Ghost Upon the Floor

      We came next to the Old Salem Burying Ground. The land in the middle of the city isn't big, and it isn't small. Following along the street, I first thought we might not be walking in the right direction for the cemetery. Past houses and buildings and storefronts it lies, simply there. The cemetery, and the souls, that have laid there for so many years.


      We walked into the cemetery when it was empty. The stores and shops and attractions had been full as we passed them, and it seemed somehow odd, a kind of wrong that those who lived this history that put Salem on the map lay silent, univisited. My ignorance on exactly who is interred in the Old Salem Burying Ground quickly faded when my friend remarked that the victims of the trials were not here, but the judges were. Why weren't the victims here, I asked? Because they were convicted witches, and could not be buried in afforded a Christian burial in hollowed ground, I found.

      None of the famous victims-- Rebecca Nurse, Giles Corey, Mary Eastey, John Proctor-- are buried in the Old Salem Burying ground. Most of their final resting places remain unknown, with the notable exception of Rebecca Nurse, who had family who removed her body from the shallow grave where she was buried with other victims near the gallows, and brought her back to the family homestead to be properly buried. The Rebecca Nurse Homestead, in present day Danvers, MA, allows you to visit the historical Nurse family homestead, and pay your respects at Rebecca's grave. We did not make it over to the Homestead this trip, which I regret. Perhaps on a future return trip.



     While none of the victims are within the old burying ground, there is an honest and moving memorial to the victims on the outer edge of the cemetery. Stone benches with each victim's name are placed around a rectangular area with an open entryway resembling an unbarred prison, adorned with quotes inscribed on the ground from the victims' proclaiming their innocence. Without graves, walking from stone to stone, from John  Proctor to Sarah Good, I was left with the feeling that I had visited them, and laid my respects.

     Laying just outside the memorial is Judge John Hawthorne, who is buried in the ground of the Old Burying Point. His gravestone, old and from another time, has been preserved in the way many others in the cemetery have been, and reinforced. The judge who had such a direct hand in the murder of the victims has been sentenced, in death, to lie beside the memorial to the injustice he carried out, and the bold poetry of that circumstance is-- if not just-- fitting.

      While gravestones like Judge Hawthorne's have been aided in the quest to last through time, others have not. Stones from over 300 years ago stand tall, still upright, many clearly marked up by visitors attempting to read them. White lines made with stones highlight names and dates on grave markers that have stood so long they are decaying their self. The inscriptions for Giles Corey's, the victim who was sentenced to be crushed to death, first wife-- and others-- have been marked this way.

     And the stones are beautiful. The level and style of simple, direct decoration used going back what is now a few hundred years are all their own, and standing in that cemetery, in Salem, you understand it. The crudely drawn skeletons with wings, perched atop a stone, the simple designs of intertwined hearts. You understand something about these people. What they believed, and what death looked like to them.

     Apart from the Judge, the other famous residents of the old burying ground are those who came close to the history that makes Salem famous. Mary Corey, first wife of victim Giles Corey, lies far and to the back of the cemetery. And in a section covered by a few trees, over to the side, lies Nathaniel Mather, brother of Puritan and witchcraft expert Cotton Mather. In his writings, Cotton Mathew documented the witch trials, and in many ways fueled beliefs that led to the hysteria-- to the point where his writings are even mentioned as something the fictional Ichabod Crane-- superstitious believer in witchcraft and all things occult-- reads in Washington Irving's "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow." Standing in front of Nathaniel's grave, his brother Cotton Mather-- who was almost a character in the tale of the Headless Horseman, and certainly a player in the witch trials-- became more real to me, the fears and superstitions and prejudices of the trials stepping out of their graves and into the light.

     Walking out of the cemetery, we watched a bus of people on some type of senior citizen's tour disembark, and begin to file into the victims' memorial. And then, several other tourists began to wander in. We had, we found, caught the old burying point during a rare quiet time.


View my whole album of the first day in the Old Burying Point here.

 After the Witch Museum, we decided to walk through Salem. The town, the city, is so beautiful. Being populated does not stop this New England community from appearing moderately sleepy, easily laid down and back-- but full of activity and life. So many people have come to Salem, to stay and to see, and because of this there are so many things to do while you are there.


 The trend begun with the witch museum, where the legitimately historical (the Roger Conant statue) stand aside the melting pot which Salem has become (the museum) continues. On our walk to what would become our first official stop, the Old Salem Burying Ground, took us to a statue of  actress Elizabeth Montgomery, who for years played a fictional witch on the television show "Bewitched." 


We turned a corner and walked by storefronts of businesses belonging to witches, those who practice and or believe in magic, psychics, fortune tellers and every type of belief and person in between. Walking along the water, we found this desk-- which I so dearly would love to have taken home, at the curb on the boardwalk. Only in Salem. And this is what makes this place so special. I wish we could have seen more of the side of Salem, where those who practice the arts of telling fortunes, magic and Witchcraft are. Whenever the subject came up around locals, we were met with testimonials as to who was the real deal, who was not and which ones spent their time in between. The closest we came was stopping in two shops to buy crystals and stones, which were said to help those who carry them on their person with stress and anxiety in life. A post detailing their results will come soon.

 The witchcraft in Salem that is alive and well is no one witch. It is the victims of the witchcraft hysteria, it is the modern day people who practice the religion Wicca, it is Elizabeth Montgomery playing Samantha on "Bewitched," it is the burying ground in the middle of the city, it is the crystals and stones, the witch hat made of a plate and ice cream cones in the coffee shop. The witchcraft of Salem is everything the term has ever meant at once-- and the way the people, streets and places of Salem embrace this destination as a constant season of the witch is a wonderful thing.

We decided to go see "The Salem Witch Museum" first. For all Salem has become known to be, the Witch Museum is very much a tourist attraction, billed as one of the city's quintessential stops. I had no idea what to expect.

 On an island in a crosswalk just in front of the Witch Museum, stands a stern, cloaked figure from the past. With his tall hat and dress, one believes this grave figure long since faded to history to be a statue of someone from the Witch Trials. One of the judges, perhaps, who sent the innocent accused to their deaths. This man, standing just across from the door of the Salem Witch Museum, is so much the city, if you look the right way you might see the fearful, ignorant, extreme suspicion that fueled so much of the witch hysteria on his face. The man whose likeness the statue bears is Roger Conant, the credited founder of Salem. Conant died in 1679, years before the start of the witchcraft trials, and is oft-referred to as having nothing to do with Salem's witch history. Whether intentional or not, the likeness he bears here is very much of the times. Those dark, desolate years in a new world when so many were so uncertain of their survival. On the statue's face, you can see the time from which the trials were birthed.



Passing Roger Conant, you come to the door of the Salem Witch Museum. Housed in an old church, the Witch Museum keeps you guessing about what it will be. And a many things the museum is. There's something fitting about the main attraction being in a former church, the most vocal record of what this somewhat religiously-fueled hysteria became. When you buy your ticket for the museum after having walked through the large church front doors, you settle yourself in for an undoubtedly touristy experience. On goes the yellow sticker which sets you into groups to go in and see the show of the museum. The sticker bears the museum logo- a stereotyped witch, with a pointed hat, black cat and broom. Comically Gothic lights adorn the dark hall, while you wait with your group to go into the auditorium for the initial show. At this point, you are allowed no photos, and so there are no pictures I have of the historical and informational panels that line the front hall. Reading them quickly in the dim light, I was struck by the depth put into the writing on the wall, which seemed far more than I had expected until this point.

 The auditorium is large, and rectangular. There are seats all along the walls, and when you sit in them you look up to a series of stages-- also as long as the walls-- with darkened scenes. When everyone is in a seat or standing against the wall, the show starts.

 I don't know how long ago the narration was recorded, or how old the equipment used to play it on is, but the sound would-- just almost-- be at home on an old album crinkling from my childhood record player. Spooky sound effects start, and a gravely-toned description of what the residents of Salem believed as far as witches, spirits, devils and ghosts is read. And I was surprised. As each scene lights up, showing mannequins and dummies depicting John Proctor, the accusing girls and Tituba telling these girls fantastical stories on dark winter nights-- the museum paints a far more balanced description of the past than I was expecting. While the Salem Witch Museum may have gotten you in based on the depictions of the traditional, stereotypical witch, they waste no time in discussing how the accused were treated and abused, by ignorant people who were foolish and or terrified enough to believe in witches.

 The museum exhibit after the main show is even more enlightening. The rooms in the back depict a well-researched and presented exhibition of what the "witch" has meant historically, in the past and present of society. Beginning with early people who worshiped or regarded nature, moving into women who presented a threat to practiced medicine by using herbs and cleaning people, problems and wounds with things like water-- the museum shows how the marginalized other has so often been accused of witchcraft. The presentation even touches on McCarthyism in the United States in the 1950s, and the demonization of gay men at the height of the HIV/AIDs crisis. I was impressed.

 The gift shop at the Salem Witch Museum is a candy store for children of the night like myself. One of everything, yes, please. I believe I came back with prints, a Dia de los Muertos mug and Christmas ornaments, a mood ring, a witch sun catcher, several books, magnets, pens and other such witchy goodies.

 With the balance of confronting the past and the trials in a balanced way, and the embracing of the modern day witch culture, and the cultural meaning the the stereotype of a witch has come to mean, the Salem Witch Museum is highly recommend, and a highly recommend gateway into the experience of the city.

     Last fall, when the wind was just starting to cool down, and the leaves were just short days from beginning to curl up and die, I made it to Salem, Massachusetts. Upon hearing the word-- Salem-- images are insantly conjured up out of the fall leaves, of one of the darker chapters in the history of the land and communitites we now know as America.

     I hope you had yourself a scary little Christmas, holiday, solistice or whatever early winter rite
you may or may not celebrate. In seasons past, I have written about the scary ghost stories and things that go bump in the night around Christmas. Be it the four ghosts of Charles Dickens' carol, or the punishing Krampus, the Ghost here remains fascinated by the nightmares of Christmas.

italytravelscape.com

     This year, I started reading about the La Befana, the Italian Christmastime legend. Anyone who knows the story of the Befana will know she is a kind, old woman with a broom who brings good children presents on Christmas. Many will tell you she is a witch. Delving deep into the Italian mythology, however, I have not found enough evidence to convict her of witchcraft. Perhaps the fact that Befana is old, with a broom at her side as a constant was enough for her to become a witch by association while the legend lived on and aged-- or, perhaps, it was the intent of the stories which were told to cast her always a witch. Never the matter; there is something about the legend of the Santa Claus-like woman being a witch which enamours the Halloween heart. And something, too, very true to the part of the witch in legend, where the indiviudal will become labeled a witch, for displaying simple pieces of the archetype.

     More formally, the story of Befana has tried to explain her as an heir to a heathen goddess, or at the least begetting her name from such an earth goddess. Befana is commonly described as a devoted housekeeper, who in the most often told story meets the three Magi on their way to visit the Christ child in Bethlehem, and, after they offer to have Befana join them on their quest, are turned down by her, for she has too much to do. Too many floors to be swept and kept clean, too much to do, to go on such a journey. Befana, on their leaving, regrets her decision, and has since spent the ages looking for the Christ child; finding other children on Christmas, and bearing them gifts, when she realizes she has not found the child she is searching for, yet.


     The Christmas ghosts, the Christmas horned-one, the Christmas witch. It would appear there is enough during the dark months while the snow is falling to keep a Halloween child involved, entertained, interested.

     To further celebrate my Befana Christmas, I attempted cut-out cookies of the old woman, with the help of one of my witch cookie cutters-- to questionable success.

     Although the season I so love is over, and I have-- with regret-- accepted that-- I am still here. I have to admit, with all these jingling bells, snowflakes, red-suited men and reindeer, I feel terribly out of place, such as our friend Mr. Jack Skellington here.

For this dark, cold, blustery early winter morning, some words-- and images-- of wisdom from the great cartoonist Charles Addams.