser because I didn’t enjoy listening to Aus-Rotten or huffing paint. 

I then considered entering the Salem Witch Museum. It seemed more like a glorified Wax Museum. No shade to all my homies in the wax trade, but $19 and a 45 minute tour was too much for me because I was short on time and always too cheap. Later that evening I was regretting my decision until I read reviews remarking on the smell.

Count Orlock’s Nightmare Gallery seemed fun. For $15 you get to walk around and see dioramas with life-sized movie monsters. It’s supposed to be well-done, but I wanted something that was tangentially witch related. This was how I found myself in the Witch Board Museum.

Located in the back of the “Remember Salem” gift shop, the Witch Board Museum is a cozy, well-curated collection of Oujia boards and related paraphernalia. I almost balked at the $10 entry fee but I was feeling spicy. 

The museum is pretty much two rooms and it looks like it belongs in the basement of that kid in high school who wore out their VHS copy of “The Craft”. The floors are covered in Persian rugs and the walls are tiled with Ouija boards of all styles and sizes alongside framed posters for Ouija-themed movies. There are glass cases with antique planchettes and first edition Ouija books. A little side room is set up with velvet couches and serves as a seance room. 

I must say that it was a very enjoyable 6 minutes I spent there. Was it worth $10? Sure, if you’re by yourself but if you’re rolling deep with your loved ones, I’d save your money. The best part was that they had the best souvenir I’ve purchased in a long time; an official Witch Board Museum planchette. 

An afternoon in Salem was about as much as I could handle. How this place operates in the Fall, I have no idea. I could only imagine fighting through the clouds of clove cigarette smoke that would be created by such a massive crowd.

Though I would be leaving Salem proper, there were two more stops I had to make before I hauled ass to Manchester. 

When I realized I would be heading to Salem, I started to do some research. And by “research” I mean “listened to a podcast” and “checked Atlas Obscura”. What I found out was that Salem used to be much larger. Many surrounding towns were once incorporated into “Salem Village”. Danvers is one of those towns and it is ground zero for the Salem Witch Trials.

The first site I visited in Danvers was the Rebecca Nurse Homestead. Rebecca Nurse was murdered in the second wave of Witch Trial executions which saw 5 victims hung one after the other. Nurse was notable because she was someone held in high regard in the community. She was even found innocent but then the judge said, “You sure about that? (wink, wink)”. The jury reconvened, came back and said, “Ah snap, we screwed that up. Yeah, she a witch."

Setback a ways from the main road, the area around her home looks similar to how it looked in the 1600’s. Green fields and groves of trees envelop the structure, making it nearly invisible from the road. It’s damn near pastoral. The home is now a museum which I unfortunately could not enter because it was closed that day. But I wasn’t that interested in the home, I was interested in the graveyard. 

Like John Proctor, Rebecca Nurse’s family dug her up and brought her home. They don’t know exactly where she is buried but they are fairly certain she is in the plot. Also in the plot is the grave of George Jacobs, another Witch Trials victim who was killed a month after Nurse. This poor guy was also exhumed, brought home and then accidentally dug up accidentally when his farm was being developed. His bones spent a few years in a box before people said, “Welp, I guess we could bury these bits.” He is the only victim whose grave is known and marked.

Slightly demoralized by the lack of entry to the Nurse Homestead, I set my sights to where it all started: the Salem Village Parsonage.

Path to the Parsonage

The Salem Village Parsonage is an archeological site consisting of the foundation of Reverend Samuel Parris’ home. It was in that home that Parris’ daughter and niece Abigail heard stories about witchcraft from their enslaved servant, Tituba. Those stories mutated, they started making accusations and when all was said and done, 20 innocent folks were killed for being witches.

When I say that this site is easy to miss I mean that the entrance looks like a driveway leading up to the neighbor’s house. The only indication that you’re in the right spot is a sign about the size of a license popping up next to a low stone wall. It’s on a busy street so if I was not looking for it, I would have missed it for sure. Shit, I probably would’ve walked past it if I didn’t know better. I parked around the block in a very sub-rural neighborhood that believes in ample yard size and limited sidewalks. 

As I walked down a path that looked like an overgrown driveway, hedged in by a stone wall on the right and a split-rail fence to the left, I had the pleasure of navigating through a crowd of chickens roaming from the neighbor’s yard. This is also where I met Calliope, a dog who resented my presence and let me know how much I angered him by barking loudly and often. Luckily for me, Calliope was leashed up on the other side of the stone wall giving big “you’re lucky they’re holding me back” energy.

Whereas the Gallows Hill monument was next to neighbors’ yards, the Salem Village Parsonage is actually inside a bunch of backyards. Tucked away from the road and surrounded by trees, I found the site of Samuel Parris’ home. The house itself is long gone but the stone foundation remains (though I assume the stones are new). The site is small and well-maintained. An informational plaque tells visitors what went down and you can walk down into the site if you so choose. 

All the stories, all the movies, all the books, and true-crime podcasts were spawned from this site. And that’s the easiest way to think of what happened, as a story. When you think of the people as characters, it allows the reader to disconnect from the reality of what happened. 

Standing there alone, looking at the spot where it all started creeped me out. Not because I thought it was haunted, but because so many people prefer the story to reality. That’s why you have families swarming in novelty t-shirts like it’s a theme park. It’s why the wax museums and gift shops were packed and Gallows Hill was empty.

I can’t blame them. Who wants to think of obviously innocent people being murdered by their neighbors? Who wants to think of people in power playing to the lowest denominator just to save their own ass? 

The sun was beginning to dip and it was time for me to start making my way to Manchester. I wasn’t sure how I was feeling. On one hand, it was cool to visit a place I had heard so much about. On the other hand, I still feel like I don’t fully understand what happened.

I don’t think anyone could ever fully understand. It’s hard to understand why otherwise normal people do unspeakable harm, even when it's obvious they are wrong. It’s hard to understand the mental gymnastics one has to do to trick themselves into believing they are on the right side of history. 

I guess what I learned most from my visit was that, just as it’s important to remember the folks who were harmed, it’s important to continue to call out the assholes causing the harm. Though we might be at risk, keep calling them out and don’t let the bastards off the hook.I also learned that there is a conveninet store called "Bunghole Liquors".